andrewmackey

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i forced myself to write something on a Sunday by andrewmackey, literature

Literature

i forced myself to write something on a Sunday

The definition of insanity: Who has who locked up in what cage- Not to bog you down with the logistics Youre enjoying spaghetti with your Woman and Watching NASCAR- "Goddamn!Take smaller bites" She says. And laughs. You blush. I say: "Did you ever wonder if they're putting cancer in this stuff? I mean the FDA stands for food AND drug administration. Why put the two together except to poison us and sell the cure back!" She picks at her noodles and twists them onto her trident. "Aren't you the one always saying death doesn't matter- were all gonna get there, somehow?" Fuck. Well, she's got your card now, buddy. More and more o

i had to force myself to write something. by andrewmackey, literature

i dreamt of a world... by andrewmackey, literature

i used to always get off to this porno. by andrewmackey, literature

Literature

i used to always get off to this porno.

It's just another night full of whores and thieves a hangnail moon, catching Space and it's nothingness by a stray thread splitting the cuticle bleeding entire galaxies and gasses out of its strange wounds And here I stand- A infinitesimal speck in a smudge of a town That will gladly give a man his money At the price of everything else. I shudder at the thought of some alien race that hasn't evolved any further than us. It would

on a friday morning by andrewmackey, literature

Literature

on a friday morning

I've made a terrible mistake Wandering into third ward Looking for some glass Some ice Crystal clear In every physical sense, at least. You're a fucking dummy The wards don't peddle meth, you fool. A minds a terrible thing to use. And that moment when I resort to asking stranger's where to get crack -Or anything mind altering The fuck is wrong with you? A flock of justifications Dropping white shit from Trees and wires. A flock of them. The fuck are you doing? I need to borrow somebody's stem This is being spontaneous And girls like that right? Crack is alright. It just doesn't last long enough The rush sure is som

love cant swim by andrewmackey, literature

election year by andrewmackey, literature

Literature

election year

does the breathe of the fly ever mangle the spiders web? is the doorknob ever a part of a knock knock joke? is american blood the new black- for two cents an ounce? will the reciept be killed to tie up a loose end? in the village of jaded mouths, do quiet whispers -spoken in unison- create anything more than a number? does the tree with more rings have any more consciousness than a stick?

recovery and redemption are not one in the same by andrewmackey, literature

Literature

recovery and redemption are not one in the same

hello, my name is ronny and im an addict. And that's fine, I suppose the burden is A bit much at times, But, your saying the O N L Y way to remain abstinent is to be forced to watch my true love get screwed by a rubber dick (more prodigious in girth than your toy of fragile skin) and while I can't even touch myself for this would be an old behavior. So this? become imagining a future without her wet spot? And to a soundtrack of m

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i forced myself to write something on a Sunday by andrewmackey, literature

Literature

i forced myself to write something on a Sunday

i had to force myself to write something. by andrewmackey, literature

i dreamt of a world... by andrewmackey, literature

i used to always get off to this porno. by andrewmackey, literature

Literature

i used to always get off to this porno.

on a friday morning by andrewmackey, literature

Literature

on a friday morning

love cant swim by andrewmackey, literature

election year by andrewmackey, literature

Literature

election year

recovery and redemption are not one in the same by andrewmackey, literature

Literature

recovery and redemption are not one in the same

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settle by drowsydoe, literature

Literature

settle

They traveled out east at the edge of the sink while the sun crept west toward the soft harbor lights. They dripped from the ceiling like heavy-love dreams. And hid from the moonlight as she growled like the sea. They spun 'round your fingers and tusseled your hair. Coiled on paper and carried conversations… … There were always shadows here, darling. Tired beautiful cold things that filled the bed. Froze the sheets, and threw open the windows. They don't breathe in slumber but nest like memories… … I think they loved you more than I did.

CHILD WITH A GUN by RJBG, literature

GOD AND THE SURREALIST by RJBG, literature

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About andrewmackey

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Sep 6
United States
Deviant for 7 years
He / Him

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andrewmackey

Feb 3, 2017

5

0 min read

hempstead road has a way of poisoning a mans swagger like a hundred missed shots of smack it makes my back hunch over and my pockets swallow my hands daylight is gentrifying the dark sky the stars find affordable living east and the cars in the traffic seem lost drifting           drifting                     drifting over priced tumbleweeds of paint and twisted metal sliding down my sunglasses i wish (to myself) that keeping to the middle of the yellow lines was as easy for me as it is for the rest of the general population the ones that dont meet their friends in county jail the ones that are terrified of kaylynn because she has H

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andrewmackey

Feb 3, 2017

4

0 min read

suppose i find myself in aisle 6 looking at the diapers and then the garment section looking at ties suppose i cant find the face of the rope without the knot to guide me suppose im forced to determine my face by the frayed end suppose my blood pedals backwards my organs are seen on my sleeve or suppose im being dramatic ive become so used to the whale of fear beaching its bloated body across the golden shores of my wonder years suppose also these years have left me with so little to wonder about except when they will end.

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andrewmackey

Feb 3, 2017

3

0 min read

transparency began and ended in front of the mirror for a length of sound and if you would simply open your generations ears with a crowbar or gentrification or the prison industrial complex or the war on drugs or donald trump you might be able to smoothen the foreheads of gods or at least be thrilled by the color contrast of the last few sunsets in history. im not saying im perfect like some wise sage stranded in a desolate graveyard of unborn child dreams i havent seen myself in two weeks but at least im childish enough to dream.