The Sky Felt Lower Today

i don't think you would understand if i told you exactly how i was feeling at this exact moment in time. you wouldn't understand and i wouldn't expect you too. if i told you that the sky felt lower today, that it felt like it was inches from the top of my head, would you nod and smile as if you knew what i was saying, but really you didn't and you wouldn't ask me to explain because not knowing was better then knowing. if i casually told you that i felt like dying, would you twist your face up like i was crazy and think of ways to get me committed. you would ask me questions of suicide and i would laugh them off because i really didn't mean i wanted to kill myself i simply meant i wanted to feel the action of not feeling anything ever again but you would worry and i would see it in your forehead but you wouldnt press any further because you didnt want to feel connected to my thought of dying, you wanted to live the next minutes, hours, days even, disconnected from what i had said incase i did in fact die. you wouldnt understand and you wouldnt want too and i would understand that. if i expressed extreme dissatisfaction would you give me your same old generic pep talk and carry on your day, you would, and i wouldnt mind, because i would know it is coming and would express my dissatisfaction just to get it out of you, because as unhelpful it really is, in some way it's better to hear it than to hear nothing at all. if i explained to you my reoccurring dream would you brush it off like any other dream, would you tell me i was taking things too seriously, that i should forget it. you would and i would see this coming but i would tell you all about it anyway, to seek a reaction out of you, to shed light into parts of me you know are there but dont want to be part of because they scare you. i dont think you understand and i understand that. its not meant to be understood, a lot of it i dont understand myself but i understand you and your rush to get through it, an obstacle in your life i often wonder if i should keep at bay.

Fizz Takes Hostages

A gem kept underway. Hid from the eyes of those who've neglected it for so long. Time after time and minds cannot be made, beds left sprawled from late nights in the bedroom, fresh coat of cherry red on lips that whisper impure things, want to hear it louder, begging for it louder. Wild ideas capturing buoying fate and a landscape of mystery rests upon feet, feet running from a beast that lays within and casts glances to things it has suddenly fallen in love with. Over cast on this idea of something stronger. An incredible degree of pain has risen to the tip of the glass and we poke at the bubbles like carbon in soda. An unnerving fizz takes hostages in the altitude of kindness and we can't help but question it.

I Dare You To Be Naked

textiles on the run and we dare to be naked, dream to be naked. naked in the world full of clothed minds, closed minds. land mines waiting for our naked feet to get tangled in a mess of mixed up hope. crystallized hearts chipping in the sun and we want naked reassurance that you won't close the door on our silhouettes. we all want naked, to be naked, for everyone else to be naked, but we can't afford it. we can't afford to not be clothed. our secrets, our dreams, our ambition.. naked. we just don't have the money, the time or the truth for it. we all want to be naked. we all want to see each other naked, naked. it's sexy and surprisingly deliciously but scary, so scary. the exposure, oh the exposure.. pornographic fear and we're all longing for that naked excitement, that sheer sensuality of the word. naked, it even sounds naked and naked does feel naked but the naked body and your pride, naked, to the world. eyes, naked eyes on your naked accessories, do you have the time. the strength, or the ability to believe it. to do it. to indulge it. i dare you. I dare you to be naked.

Lush Ruby Lipstick

isolating the thought of you. looking over your shoulder so that i can check you out, as you walk into the street light. i like the shadows, as they dance across your skin, your skin is the perfect gift wrap to a soul as luminous as yours. writing a secret on the palm of your hand. letting you try to roll it around, inspect it - dissect it. will you keep it forever or will you wash it off. leave it where it belongs, the past. beautiful lips full of words, laced with emotion. feel them in my atmosphere as you liquidate your senses. skeletons in your closet, dancing on top of the world. cutting all ties to beauty. without the happiness you cannot understand pain. and without pain you cannot truly grasp happiness. tears of passion, passion full of tears. sauntering into the wild. prints of flamboyant affairs rimmed with glitter. cocktails. drunk. spiralling actions and if dancing into you will make this song longer i will continue to spin and unspin. dressing for a lavish escape, one with a plot and lipstick. many tubes of lipsticks, writing your name on the mirror in a ruby shade. telling you my goodbyes in swift loopy writing, painting my lips with the same shade. kissing that mirror as if i am kissing your lips one last time. isolating myself from the world. isolating myself from you. not pretending anymore that you aren't something too me. painting pictures of you in my mind, all in a shade of lush ruby lipstick.

The Prize Is In The Prize Is In The Prize

shaking bones so that you can remember your alive. death all around you, but don't give up yet. dancing in the leaves of a autumn that has passed. lovely prophecies correlating to cohesive material, material you've saved scraps of. thinking thoughts that feel like items you've bought at the mall. smooth, precious, materialistic finds that have taken up residence in your head. your eyes. looking at the world with clever tricks, and thrills that you wouldn't give up for anything, not even groceries. teeth, biting into skulls and keeping knowledge tucked right under your belt. bandana issued crisis and your up for a challenge. dangerous appeal ducked in ambitious pride and the prize is in the prize is in the prize. cinematic love stories all ending in a tragic heart break but while drinking champagne, even the finer things aren't start to appear bubbly. intoxicated off a rush that hit you a million miles an hour and you liked it, you sometimes walk with your chest out and your head to the sky so you can position your heart beat to go in sync with your foot steps waiting for that hit again and again. light bulb energy and a trunk full of yesterdays. letting the serious loose with it's best friend optimism for she's having a night on the town, something you couldn't believe would happen now.

Light Me Up Like A Cigarette

Light me up like a cigarette. Roll my name around your mouth and tongue the idea of me. Take a long draw on the thought of me. Flick the ash off to the side, flick it as if you need it to go away as if it would leave me exposed. Light me up like a cigarette and let the smoke bellow into your atmosphere, allow me to seduce you like a smoke signal. Light me up, again and again. Light me up like a cigarette and inhale the length of me, exhale the satisfaction. Inhale. Exhale. Light me up. Light me up. Kiss me like you'd kiss the filter of your cigarette, an addictive kiss of wanting the long cool feeling of the entire entity within you. Feel me in your lungs, puffing towards something concrete. Light me up like a cigarette. Keep me close to your heart, like the pack of ciagrettes in your inside lapel pocket, close to your heart. Feel the smooth packaging of me lightly bounce across your chest, inside your lapel jacket, as you walk to a location to light me up. Light me up. Light me up. Enjoy me like your cigarette, savour me. Light me up with a liquid of intoxication colours on the rocks. Light me up in the low light, with the bass booming against your thighs. Light me up in the morning, after you awak and see the sun. light me up in the afternoon while the people cross the street. Light me up over a late night cup of coffee, under the stars, while the moon spotlights you. Light me up with you. Light me up like a cigarette. Light. Me. Up. Cigarette lover.

Beating Hearts Contemplating Hope

i want to tell you that everything will be okay, but truth is. i don't think it will be. are you willing to survive. to set aside all weary thoughts. to lay your heavy heart across the sunlight and let it become light, as it fills with just that. do you want me to tell you everything is going to be okay, even if i don't believe it. i can do that, tell you things. empty words filled with empty promises and leaving you full, but soon the taste will leave your lips and you will feel just that, empty. praying to the stars, as if they can save you. a galactic force pressing into your temples, searching for hope. hope and despair hangout together at the local cafe and sip lattes. it's a pretty ironic scene that touches even the most uninspired bloke, but while eyes search the sky, do you realize what is passing you. pray to the ground, so that you feel more connected. turning off the telephone too keep the outside at bay, to stay connected to yourself in a closed space, your mind teetering on the verge of contemplation. contemplating me, contemplating you. eyes from the floor to the ceiling and you can't remember what you were in search of. say hello to windows. for they peek inside you like visitors at an art gallery, examining you. your beautiful structure so abstract, that the complexity is frighteningly brilliant. stuttering with words so familiar to you that the new direction, the content, is overwhelming your soul. for i know what desire feels like and we long for the opportunity to feel it, again and again. lusting for hope. do you still wish for me to tell you that everything will be okay. do you believe that everything will be okay. what is your definition, your platform of okay. because everything might be as it is and that in itself could be very okay. twisting melodies to songs you know the words too but dare not utter them for their meaning has new found meaning to you and your beating heart. beating hearts contemplating hope.

Want To Want You

i want to tell you something bright, it'll make you wear your sunglasses and dance in the shadows it will cause to crash down all around you, but you won't mind. you'll like it. i want to tell you something dark, not in the sense that it will make the brightness go away but that it will creep inside your mind, barge it's way down your spine, and make you want to dance dance dance, heart attack? no - dance dance dance. i want to tell you something evil, so that you can taste it - bite on it and absorb it, you can then decide whether to like it or not. i want to tell you something pretty and let your eyes hold the pretty in my words, allow them to drip on your tongue and taste it's fire, a beautiful fire taking you over, washing you in flames and the heat - your lovin' it. i want to tell you something nonchalant so you can decipher it's importance too me. i want to tell you something personal, chip a piece right out of me and tell you and see if you'll keep it safe, or exploit it to the world, i wouldn't mind either option but i want to see what you'll do with new found information, protect me or yourself. i want to play pretend with you and see if we can mesh reality into a dream, i want to want you, do you want me.

Your Religion Is Purely Make Believe

integrity you never had. plastic love filling your heart and you are not what you seem and exactly more than what you claim to be. washed out, burned out, highlighted make-believe. your castle of comfy sympathy, slurping happiness through a straw, waiting for the writing on the wall to say pretty things about you. i really hate you right now, i think i always have. i'm not a fan of your air head. preppy ships laced with dramatic scenes, music video clothing. dumpster diving in this glorious group of secrets; words to vamp up your advertising scheme, your dashingly outrageous venom, pouring into the scene, being seen in a dream, a crazy little word your planning to scheme - your religion is purely make believe. dressing up for something shocking, that you've placed in the couch cushions, stumble upon like a brand new find, your charades are good, you play them well. tactics of a crazy heart, a mind you've lost and haven't felt the need to find, a purse filled to the brim with nonsense, child like actions your trying to make sense. pretending to take drugs so you can act high, sipping soda so you can feel bubbly in front of the mirror, calling out people you've never even talk too so you can feast on the appetite of someones misery. misery of champions laced with phony accusations, a game of twister your just not interested in, watching you crumble.. your entire life. the theater is emptying, as we advert our eyes, for this train wreck keeps happening, and what a waste of our time.

Spreading Love On People Like Marmalade

Befriending your imagination and spreading love on people like marmalade. Waking up to a cup of your personality, calling you up to tell you just about everything you already know, a little more a little less depending on when I catch you - when you catch me. bouncing on a high voltage like a coffee injection straight to your scenario, stereotyping relationships, as they back up into a corner of bewilderment. hushing tones on an electric feel, wanting more - wanting you. crisp clean insanity and an instant act of declaration, declaring you declaring me. exposing you while you expose me. close up on the flaws and blow this piece wide open, hiding things in words laced together with metaphors and while you try to figure this out, i'm trying to quit you. coffee and cigarettes, lipstick and wine. the craving of you and the satisfaction of never being satisfied, magnifying time in case we've missed a second we want it back, up for grabs. your time your ass - whatever you put on the platter sweetheart. contemplating the complexities of little things that dont really play relevance in your life, but the coexistence to your pride has you hypnotized, apologizing on behalf of nobody for nothing and we aren't about to give up sorries for things that we meant to do. smiling for the picture, locked behind bars - imprisoned in a world of melancholy twists and they'll still be there when you get out of this bitch.

Secrets Served With Glasses Full Of Drunk

periodical expansions on a life worth living. beaming for enthusiasm, this crowd might be limited to emotional expression due to the significant pressure they are applying to censorship. you trying to forget us - while we've already forgotten you. forgive us, someone, for we have sinned, and want to sin some more. pondering hearts speaking in honesty and the audience doesn't know what to expect. they were expecting lies, but a new approach has got their eyes blown wide. acts of freedom crash along the shores of questioning minds and tonight we hold onto the night. this darkness has a name, is it yours? because it is just as beautiful as your eyelashes. secrets served with glasses full of drunk and i'll get another, and another and another. mercy that for we are high, on life on this on that, involvement in shady things because we cannot always be in the sun and beware of real vampires, for this is not the movies, they will not sparkle for you to see. the monsters walk all around us and you've got to be careful before you derail yourself in front of some of the nastiest ones. balconies for the broken hearted, we don't suggest you jump. the potent power of your emotion runs thick in your veins causing rapid breathing, roping minds and ideas treading in the space between your eyes, trying to survive. and like a surge of light you are hit by the sniper in the mirror. pondering sentiments you want to crush with cement and straining your eyes as you focus on sinking the hope you feel floating in your atmosphere.

Winter's Madmen

The glove has fallen off the other hand. Papers signed, sealed and filed away, in a place that seems foreign for now until little bits and pieces of things remind you why they were put there or the heaviness of their grief. Dancing to no music, urging for something within you to transpire but nothing biblical for we aren't looking to be saved or redeemed but tasted and savored and remembered. Us remembering one another at different moments but both moments connecting us to the same moment. Moments are funny little devices left in pockets of spring jackets so after a long winters pain we can warm up to a sudden memory which housed in your apparel, as if shielding its eyes from the sun. demon-esuqe tongues elapsing on saving graces while we all call shotgun at this affair. walking off into different directions, not really knowing where each other are off too. someone once told me that people are to walk in and out of your life, to teach you something to allow you to experience something, and then they are to walk out and leave you with just that, a memory. a moment. an experience. and even though you won't want them to go, you'll beg and pled and lock your heart up ever more so that you can bask in the memory soon the chains on your heart will unfasten, your moments will collect dust on the shelf in your mind and you will thaw, like a winter's madmen after he's hibernated for the winter months. you will feel passion again, you will long for desire as always. "the people you love are rarely the people who love you back." but don't fight for someone who isn't willing to fight back. 

Tattooing Beats To Our Heads

tattooing beats to our heads because we won't stop listening. sweating off outfits and stomping your soul with our soles through the floor. technological language seeping into our veins causing multicolour hallucinations in our minds, breaking spines, taking action. drinking substances known to our tongues but allowing musical enchantment to take over our brains, driving us insane and we've signed the waivers; make us crazy make us crazy. hormonal attributes and we pledge allegiance to the sound, and thank the creator, almighty, for your artistic appeal has got us craving more, body surge - we don’t leave the floor, residential home coming and we haven't felt more at home then now with a chaotic cocktail of hyper thirsty music pressuring our bodies to move move move, like we'd stop if you asked us too - ha. Sultry lips and words of encouragement that are laced with perpetual sounds and we're getting "bucked". smokin cigarettes under sunlight because we haven't been home from last night yet.

Super Sized Infatuation

tipsy on the idea of you. it's crushing the purity that use to conjure on the verge of my irsis' and make the colour pop like technicolour robots moon walking along a grave yard of lost souls, firework effect. taking a leap of faith in a stranger, stranger than me, strange than you. the ultimate print for any super sized infatuation and another one bites the dust. crawling under temptation and feeling the weight of it level out your heart, timing your steps to a song you can't catch the chorus too, but you mouth words and pretend you know the jam. pretending to care. pretending to not want anything else but right then but the matter of everything is riding on this want and i can't help but get dizzy off the notion that you are in motion and in my direction. falling up hill to reach your goal and putting your goals in the closet next to your sunday best, waiting for the sun, walking for the sun. the sun the sun the sun. eating hope, does it float, will you touch the sky with your pockets full of optimism, wishing on stars that can't hear your pleads, fishing for marshmallows in a shark tank full of disease, waiting for an itch, a scratch that you cannot scratch, do not want to scratch, leave it on your skin for a bigger scene, an astounding appeal. eyes catching me catching you, watching something new.

Plagiarizing Love

plagiarizing love with our mistakes and copyrighting hate so we don't fall under way and submerging the glory right into this place and hyping up effects so we don't misplace, attitudes climbing the to the top of self worthy motivation and this is the time when we inquire feelings. mountainous victories and feelings shed like jackets, left on coat hangers till seasons to come and we aren't about to judge you in this place where judging is like a mouthful of cotton uncomfortable and cynical. tight little outfits with purses full of fear, hiding in compacts between tampons and movie stubs.. and not wanting to escape a whole generation of pity. pitiful passion wrapped in desire and baked in the sun till it appears golden. smooth and collective, wild and out of control. you controlling her and then a cinematic flavor erupting from colouring mistakes highlighting altitudes you don't want to venture again, lines in the sand and you want to cross them, scribbling fates and the stars are casting shadows on visions you had that now your unsure of, processing devotion on old fax machines and this might end up in places where love isn't an item, where love isn't a problem. where, where is love?

Welcome In The Bad Habit

deciding on new habits. contemplating idealistic things without fear, without a problematic side. deciding on the ups and the downs, weighing the pros and cons. disregarding the problematic restraints. starting fresh. fearless, without a cause because fear is no longer an issue. smoking cigarettes in the bath tub without the addiction without the illness brewing in the pit of your lungs. not caring, doing things because you don't care or maybe because you do care but withdrawing the necessity for the care. habits forming and kicking them away just as they nest in your image. habits calling your name and you will not deny their moment to try, trying something new for the hell of it, checking fear at the door. coat check number - NEVER - basking in a new adventure filled with precious dignity and charisma. fearing nothing and nothing to fear. you want it now you want it now you want it now. habit habit habit, welcome in the bad habit.

A Degree In YouTube

shes got a big home that houses her big clothes and a diary filled with more wants than accomplishments. all she owns is branded and she doesn't speak anything but label. she'll label you, her shoes and the boy next door, because this is what she is good at. she's graduating from Technology High and she's on the brink, she's fried. Punch drunk in love with the sky, she infatuated with molecules that look in her direction. She's got a degree from YouTube and an education in daycare. relating to kids because shes the biggest kid of all. bedazzled life and a vision of rose, glasses don't fit her sizable face and her judgmental attitude so we drop the colour into her eyes. she is mystified by all that is phony, she cant grasp just how plastic she is. shiny and not because of her dollar bill product, shiny because her lies are leaping out of her skin. fake ass bitch with nothing to loose, fake as bitch with nothing to gain, a big fake bitch with the world at her disposal and she chooses to swim down the child's aisle. pedophile, you'd think but nah she just fears the world and the world wants nothing to do with this fake ass bitch.