Saturday, December 24, 2011

The Calendar to Be, to Be the Calendar

I wouldn't mind a little cheap Monday for you and I. im saving a sunny Tuesday so you can do something bold.. you should really try it out because the time isn't now, the leaves are falling and baby snow is coming so it'll be cold, you wont want to do it then, but a typical, Tuesday, well throw in some sun, do the things I know you want to do, but are always buckling out of. Wednesdays involve drinks and my fingers slip and touch and usually tell im so far gone within the bottom of glass and the tidbits of revealing information within my mind I go off and tell you things. Thursday, lets just be. Naps are wanted like vacations. Friday are fit for frenzies, and often we are comfortable, the same smile and eyes, and hair, and I cant help but just want to be there, is it Friday? Saturday is a hit and miss for us. Like a hit and run more like it, we say things and go away, we do things we shouldn’t and go away and Sunday morning we sometimes lay there awake, and silent and slowly, say things to one another and hope the sun doesn’t move anymore to keep all the others sleeping still. And Sunday daytime, is a typical life, we do things and say things and eat meals. But this is the calendar baby, the days are marked, im waiting for you to take the plunge and do the things your surely don’t want too, physically, the things your dying to do within in your mind. The calendar to be, to be the calendar.

Forgive Me, New Year

Lace me up and lace me down. I want to dye, the contours of your mind, with the vibrant bow ties that strangle mine. Dance with me under the moon and let the goblins disappear into the horizon of our nightmares which soon enough will make our dreams and then nothing but sugar will we eat on top of everything, no mistake. Interacting and exchanging glances, this is the time to fight the battle, the longest yard is coming up, and we can make it if we try. Twist and shout, this is not a dance move but what we are good at. Take steps by two, rushing something that cannot be rushed on the lonesome platform of want, want is taking over the steps and suddenly everything and everyone are falling behind each other and themselves. Exhausted from talking about the wanting and wanting the want and what the want is wanting with all of this want for? Let me lace you up in pretty little things and share with you all of the things I don’t want you to have, a temporary moment of good gestures to sympathize with all of the intolerable things and adjectives I have in my pockets, like weapons, to use on you when I am feeling lower then low. How low are you willing to get before disguise everything into a party and making everything beyond righteousness. Forgive me New Year, for I have sinned and will continue to sin... Let me leave the good behind and work on the bad as I move forward into the sun and burn like to a crisp.

I Might Vodka Something

A rip in the seam and everything is coming together so nicely. The boys in the washroom are talking about the girls at the bar and they’ve become so feisty. Sipping on drinks the colour of mermaids, looking at the high heels on all of these getaways. Driving really fast, well that is what it feels like, not in a car, but taking something with a little more fuel, rocket launching missile seeking sabotage. Lighting up seven cigarettes, want to feel the rush right to my head, the bone marrow inside of me is vibrating at the velocity of all of the sex appeal that is now bombarding me. Choking on sequins, your are a beautiful mess. Snorting up sequins so I can be beautiful like the rest. I think I might vodka something because this coffee is weighing me down, somebody pass me a pen and a notebook and a little more sound. Cant hear my thoughts, for they have left the building, trying to find my thoughts now but they have up and left the building, where is this building, disco fleeing bar, where my thoughts all go and party and harbor sabotage. Paint my lips with something wicked and target your eyes to all that is heaven, for this is a little darker then actuality and the result twister in this haven has got me loosing batteries. Saunter into my bedroom and well make a fort or something, stay awake until we can’t shut up and sleep until we have something to say. Lightening bolts and there is no storm. Purple haze, completely dazed, wind blown and there is not even a stitch of soul in the atmosphere. Weathered down and weathering out, loosing my mind, gaining the touch. Haunted happiness within the rip in the seam, nothing to gain but a rip in the seam.

Just. Kids.

we're just stupid kids, with our paws up, covered in mud, without regrets. we're just stupid kids, waking up in the evening, coming home with the sun, we're just stupid kids, who can't hang up. we're just stupid kids, believing in the sound, forgetting the lullaby, making it darker for them and you and me. we're just stupid kids, leaving, coming and going, kissing and kissing and kissing and kiss me now. we're just stupid kids, we're just stupid kids. we're just stupid kids, with a lot of passion, with a lot of disaster, and a lot of time. we're just kids, we're just kids, we're just kids, trying to play grownup, always breaking up, giving up, fucking and do all this stupid stuff. we're just stupid kids, on the verge of a moment, on the verge of time, holding on for dear life, we're just kids who cannot forget, we're just kids who want to forget, we're just kids who want to stay in bed. we're just stupid kids, in a pit of love, falling in and out, and falling hard. we're just stupid kids, ripping each other apart, putting each other back together and walking off. we're just stupid kids, facing all of this, facing nothing, and backing down and fighting hard and fighting loud always fighting, we're just stupid kids. we've got stupid troubles. we're just stupid kids in a whole lot of love, with a whole lot of light and a lot of eye. we're just stupid kids, making decisions with our hearts, making up our minds with our eyes, and playing everything by ear. we're stupid kids hiding in places, escaping nothing and entering everything. we're stupid kids, stupid for each other and stupidly we're just kids being kids, stupid and hungry and bloody. we're stupid kids, on an adventure, for something a lot like love or something invisible like that and we won't stop.. we're just stupid kids, just. kids.

Our Ship Just Wrecked

You are a fire, and our ship just wrecked.
I can’t get enough of all of this chaoticness.
I want to get burned, that’s why I stand so close.
I have a strange addiction to the glow or perhaps to you the most.
I like the way it singes my fingertips.
I pull away quick only to get closer for a better glimpse.
Always thinking way too much into the flame.
This use to be a pretty solid game.
Every once in a while, the guard begins to falter.
We don’t seem to mind the things that suddenly become altered.
Searching for vodka to put out the flames,Only to heighten the degree of the heat, Mad messages leaving the hour glass,
Typing away like this might be our last.
You are a fire, our ship just wrecked.
Scream a little louder, I cant hear you yet.
And the things you choose to whisper, I am making a bigger deal.
Your iceberg ego has got you melting.
You are a fire, and our ship just wrecked.

New Numerical Change

A new numerical change and then suddenly people become really nice people. Is there something in the air that comes with the flip of the calendar change, a slight little one up on the clock of whatever and things begin to sparkle or something… the nonsense of the peculiar things, people walking under ladders but a swift change of calendar makes everything better. Clean slate? Not sure where this notion of devotion to the stars or the hallmark or whomever makes the organizers so organized, but a new year comes and people are smiling, people are excited for their start over… The idealistic attribute to this is that nothing major actually changes drastically, and if we could recall the new years giddiness in the heat of the summer then maybe break ups wouldn’t prick so much in the sun, or if the sudden optimism came in the not so glorified scene of anger and leaving and walking with the anger and the late night anger in the fit of darkness, if this lukewarm sense of being, slowly melted over the situation, and we could throw a new year bumper sticker over it would it really change everything. The weight on a new year, buckling at the knees and wavering on the mental instability of everything that is that much more harder in the state of rationality, but there is a light at the end of your tunnel, and apparently it is only for the one night, the couple of teetering hours of a new year. The glistening twist of that notion that keeps the ball rolling and don’t be a nice person if you aren’t a nice person, your wish of happiness on a new year, what is it to you, you never cared but there is a solid yellow monster on your back and he is hoping that with each wish to another, your new year will be the best or perhaps your last year. And sometimes, someone somewhere is hoping it might just be your last. No death, no peace, nothing lasting, and nothing disappearing. A simple state of New Year. The time is changing, and it’s going to change to you, drastically, tonight.

Extra Strength Gum - I Am Stuck

Tell me exactly what you want to say. Better yet, tell them? I think I know more then I should and they know nothing of the sorts and it’s not really a bother anymore, but I would love to see the repercussions of you being honest with someone who is probably being honest with you. We’re lying in a false state of compromise, and you and I are so use to it. We’re so natural in the tangled web of sleeping disasters. Drop the marbles; I want to hear them spill. Is this killing you as much as it is surely killing me, because out sad moments are to be expected, the yelling and the anger, I don’t see it coming but when it goes off I am no further from “I told you so..” then I was before, but it’s the happiness that really gets me. Be honest. I know you get tripped no the extended version of the good times, they seem to be lasting longer lately, extra strength gum – I am stuck on you. I use to believe I needed saving from you, that you were totally the bad seed in whatever delicious fruit I was divulging my information too… lately I’ve realized how much saving I might need from myself. All the over thinking and underestimated and the anger, the anger you’ve probably noticed, well there is a lot more to this then you probably realize. Tell me exactly what you want to say, not to me, but what you want to say to them, and how it would make everything hard just kind of melt away and it would be sticky for awhile. The heavy weight, the awkward bedazzled release of tension that could slowly happen between the moments were we aren’t trying to swear each other, I sometimes try to swear you off but it’s so much easier to just sleep.

Fast, Hiatus

The words uttered too late, in a state of misshapen affection. Affection slowly staining the skin, causing a mild vision of devastation. Possessive reinforcements on a real bad cut. Trust, slowly disintegrating, no signs or fuss. A joyful rant of boastful apology, an endless falling of leaves off an invisible tree, uncanny imagery for something that has always been free. The delivering traits of pointy swords, hidden in case of uncertain wars. Prepared to dash into a powerhouse of hiatus, slipping in and out of hiatus, no prohibition but I sure can't find a drop. Leaving a glossy mess on the floor, slight rip in the brain - someone get a mop. Documenting documents that cannot sum of all of the flaws. Erasing the lights right off the wires, using those wires to reprogram all of the desire, dropping everything in the fire and watching everything sizzle under fast pace decisions... Fast. Pace. Decisions. Powerhouse. Hiatus. Hiatus.

Tied Right to my Vertebrae

Match Maker, Match Maker I have fallen into a ditch. I have lost all my desire and will to live. Match Maker, Match Maker how did you pair us up like this. The timing isn't working and everything is glitched. I am falling into the holes within everything that slowly comes together and is quickly ripped apart. Match Maker, Match Maker I am wavering with my senses. My heart is in my head and my head is in my thoart. I keep swallowing all of the thoughts and all of the integrity that I have. Match Maker, Match Maker I cannot deny my ambition and deny my strive to such situation because I surely do love all that is good and even the bad has started to sprout little pieces of sparkle. Do not let me be blind, by all of this greatness and do not let me be jaded by all of the hatred. Match Maker, Match Maker what have you done. Linking one without the other and others with the one. Letting it all ravel and unravel all in the same dance move of cohesive passion. Counting the days that are linked and slowly shuffling the things that don't protain to me away, out of sight out of mind but never far, tied right to my vertebrae I can feel you in my bones and this isn't about a song.

Monday, December 12, 2011

Comforters Seeking Comfort

Forget about the plans because we have much more under the pubescent lock and key. Waking up, the morning after nothings happened, and you can't tell if it was in your brain or through electronic communication that elaborated such lucid dreams of things taking place in and around your company. Why when I sleep are there suddenly projections of all the things I've thought of, done, wanted to do... And I'm measuring the angles and degrees and who cares when your that close to me. Sleeping beauty, let's just sleep, what a real thing to do. Awakening beside something you were just dreamin' about is this called dejavu? I never understood the mushy undertone until now and I am a stone. Linking. Sinking. Thinking. Waiting. Its happening, yeah, its happening without the movies and the songs and cards and pop songs alright, words weren't written down, no script, no timing - we've been working out the kinks. To sink or swim in the dream pool that fills up quick behind closed eyelids has got me ushering for pool noodles and clinging to comforters seeking comfort in hand holding.

Green Stop Sign

the syrup in this chocolate milk has got me thinking of you. the fact that this establishment is not a pit nor filled with ready made pitas has got me thinking of you. the little thunder that is touching down tonight has got me thinking of you. the thought of you alone has got me thinking about you. this song, that you've probably never even heard of, has got me thinking of you. the left over ketchup, in this packet, has got me thinking of you. for some reason, and i dont know why, but the cardboard cut out of that child star, at the drugstore, yup, it's got me thinking of you. the covers on my bed have got me thinking of you. the ink in my pen and paper in my books have got me thinking of you. the movie character, actually, the extra, in this movie, the far right of the screen, he's wearing a t-shirt and wristband, he's got me thinking of you. the random coconut in the fruit bowl, you got it, it's got me thinking, thinking of you. the video game ping, the cellphone notification sound, and the stretch of the bike tires, all got me thinking of you. the singers voice in this song have got me thinking of you too. that licence plate, that girls booger, and that cat's sneeze, got me thinking of you. the comparable story of you and i in this book i picked up to get my mind off you, has got me thinking of you. this pillow, that outfit, these flashing lights, and this highway exit, all got me thinking of you. this beach, that beach, that place, with the sand and the trees, the freezing water, and the hot showers, the bed, that one, awkwardly placed within a house of friends, late nights, all got me thinking of you. that day, on the calendar, next to your birthday, actually that whole month, and it's not even close to that month, why am i looking at the calendar and thinking of you. it's got me thinking of you. the toothpaste lid and fast food place napkins have me thinking of you. funny that the stop sign has got me thinking of you, and thinking thats exactly what we should do, but our stop sign is green, and we're going for it, sometimes anyways, and sometimes always i am thinking of you, stop go stop go, going to stop go go going to go think of you.

Chapped Lips, Let Me Be Your Chap Stick

In the harmony of open doors or in wide open spaces, there is an elastic band theory that can be applied to the actions and counteractions of you and I. Within these actions there are a series of thoughts that are all triggered by the irrelevant link I make to everything and to you, everything and to you. In the silent music, the faint silent music, that nobody ever knows where it is coming from, in the closed off places, that make you want to escape to them as often as they make you fear the thought of them, while thinking in the harmony of open doors or in wide open spaces these places, these little small silent spaces, that only fit maybe two or two and a half people in them suddenly seem wrong. But in the madness of the badness you cant help but want to hear them explode under the passionate patch work of two and perhaps two and a half people making things warm, but Amelia Gray said it herself, "Just because you make it warm, doesn't make it yours." that is exactly where on the spectrum of these spaces, no matter how comforting or not, they have become, I have become something that makes them but doesn’t keep them, doesn’t tend to them often, and cant have a say in them, yet I attend to them like a boy scout for every house meeting, wanting to collect all the things they have to offer. You've got chapped lips, let me your chap stick. Slick Speech.

Cherry Blossom Sound Effects

Cherry blossom sound effects and there is no doubt that I am getting drunk again. Anything from a cowboy hat to a varsity sweater is starting to look a lot like mistletoe. I'm starting to pitch a fever and it's not from the lights in this place even though they got me feeling hot in all the right places. I wish it would snow, just a little, maybe, a little icing sugar type frosting on the highway, the big highway, the one with all the lanes, clear out the traffic when this happens, I want to make snow angels all over these lanes and race them in my brain to see if I really do win. I don’t think that highly of myself, I actually think higher. Want to go and pick some clouds, I don’t know why but I have this sudden illusion that baskets full of fluffy clouds, hand picked by you and I, would look extra right just in my room, in the corner, in the freezer, I've got this bizarre craving to actually do something a little on the wild side with you. Be wild with me would you, please I want to be wild with you.. A current of inspiration suddenly falls on me like rain and there is much more to the cherry blossom sound effects that are affecting me now. Heat lamp, heat stroke, this is nothing but the best tokes, and we can't help but want to soar a little on the wild side, don't be afraid, stand up, no time to hide. Fever pitch, I've got an itch, I think you could scratch.

Your Moves Make Moves

Sleeping heads and smiling faces. Upset hearts and displaced mouths. Wobbly legs and an unforgettable grip. Patronizing eyes and amusing knees. Tantalizing hair, the sturdy sweep of the curl. Doe eyes and juicy lips. Lipstick shades to match your cheeks. The hard bits and smooth lines. The invisible cloak of charm and the washed out presentation of relief. Interesting poise, no poise at all, still interesting. Crooked teeth and crooked mind, crooked hour, crook. Peaceful slumber, daunting eyebrows. The grip; hands, mouth, teeth, fingers... The strength you've got and the strength you want. The moves you make and the moves you don't make. Your moves make moves, you're not moving and motions are being made.

Seventy or Just Seventeen

Drying flowers proving no blue skies. Quarters and dollars but no cream pie. Jolly Rancher ideas and everythings on time. Sugar coated isolation and all I've got is what's mine. Terrorized company from things I've might've said.. Too much soda pop going straight to my head. Spring cleaning in the dead of winter, locking up all the shiny things in the far back of someone else's shed. Clowning around on the heavier things. Breathing a little louder. Thinking a little fast. Privileged cures for harsh realities and harsher realities on the prettiest things I've ever seen. Eyes beginning to lie to me like I am seventy or just seventeen. Hardwood finish on my jello mind and empty suitcases causing me to watch the time. Jarred stars and you're wishing well. Lightweight months seem to be getting drunk and I need some sunshine, can I get some sunshine, quick.. Someone give me some sunshine.

Whip Lash On The Mistletoe

The sunrises and suddenly everyone is feeling a little more holiday. Holiday? Which way? That what? I am so astray. Feeling a little more legitimate, even though this all doesn't really fit, I keep trying to stay out of it and every body's way. The stifling cheer of the people so near, and they keep getting closer. Why does this new change of attitude pressure for exposure? Feeling a little legitimate in this boastful scenery, somebody please strangle me.. I am about to deck myself while you deck the halls, and I cannot go any longer with all these cheer and every once in a while I actually begin to submit, but like thoughts of you, bullets to the head, I snap back to reality and continue to hate the insanity. Tis the season to get naked, let’s get naked, no mistaken, tis the season to get naked. Whip lash on the mistletoe and suddenly we're all kissing everybody, and the feeling is legitimate so why not participate. I want to participate. Tis the season to get naked.

We've Become The Trouble Between The Cookies

The timing of your honesty has left me a little shaken up. The timing of your realness always starts a fight for us. The reality of the things we want, are sold out like a concert we had tickets to months ago. The pardon of actions never stops them from happening. The realism, that there is actually some soul behind the heart, that your eyes aren’t just full of shit and that your teeth do more then leave marks, has got me touching you a little more often. The sudden realization of all the things I should be saying and are withdrawing at the exact moments I am about to say them, adds a little weight to the situation. The situation we create from nothing. The nothing that has become something. The something that is much more then just something. The audience, that notices. The feelings, that continue to explode. The pretending not to notice, but noticing everything a little too well. The caution that is thrown out whatever imaginary window in whatever real scenario we happen to be in, I love the height of this imaginary building, the view sometimes, like I am only on the elevator, I’m hitting rock bottom all the while settling on the clouds. How I love how this does not define, whomever we are, and the people we think we might be. This just works itself out, we are such addicts, going to the meetings and talking to the help, but we’re better than addicts, this is the vice. We are not addictions. We are vices. We have become the vanilla frosting in the middle of troubled Oreo cookies, and I cannot help but indulge, bag after bag, glass of milk after glass of milk. This happens to be the most refreshing trouble I have ever taken apart of. Intermissions come and go and it all starts off all very similar yet different and lately it’s all a bite of the tongue, sugar rush straight to the bones I’ve bitten off too big of a chunk to chew but I am loving this laffy taffy mixed up equation and Wonka math and system lags in the murky ways of swaying trouble conflicting the conflict of confliction.

Sleeping With Pop Culture

When did the necessary act of something so authentic to the body become something of a high, a severe case of comfortability, on a whole other realm of things, and I almost get use to not being comfortable each time. The surreal embellishment that any passerby would claim was a lie if overhearing of this experience. A mixed match pair, like odd socks, that seem to slow down in the easiest of ways. Speed it up and we are nothing but a lost cause, but when things are slowed, and then out – out of office, out of the sun, out of energy and things to say, it becomes so easy. People usually craving the exact opposite of actions, they want vibrant and tactiful, they want attentive and conversation for miles and miles of space and time. I’m getting closeness, just like they would want. I’m getting affection and serenity, just like so many are trying for. I am getting muffled words in nice places and I think we need to do this more often. The innocence in the action, I will not deny, is no longer innocent. It use to be, sometime ago, but I guess I am lying, it’s never been innocent for me. The misguided notion that something like this would turn out to be the meancing recall of a nudity playground has got me feeling rather truiumphant of the scene and I encourage you all to give it a go, just try it out. Without all the hassle and payments of this and that, without the promises and without the energy. Lose the energy and simply be, in the calmness of the hour, sleeping stars in a save haven and the haven isn’t save and you really shouldn’t be there but the innocence in the time is perfect and your not actually awake, does it even count? I think it might, or the feeling would be nothing, it would be light like eyeing a penny on the sidewalk and deciding not to pick it up. I’ve decided to pick this up and it’s safe, it’s easy and it’s the easiest things we’ve got considering who we are, and who we are together.

Electronic Wisdom

The go go go of the decisions in this place have got me looking at you in a new light. A temporary guide of electronic wisdom, heart attack, don't fight back, this won't last. Look how beautifully you move. Weather dependent. We've become so condescending. And the condensation on these windows are the extracting qualities of our stop and go, go and stop, going going... We can't stop. A sad song soundtrack on a different type of emotion, masked in something easily recognizable but we aren't going to recognize. Strange times in the bed head rendition of what's mine is mine and what's not mine is still mine in the way of greed and filth, greed and filth, different and the same, we're so different yet on the same page. Strumming information into a system that wants to shut down and go. Did you hear? Are you coming. Shutting down and leaving. We're going. Going. Gone. Are we gone yet?

You're Fire, I'm the Bomb

Almost immediately, the satire of your shock settles into the cushion of your brains. You don’t want to inhibit these traits where you body is constantly pushing and pulling itself towards and then no longer towards the same direction that keeps dragging you in and spitting you back out. I have become the emotional spit up on your bib of life. Your behavior repels me as much as it attracts me. I am just as messed up as you are, in different ways, but we’re one and the same, just as messed up as one another. Be kind, don’t rewind, and move forward with me. I’m hoping to adapt this sort of discomfort, uncanny is slightly frightful, but I don’t want to totally walk away from a situation I’ve decided to keep myself saturated in. ignoring the ignorance, only makes me just as ignorant and allows me to receive the ignoring nomination of a silent game we decide to play, falling in and out of the game, in and out of teams, in and out of your heads where things seem okay only to be detonated by things that aren’t okay. You’re fire, I’m the bomb. I have about half a dozen; times three, stretched over summertime’s; of information I want to share with you. Things I need to point out but I don’t. you think I would be a vampire, the amount of emotional blood I keep hording, sucking in and keeping within the valleys of my body to save a sinking ship. A vampire sailor. We’re so messed up. You feel the expansion of the pressure of all the absorbed movement within the entire core of your body and there is no amount of anguish I can conceal much longer, I can feel it overflowing my senses, and you are probably expecting me to pop the cork like a champagne at the worst of celebrations any moment, but I’ve been trying to really water down the actuality of my passion. The desire wearing thin. The motion sensor on this news flash is flashing like a suicide mission. I’m getting closer to going in and losing myself to the harsh wrath my words and feelings are about to present themselves. “Like” to be honest, I can’t help it much longer anyways.

Monday, December 5, 2011

Mass Our Encounter

The way the steam is coming up from the sewers in the middle of this night reminds me of the rise and fall of not only breaths but chaoticness within me. The same sewer drain fog would be a beautiful mask for such things, but tonight the stars shine like a spotlight on the car crash within my vascular muscle. I can't breath, but the sewer acts like this entire other organism, breathing from the ground up and I want to hear what it has to say, does it have things to tell me, things I already know, will my skin absorb the fog and hit me with a realization... I'm putting to much into the fog and all of my attention has swayed away to the very sewer that might house all of my broken ideas and thoughts and creations. This sewer seems like another part of me, a tunnel to the pieces that people are looking for but I never give. Hide me in the fog, follow me down the drain, let me give you the little things, follow me up, let the fog mass our encounter. Scared? Don't be. Me? Totally. But its okay.. This will be okay, that's what they tell me. And the boys and girls, fixing the sewer, they know about me. They know, they know. Produce me some fog and hide me in the stars with the moon as my target, and let the fog mask the things I'm already masking.

Thaw Hope

An empty state of happiness, nestled closely to the equation. Filling up life, like a grocery bag, what are you after today? The shoplifting idea of promises and Hope is nothing just frozen food. Eat. Savory wisdom and all we've got is plastic, that okay? Cups, all foam, but we probably won't make it either, please eat this dessert and talk to me of change, change that won't happen, but thaw the Hope I'm coming for you. Donating to the food bank of emotions, like the land of lost toys, 'tis the season to believe? Wish lists and electronic shopping carts, I cannot fill them enough with what I want - out of stock, armor up, the struggle of a whole new game put into play. Expired. Is this thing out dated? It continues to feel so brand new, but perhaps I'm used to the new me - used, hypothetically speaking we are brand new to each other, two people, ever changing, a constant change towards one another and they never seem to be able to bottle this flavor just right, put us in the stores just right, satisfy the fix, you could be illegal? Am I looking for something told to go away, the thing that gets you high and knocks you down, am I on one helluva bender, are you exposing me to the white lines of a bathroom which seems to run through your veins so naturally. I am a starving bulimic, devouring and throwing up all the ideas I have of you.

Roll Me In The Dark

Light me up a cigarette.
I just cannot take my life tonight.
I really wish you wouldn't regret.
Time after time, that song you know.
It's always playing on the radio, at the worst times.
Light me up a cigarette.
I just cannot take my life tonight.
Tin foil my head, keep my brains in.
I don’t think it's working, I'm leaking from the eyes.
This doesn’t seem to be tears, but lighter fluid.
Set my clothes on fire, burn me right to a crisp.
I don’t want to be here any longer, so light me up a cigarette.
Set my hair on fire, for I am not my hair.
Cut off the vision, I don’t want to see this anymore.
I can feel the flames and that’s enough for me.
I don’t want to be here anymore.
Poison me, oh pretty please.
I want to see the darkness.
I want to go far from here.
Light me up a cigarette and push me off the cliff.
I want to die.
I want to go.
I cant make it anymore.
Roll me in the dark of night.
I cannot wait to see what's next.
Light me up a cigarette.
I cannot wait to see whats next.
I cannot wait.
Whats next...

Back Off My Scribbles

it's all scribble, everything i've got to say and i'm not sure you want to know or if you care for it at all but it's true, it's all true and my truths might just be scribbles. gradually making sense to me, the writer, making so much sense to me, i scribble and scribble and i feel the emotion, the emotion within me, spilling out, i feel the scribble. you want to read it, dont you? you beg you eyes to stay away from it because just like your lips want to kiss me, your eyes want to see my truths, my scribble but i beg you just the same, turn away and don't look at this.. cope another way and turn away from my scribble. vacation to a far away place, please. a place far from me would prevent your eyes to see my scribble and prevent your mind off the truth, my truth. you aren't sober nor drunk enough to handle the impact of these scribbles and there is no crayola hue to make you feel better about the stunning impact they are effecting you, so simple solution to make this lighter on you, to make this feel better for you and i dont care, i cant. i cant help but not want help - and the truth is here, in this scribble so turn off your ears and stop studying my attempt to make sense of things for myself, i cannot take care of you because i cannot take care of me and the time well spent on these scribbles mean the entire world for me and nothing to you and maybe something to you, a tad chunk of something but i wont admit the truths to you in any other form except these scribbles. these things, they exhaust you? if you really wanted to know i would scribble something for you to breathe in, and i would take a second to make you feel better about it but i cant and i wont, and you wont stop and i have to stop... to suggest my scribbles would make you feel better is a lie, and i wont lie to you, stop here. go no further. my scribbles will not comfort or accompany you - they are the dark side of everything, am i killing your joy and i putting a plastic bag on your hope because these scribbles will continue and they wont quit, and you've been warned, back off my scribbles.

Domino Effecting the Decibels

Pigments. Different shades, representing the different pieces of the different people you confide in. Sound. Different volumes, representing all the things those different people, want to say, some they scream and some they whisper, some talking so quietly we don’t even realize and we continue you on with guilty stories, domino effecting the decibels around you. Weight. The different weight of different things, people lifting conversations with the lightest touch no even noticing the ten pound sliver of reason sitting atop, we all are some sort of weight life champions, going about conversations and stepping right on top of the words that mean so much and were such a strain to the ones whom mouths they fell out of. Telephones. Calling me, calling you, texting this and texting that, click flash, evidence. Hair. Messed up, guilty. All fresh, untouchable, bellow the collar bone touching and anything that happens now will fade away in the shower. Water. Drinking it and using it to our advantage. Pretending. Pretending boys, acting like they know what they want and that they are strong, strong pretending boy crying now, was it to be expected? The vault is open and the emotions were flooding and the alcohol induced playground definitely didn’t work for you, but wonders for me, honestly, I am wondering. Still. Wondering. Pretending girls, pretending to hate and pretending to love, pretending all these things to actually end up loving and caring and they really must go back to pretending already, please pretend some more wont you, Peter Pan. Stop talking, all you ever say is pointless. You’re pointless. Schemes. Plots for parties and plots for hearts. You’re a hunter, your weapon… charm. You’re location, the intimate places, bed and dark rooms and moments and eyes are casted toward strangers or out of the light, and you are curiously lame. Stare. Stare with your own eyes, you keep acting like your someone else, left the old you in the closet, you are a closeted body that’s for sure. Upside to this is no side, good bye.

Friday, December 2, 2011

Flick of Lash

Indirect let down.
The atmosphere has everything to do with it. Truth not acceptable here. Only visa and actions not up to par. Park bench isolation. Words working wonders. Wonders enhanced by words. Nothing is working. Catch your breath before you go. Asthma attack, can't relax. Sunshine blazing and I can't see you. Bragging and reacting.  Reacting to the actions of a reaction. Hats covering eats to disclose information previously heard. Jackets covering body, the same body you could crumple against. Passing by without a flick of lash. Lashing out at the idea somewhere else. No stop commotion. Come on, where's the motion. Stop and Go. This is not the city bus. We are constantly getting on and off each other. Whore. We such sluts with one another. Bold smart. Not smart. Dumb. I'm with stupid.  Not really, actually, stupid checked out. Library book expired, but still in my pockets. Stupid is contagious. Over thinking. Perhaps if I never see you again. Good thing? Drop the line. Ill try and walk it. Noticing the curve in the vocabulary. Sentence structure lacking connectivity. Oxygen cut, reaching for constants to rearrange for a lifeline, I should throw in the gummy heart, melt the sugar right down to a cube, place that cube under my tongue and keep this idea apart of me and not a rotten egg in a carton of flowers..