Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Everything in the Warm Spot

Turning the mirror. We try to distort ourselves because the sensual dots cannot be connected. Feeling disconnected and connected at the exact same time. Perfect behind the door, new zip codes offer hearts new faces, recognized strangers, same effect in the lazy day sunny light peeking over top of drawn shades. Everything in one big warm spot. Not willing to go. Fighting to stay. Doing it all over again, perfect day.

Monday, February 27, 2012

Wrap You in Plastic, Fit In

there is a moment i cannot recall calling you, but i had to have because of all the thoughts this alcohol has highlighted in my pursuit and i cant wait to wrap you in plastic and fit in.

Saturday, February 25, 2012

Just Barely Bare

I'm just barely naked. and we're just barely friends. you're just barely there and we we're barely even happening. and the time was barely covering us and the snow was barely falling and the climax was barely there. and you were barely bare. and I was barely trying. and you were barely trying. were you ever barely there? we we're barely making up, we both barely care. we barely fall in sequin, you barely held my stare. I barely gave up. you barely showed up. we barely even matter. we're barely even here.

Friday, February 24, 2012

Warming All Sorts of My Figure

sprinkling beaus, this is a smoke show tyranny that is elongated the shouldering aspirations of sparkling disasters and sexually active fires that make all your desires burn in the worst way. the magnified delicatessens of salaried bonuses and you are a bonefide religion, i believe in the belief that what i am believing is in a sham and it gives me such hopefulness. this is distracting the charges of my interest in you; am I even that interested. the disinterest is leaving a beautiful lipstick rim on this glass sloshing with the fizzy end of the lollipop and I cannot wait to see you dance. your squirming inquisitions has made up the displacement of elastic vision that keeps warming all sorts of my figure.

Waste in Taste

wasted space, there is a waste in taste when taking a bite out of you. taking a bite out of me, glorified hate, and I am starting to understand the premature human quality you have and i've let go all at the same time.

Thursday, February 23, 2012

Weight of Your Absoluteness

the defeating sound of not just giving up but believing in the strength that giving up is the best decision you've got. deciding things that should've been decided a long time ago, sadly the decibel in this decision has to prelude into higher notes and sure this is a real bad situation but not as bad as the larger one we've been sitting in. done. like dinner? no forget it, because once dinner is done you get dessert and we are no where close to the good stuff, never have been entitled to the good stuff. leaving the scene, closing the curtain, forgetting the credits because why would you get credit for the amount of ache you've caused in a social life that was experience such absoluteness in a light way, and now the weight of your absoluteness is causing a coating of fret. I am so tired of fretting over the insignificant things you are made up of.. lacing up all the words and things I've cherished and subletting them to a category that you have now been banished too.

How Deep Dish You Are

your attitude is so deep sea, and there is nothing but murky undertones of ill devised memories crashing down on my shore. for surely, you know how deep dish you are, and how superficial the under belly of your mannerisms appear. a fizzy outraged game of leap frog and may I order another glass of your infidelities because you aren't acting like yourself, so we like to give you the benefit of the doubt, but this is exactly who you are. and time will only prove the fact not tell us other things, because you aren't about to change, and im not about to change and there is no change for any of us.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Time Has Never Been a Good Friend of Mine

the im not quite sure screaming, i am so sure. the so sure measuring up at all the wrong times and time has never been a good friend of mine and done. yes, just that done, squash the bug and carry on and forget the pieces left behind because they were no good then, theyll be no good now and the surely screaming possibilities of all that is over, this is goodbye, not got goodnight, not forgetting always remembering the way the moon and atmosphere have this gravitational pull that is out of your decisions, out of your conscious and this is goodbye not just goodnight, but goodbye. good and bye.

Monday, February 20, 2012

Little Consequential

The feel of the world i thought i knew has become slippery. I am slipping on the idea of its gravitational pull. Help? I wont bother asking, i cannot ask anymore, it has become all wasted we'll live in this oasis, that still takes my thoughts through the ringers and back. Through the ringers again, i am feeling a little consequential. Dont catch me, i am falling, at a significant rate i cannot see myself. There is a pull, a metaphoric pull that has me slowly slipping into a knife and fork platter of battering the roll ups and roll downs of change, the hand of the clock is killing me. Killing me, listen closely you can hear the silent lavender laughs of it's tick tick tok.

Sunday, February 19, 2012

Escape to Pleasure

the satire of a state of mind, developed long and hard over time. chillin' in America and forgetting all that have forgotten me. dirty dancing under the snowy trees, and stealing affection with the Pepsi cool eyes of that Coca-Cola smile. falling up and falling down, let's shake shake shake this. wonderful  little candy coated ambitions and the achieving unbalancing. suds and warmth. twinkling Christmas lights in the cool of June, summer is no where near us but we can pretend out here. the razzle dazzle rose of self inflicting pleasure. professional talking in the coldness of the night, under the head of the passion that is escaping the darkness that has our senses clothed in relative sheerness. the beautiful tossing of you pleasure and escape. escape to pleasure.

Thursday, February 16, 2012

Need Away From You

the need to stand still without a thought or care in my way. a moment to just really look at my surroundings, i cannot for the life of me catch enough air to fill my lungs, what is the matter. the auburn light filling me and still there are parts of this slumber incomplete resting on my shoulders, dare i say anything with pitchers of influence rushing my soul.. i cannot catch my footing, remember me? distracted from the vistas of the efforts i have relinquished to my soul. Drifting in and out of this place that doesn't feel the same with you and surely doesn't feel the same without you. I need to get away from you, away from you. I need too. Need. Away. I need to get away from you.

Sunday, February 12, 2012

Punctuating Watercolours

the absent mind, not so absently kicking thoughts to and from. A sadistic little tongue twister with the ability to drown the heart and set fire to the small swellings in the eyes, the spot that causes the tears. The isolation of muted emotion. The auto correction of action that shouldnt be made and the premeditated resistance. Knives close, forks far. Heart in a cage, close the door, saunter heartlessly into the trade world, same world that is going to snatch the emoticons from your devices and misplace punctuation reversing words and punctuating the heart. the dislocation of all that has been properly volleyed off shore and into the ruins. the wishy washy ways of affection and the screaming attention to the mind that misplacing the stupidities will only cause my causalities, and how many times are you willing to die for the same person, the same reason? the same fight, all washed out. let the water colours soar through other lives, there is nothing left of this picture.

Saturday, February 11, 2012


the noticeably noted dissatisfaction on the stain that you call a life, suddenly reeking chaos on the distant distractions that have gently untied themselves from any connection to you and your net, doesn't work and the network which you have used as an umbrella is slowly relishing in the certain circumstance of all that is pretty ugly. to get control on your alt, has been deleted and you are no longer in touch with the technologies. the high you are on, taking you much further than cloud 9, 10, and 11. the conversations, flat lining and the meaning and translation all lost beside you because you are too lazy, too self aware to actually pay any attention to the third party of capabilities, facing the facts, but the facts do not compute, they have nothing in correlation to the substance you choose to abuse, the substance being life. your stain of a life. that you, like an oxymoron, don't use and misuse all at the same time with undoubtedly melancholy  shuffle that has you going everywhere and nowhere, because you are stuck, a standstill, and we will no longer be your cheerleaders. all the possibilities, disappearing, nothing saved. the times all wasted, all gone away, no next times, no this times, nothing but the yestertimes that you have come waft in their comfort.

Friday, February 10, 2012

Yarn Heart

nicotine patch, is there a gum for the kryptonite slime that is hanging on the inside of this jacket tonight. and will the drops of booze in this bottle please refrain me from making the same mistakes. cant even blame the bottle because i am soberly indulging in the waste case that has a name but we'll choose to forget it here because its not worthy of uttering and will most likely cause more trouble, another sling shot of heavenly put together crap all intertwined with the wine and dine of such sexual energy, sexual energy. the freckle of disgust that seems to saunter off in a beauty mark sort of way has the mind swayed for hours, days, weeks... right on the verge of absolute expectancy and yet each and every time the bridge goes down my heart sinks and i feel the welling of inappropriate emotions and what the hell in the world is going on within the stars that will not connect to dots and the insides of a stubborn heart that will not just throw in the towel and saunter into oblivion or the rational being that will not claim the fame and walk away from such blasphemy. marvel in the unravelling of my yarn heart and the dirty cat with awful whiskers keeps swatting at the strings all the while encouraging people and places and meaning nothing to anyone and nothing to no one and running away from everything that probably would easily support and cheer for their accomplishments in the entire soiree of their lives, but why beckon to such hopefulness when you can scratch the hand that feeds you, you will no doubt scratch the hand that wants to kiss you.

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Budding Infidelity

a budding infidelity with a source of movement.
everything is changing. changing. everything.
a budding infidelity with a source of movement.
a budding infidelity with a source of movement.
changing. change. everything. every. thing. change.
a budding infidelity with a source of movement.
a budding infidelity with a source of movement.
a budding infidelity with a source of movement.
budding. source. infidelity. movement. change.
everything is changing. changing. everything.

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Knowing Everything, Not

and in times when you think you know everything, when you really think you got a thing or two down pat, you start to realize that everything you ever thought about, everything you might have known, or everyone you thought you knew of... you actually knew nothing at all. the severe case of nothing, something and nothing at the exact same time as your entire world separating and the directions have changed, because nothing in the world - your world - makes any sense. for the things you knew about, and the things you wanted to know, decide to pile on the things you never would've thought creating a tension of not knowing anything or anyone all at the same time. knowing nothing and nothing knowing everything and everything remaining everything when you're still stuck in a constant loop of not knowing.

Sunday, February 5, 2012

Holy You

The verbal satire of a pivotal action in the life you live. The actions of that life erupting into a clockwise spin of whirl wind promises and inspiration. This is a cushion of all you ever wanted. All you've ever needed soon dissolves into residential places and your scenic route becomes a war zone of money and the language of money. Chirping at different hours of the night wanting, always wanting. The need and want begins to merge and there soon becomes no difference because the fight is all the same. Everything coming down to a pretty penny, and the cost of this and the cost of that do not value the entire value of what is valuable to you. but i would throw it all into a fountain on a wish to get to you. 

Character Within Me.

your teeth glisten in the light and all i can do is hope that i can catch your eyes and hold them there just long enough. hold you stares with the clutches of my pupils and kiss your soul with such precious lips it would make your insides smile and your skin would melt like butter but you would feel for certain about everything and you wouldn't doubt the person i am. the character within me. hidden agendas, the motives aren't clear, the instigating and the precession becomes unaware, and in the darkness i can feel you. i can feel your doubt. go ahead, give in. leave your doubt somewhere else. stop doubting, start smiling.

Hurry Up & Bite My Tongue

the vindicated lubricant to our not so impressive moments, interlocking with the choice of words and timing, all banding together to create turbulence. the gang up of opinions and actions all with a swift non-thinking entertainment slot. entertain, nothing. back tracking, stop tracking, stop recognizing. over analyzing the opposition and buttering up personal philosophies with accuracy and aiming at all the wrong people at all the wrong times in all the wrong places. you are right. a spillage of self loathing and a force field of "i think i am the funniest person in the world right now" the world is turning off because of sentimental drainage, sucking the life out of all the decisions. slapping into the whoa moment of what was done, and no undo button on this Tuesday. hurry, bite my tongue, i feel it coming up. bite bite bite bite bite me, already. would yeah, please, go for it.

Friday, February 3, 2012

Trapeze Steeze

There is a stirring of truth that has fleeted my mind and landed on your fingertips and I cant help but enjoy it. The resisting action of foretelling and predicting the outcome, I am no mathematician and my math friends have put together that this plus that equals you and you plus me equals we have been here before we actually never left putting the ringer on vibrate, we feel it, you're feeling me. Honestly I'm not sure what sup with my trait i got no fate and our steps are just like the next... no use to wait, so why do I fight. Fight for the opportunity and suddenly feeling the trapeze because ive sold my steeze for the easiest breaths of fresh air.

Thursday, February 2, 2012

My Private Parts in the Living Room

Sprouting ideas with roots like weeds getting in the spaces of everything, wherever there is room to breathe. These ideas contributing to the mediocrity of the day and tinges the sun with a little more life. How lovely is the liveliness of all that is living. Humble submission into a lot of unprotected facial expressions. The pancakes on this plate suddenly look so sad. The sadness of the happiness has no idea what to do with the trigger of a warm gun. The privacy of the living room, not so private. My private parts in the living room. The absolute resolution of all that is dissolute and the pixels on the image half slacked to present a more candid moment in history instead of the guzzling gooey eyed one it likes to force feed down the wrong pipe. The ideas talking over your thoughts, your thoughts infiltrated with old ideas, believed to be left behind at that party in those pants with that guy and his haircut, but they never left, split seconds, elbow room to escape the colliding energy of ideas that never leave your collar.

Conjugate Me Like a Verb

a super absorbent moment, this is not a tampon commercial. a relatively sexy, yet dignified moment from all of my best friends. a toast, with pop tarts to the concurrent lifestyle of you and me, me and you. the self within the self begging for silence with the loudest, beast-like tone it can conjure up. conjugate me, like a verb. dancing to the rain, and it's not even raining, but the demise of the weather is playing like jelly tentacles in the pit of another's mind. a love affair, lasting a thousand years, and begging for more sexuality. the hype of nothing. the nothing for a hype so surreal it leaves your heart poppin' like a balloon filled with explosives. light a match, match me up. forget about the whole ordeal. order another one of those deals, the two for one's. i really would like another milkshake, why are all the boys in my backyard? twisting the knife made of crystal, angled into the right light for a disco party glam shock rock scene.

This Cigarette Is Looking Better Than You Ever Did

i am writing you this with the intentions of setting it on fire. not because i dont want you to read it or have it in your possession or anything. its for you. thats why im writing it. but the intention to burn it to a lightening crisp brings much more satisfaction then having my words mouthed by your lips, and this ciagrette is looking much more beautiful then you ever did. im making sweet love, to this bottle of wine. and i am writing all the junk that is tattoo'd on my mind, because the sooner i have discarded all of this stuff, there will be much more room for a lot of punch drunk love fun. the smoke from this cigarette has your name highlighted on my page, isolating you like some deadbeat magician losing his hair. ive thrown the cups out the window, they remind me of you. all them, even the measuring cup. and i am drinking from the bottle, smoking for miles, the window is open and i might hear you calling. the phone is off the hook and my pen is just about broke, writing all this sentimental advertisement wont get me a good bloke. but thats not entirely what im after, just another smoke. someone with a smoking jacket, and who wont educated me on the harms of cancer. this cigarette is looking a lot better then you ever did. and im writing all this stuff, so i can burn it to a crisp, and move on with the glittery ashes of my life, no more settling, no more shit.

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Confessions to Confucius

The markup on these feelings are starting to feel a little Good Will. Expired? Have all my good times run with my mascara on nights that resulted into temporary suicide, over thinking sharper then a knife. Heavy conscious, dapper glitter, confessions to Confucius because no one can tell me who that is and im not up for the third degree if you know a little about me. Stranger affection, dark side connections... The light represents much more then poetic irony in this club. Sitting closer to the speaker looking for a face, vibrating revelations and i am praying to the nonexistent symphonies. Is there a doc in the building, can i get some help? Is there a cop in the house, im looking to get roughed up. Is there a drug dealer anywhere abouts, just give me a fix and a better club mix. Have all my good times run out?