Thursday, February 21, 2013

Shed This Skin

how do i shed this skin, find 
a better one to live in.. i'm not 
talking death, but i've been 
changing my clothes and 
absolutely nothing is happening. 
i lay naked, buy my coffee from 
another place, tied my shoes the 
opposite way, and still i feel 
the heaviness. it must be inside 
of me, somewhere i can't see. 
because everything i could 
change i've changed and i still 
don't feel any closer to being me.

Smoking Water

smokin' cigarettes in the 
bath tub, hoping the water
and smoke will fill the cracks.
fragements of myself are
scattered around this town.
slowly everything is chipping
away at me. the cracks
in the sidewalks reflect
pieces of me, i try to connect
the dots and end up scattered
like ashes, somewhere else.
i can't get close to the ocean
because it will swallow me up
and i will let it, even though
i can swim, i will sink. i step
back from you because you
want to fill the cracks, but the 
preassure will break me all
over again.

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Kids No Longer Fearing Monsters Under Beds

I had a dream about all those kids on TV. The crying kids ripped from society and their alphabets with the ripples of gun powder. Their noses were dusted with the thin lining of dust that lays upon gym floors and some had the tops of their heads dusted, I could imagine from clinging to necks of brooms. I saw all these little people rising and falling like popsicle sticks, still colourful and sticky, they smelt of fear and paste and I was suddenly saddened. A wasteland of youth, so far from knowing evil. For evil no longer being a bad dream, a boogie man, the enemy in a video game, or what Scooby and Shaggy so fearful sought out. I dreamed of these children and wanted to take away their pain. For they shouldn't know insomnia yet and I would harbor that so they could move forward and shake hands with the devil later. For meeting him in all his forms is inevitable but if I could postpone that, to unquiver their lips and unwet their pants, I would've. I woke up to another batch of kids being terrorized on the news and wish I could've dreamt away their experience.

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Fluff and Skye

the sky made me nervous. 
with it always looking down on me. 
waiting to swallow me. i prayed for 
rain because then it would always 
be busy, busy with something else. 
paying no attention to me. 
while i paid all my attention to it. 
the sky. 
so vast and high above me. 
once i stopped fearing it, 
i wanted to be apart of it. 
high, up there, among fluff. 
i get tired of the overwhelming 
state of earth i am in, 
this ground, has me grounded, 
and i hated when my parents would 
try, try to ground me, that's why 
i ran away. 
and feared the sky. 
than got high. 
embraced the sky. 
met a guy name Skye. 
he wanted to take me higher. 
i'd soon give in to his fluff. 
he'd crack it. 
burn it. 
shoot it. 
pass it. 
help me. 
we'd go there. 
up, way, way way, up. 
he looked beautiful, 
my own piece of the Skye. 
grounded and high, 
floating with me. 
my parents would call, 
random payphones, 
payphones i had pleaded to them on. 
pleaded to let me come home, 
for the fear of my Skye. 
blue eyes, fluff, i'd confuse the two. 
for my Skye and sky were intertwined. 
calling me into a deeper blue, 
one both sad, and high, and lovely. 
Skye came crashing down, 
broke into a million tiny pieces, 
all shaped like stars. 
i took it as a sign. 
laid in my parents empty pool. 
the blue was always something i 
wanted to be close too. 
they found me, 
took me in, 
got me to a different place in my life. 
the only time i get close to the sky 
and a high now is when i am traveling. 
on a silver bird, filled with jet fuel. 
gets me to a happy place, 
i am better now than i have ever been.

Sunday, February 10, 2013

A Towel Named Sid Vicious

I'm sitting on the toilet lid staring at the towels. I don't know how this happened but they were breathing. Short little contractions, wavy like gravy. I put my hand up, tested the atmosphere, nothing. My own breathing is so minimalistic I can't be causing this. I step into the tub, stare at the towels, they continued to breathe. I think as I stand there close to the curtain, that I might be able to feel it. I pause. Focus. I really focus on myself and get a tiny sensation, a cross between spiders and cocaine. Did the spiders take the cocaine? Or the towels? Did someone use the towel to clean up a cocaine spill? How much could I sell that towel for, would it stop breathing if I sold it? Maybe I could just ring the cocaine out.. I stepped out of the tub. Didn't bother washing my hands. Flicked the water on and off to create a sense of cleanliness. Stuffed the towel in my back pocket let it flip out as to not suffocate it. Went back into the party. Everyone glazed and dusted, a room full of after hour donuts. I named the towel Sid after Sid Vicious and walked out, leaving the door open, searching for a place to crash.

Wednesday, February 6, 2013

Let's Not Offend the Catfish

you lack a moral code, and although i am entirely unsure if i even have one of those, i know for fact that you do not because of the way your face sits there on your head and your head is situated upon this tree stump of a neck and your shoulders look soggy. soggy shoulders are a good clue that any sort of moral code is missing because shoulders like that couldn't carry the weight of anything. their stale, you're stale and i know the risky business you would get into and the shadowed paths you would take to get there. this doesn't make you tough and it doesn't make you hardcore, your shoulders are a dead giveaway that you would never be those two things. you've got no substance, and the moral code well it gives you some stuffing, defines the contours of your body and protrudes like a self declaration of personality. you lack a moral code and i believe you to be a bottom feeder being, not even a catfish because i believe a catfish would have some sort of code.. and well that and catfish don't have shoulders so i can't see the definition of themselves. but you. i feel absolute pity for your shoulders, and the weight of that worthless head they have to carry around filled with nothing, a drought of disgust. i mean just look in the mirror, your pores are oozing with lack of moral code and pure self hate.

Tuesday, February 5, 2013

Dreamland, Aisle 2

Broken down TVs and excuse me Ms. Squeeze Me but this is not a petting zoo and I cannot be touching you incase.. 
I am infested with distorted images of my once muse, who is just a pin cushion of bad news, trippin' off a bad cruise and keeps squealin,
"I don't know what to dooo."
 Triple "oh" confusion, downed with triple stiff liquid and there is some sort of triple dissection going on in this election of best selections... and you're just a lipstick smear on a politician's napkin, but these politics are kind of wet and out of time and you better get back to your nine to five, 
destination Dreamland, aisle two, coming up on the right side of wrong on you. Stay wide or crash and burn into the Hollywood sign, the blindside.

Monday, February 4, 2013

Psychotic Carpet

there is a distant sort of love that must stay platonic because if it were to ever slip up, we'll that's surely be moronic. and for all the things i've thought to say and think them still, i'm on it.. trying to sweep the pieces of my messed up heart under someone else's carpet. i'm telling myself to stop it.. but masochistic tendencies are hard to kick - ironic? running outside of my skin, trying to flee the scene. i need a change of pace; a different eye shadow.. a different gleam.. this distant present feeling has me flat lining. i realize i am coming off psychotic.