Internet Baby Can't Handle the Truth

you project an image

that we all see

you defend an image

you feel we believe

you plagiarize moments in time

you remodel pictures, with all your disguise

you desensitize memories

and infiltrate futures

you've created a network

but this isn't dreamworks

and you are slowly

losing all your pixels,

internet baby, take a step outside

internet baby, quit typing your lies

internet baby, you are so lonely and disconnected

refresh. reboot.

internet baby, we've got nothing left for you

Your Business is a Disease, Left For Someone Else to Catch

your business is not something i want to invest in.

you in general are just  a waste of space and are

eating up my contributions to society in the

most unnatural, unpleasing, and severly unhygienic

ways. your business is something like laundry,

and you've hung it to dry in the most public of

places, leaving it in the park for anyone to come

and gander, to poke and prod, to make assumptions and to assume 

is surely what is happening, but you're in the business of lies and deceit, 

of debt and regret. your business is a sinking ship 

and even those become valuable because the legends

 start up and there are souvniers and we are all suddenly standing in line waiting 

for the foam fingers and light up sticks so we can show 

that we had known and known all along. your business is a closed shop on the corner 

of a downtown street; filled with squatters and bad publicity. 

you are the face of a serious problem. your business is something i want away from

but it's like a toxic poison dripping into all the outlets and found

 on bus stops and under couch cushions. you business is a disease left 

for someone else to catch, you think your operation is baseball 

but you are missing all your targets and all your balls have fallen out of your basket. 

your business is something we don't want to get into. 

but you've corrupted our lives with all your cries and i am trying to cut all ties, 

but to cut the ties would mean to die and to die by your side; 

would be such an incredibly fucked up thing to do 

because your bed has been made, and lay with the roaches you will

 because the flowers have all spoiled and you words are charred and broiled 

and i hope you get out of the business of being in our business, 

you filthy animal.

 

Moon Bound

scattered pop culture,

throwing in the magazine.

i don't want to be involved

with my own self proclaimed

insanity, but if i were to meet

myself on another day, i might

just try to talk myself into

a different way, but as i converse

with myself in the middle of this

afternoon i cannot help but

distaste the doom and

beg for something different

to get me to the moon.

Devouring Myself

Already the season is changing and I have yet to board the ship. The time is lapsing and I feel the urge to miss. And as we do go passing, like two strong solid ships, you will be full of passengers and I will be full of shit. There is a different kind of air coming in from the east and it is uplifting me from my sit, demanding greatness at least... but I have misplaced my feet to step up to the plate and I am starving for a solitude that has me clothed in a terrifying defeat. I imagine me seeing you in a warmed little shop, touching trinkets and ruffling hair, paying no attention to the clock. All the while I am seeing you I can't help but feel like I don't belong and I probably never will due to my turning infiltration of devouring myself. And as I cause a ripple in my own stream I will always admire that you were grounded there with memories while I was off on a forever flee.

Unlocking My Atmosphere

there was a moment of devastation,

a brief flaunting moment where i thought

the walls i had created were going to

crumble down, leaving me in a pile of

rubble, rubble i still dont think i am ready to

try and go through, put back together.

i dont want to collect the pieces.

id rather leave them there, discarded

for some lost soul to find and take a look.

ill find new walls to build, under different

sun and with new surroundings that i

wont care to see, but i should be fine.

and knowing that someone else is looking

at what was once me and thinking about

it makes me think i might not need these

walls, but my heart is far to weak for

such nonsense.. and the possibilities.

i dont think my heart is ready for the

possibility of telling you all about my

opportunity to move up and out without

the walls.. i think i want that sense of

freedom, i want to just be. and to be

without the confinement of myself, i was

locked in my own prison and i have

picked the lock and am stepping out

into a different kind of cage within

the atmosphere and giving it a shot.

Half a Bottle, Half Shaved Legs

She drew a bath.
Drank half a bottle of wine.
Sat back. Relaxed.
Murmured to the curtain about
her life, her job, her day, her future.
She propped up one leg.
Lathered. And shaved it precisely.
Sat back. Relaxed.
Finished the other half of the bottle.
Propped up the other leg.
Lathered. Shaved absent mindedly.
She drains the tub.
Towels off.
Goes to bed.
She likes to feel her legs
                                                      in bed, the way a man would
                                                      feel them, after half a bottle of wine.