I'm Evaporating

I'm going to be benched. I can feel it in the way your swaying. I'm going to be benched and there is nothing I can do about it. I can be typical; start to sweat it now. We could begin the argument, the one I know I'll lose but you'll know this already and you'll know the way I am so I won't stop and I'll put up a good fight. The gloves are on, the gloves are off but it doesn't matter because I'm going to put up a monster of a fight because I care or because I don’t want to be eliminated from your slate but I will be. Over time you I will be over killed and we will fight, but I will be benched. The transformation for you will be easy I think, not that I'm deeming you as insensitive or something, however it'll fit perfectly. Knock me down a couple of pegs and not replace me, because I cant give you that much credit and I cant begin to compare myself to that because I will be benched not erased, but close enough. I am evaporating. I'm going to be nothing but a watermark on the back of your relationship. I'm being selfish, I can feel it in fingernails that I am trying to grasp something that I cant. I should be selfless, try and let you go, become something new, a different part of me should move on, and forever you should remain a memory, a stranger, a passerby on a rainy day and ill take more notice to your umbrella than your face because I wont want to rehatch things, I don’t want to be dragged back to the bench because that’s where I will have always been since that moment of realization, a moment you decided. A decision made. And I should accept it. Why am I trying to give the ring around for myself, to better, myself, no. It will still hurt, it won't matter I'll be benched. Ill be pissed and sad and angry and Ill hate you. Secretly Ill still adore you, creep your life, catch glimpses of it here and there so I can stay under the radar. I;; have this waterfall of emotions and every cash along the rocks will result in a brand new approach. Crash - Anger. Crash - Sad. Crash - Content. I'll forget to forget you, and remember to forget you when I've already realized I'm remembering you again. I'm being forgotten, nothing but a picture at the bottom of your box of memories. I'm evaporating, and without these words it wouldn’t be a problem, but soon you won't even notice.

Horizon Robbery

Icy irises and liquid lips on faces of people in the sun and delicious ideas flowing from the corner of your mind to the sky. The horizon begins to clothe the table for a fancy party and invitations pressed against tongues time and time ago. Arriving in your best decor dressed for the dance floor and for bed. Who's venue, who's room - minor details that won't phase you tonight. Twinkling stars act like Christmas lights and its not that time of year, thank the young heavens for that for the breeze of Jupiter are kissing our exposed skin, exposed dreams, and exposed infatuation tonight. Gardens of kisses and in the night of star dust we will blossom with mesmerizing integrity. A summery feeling catching glimpses of ability and the ability of your pride now rests assured in the corners of blind eyes. Robbing you of your contents, contents you didn't realize i could see, things you've put away. and the brand new day is calling me to the inside of secrets and a new perspective is enclosed in this piece of happiness. an effecting affection spinning the wheels and the direction has changed, falling in love with the voice on your robbery, straight shooting. pillows left, cold side to the sky and were going out - no sleeping, masked to the nines and the summer is going to break you free and there will be a time and place for everything other than that. a house of glass and i can see you, seeing me, seeing each other. a perplexed complexity on the moon and hello summer sun good bye spring tears, robbing you for much more than you will realize.

Tying The Noose On My Beliefs

I'm not in it. Its like a layer of bricks on my skull, my shoulders, the pressure is pressing me down down down. And it's so very unattractive. The way I'm biting my lip to the notion of something I feel so strongly about, but why. Stop and look in the mirror, out of sight/out of mind and perhaps that’s exactly what I shall do. One of these days I just wont care and then what, a force field of pent up ammunition that I am no longer responsible for because the target is direct but I cant seem to gain any self control. A walking disaster, what is my problem. Your problems are none of my business, and I am condoning such behavior. It's sickening how much I disagree and try to hold onto the slice of dream-like trance to make everything better. I was once put under the magnified glass, probed as if these actions were ones I was making and I wasn’t making them. Your making them. They are your actions and I will step aside. Tying the noose on my beliefs. Applauding something I don’t feel deserves the applaud. Blocking out what's happening all around with substances; music and liquid, I'm swimming in the beats, sipping on the beats and I am getting wasted to cover up things I don’t want to face because facing them with liquid music in my eyes makes it easier to pass the time and the time is now, help me applaud to this car crash. Don’t read into the words or take them as poetic analogies, for they are simple feelings metamorphosed into a more verbal approach. Take note of this. Look at it. Read it and don't fly off your rocket. I do not doubt the action or the feeling or the moment you are experiencing I do not doubt it at all. I am not enraged. I am not jealous. I am no longer going to worry. I am going to shelve my beliefs, tie the noose tight and throw the feelings somewhere else. I am no longer going to fight it with compassion or desire, I am no longer going to try and figure it out in a pretty way to paint pictures that will take away the empty feeling. I am going to walk away. Let the flame flicker in my shadow. I am going to drink away the pain with intoxicating music like an alcoholic to the reality of what I've done. I am shelved.

An Affair For Champions

Let me tell you about this thing. This passionate, fleeting, ultra violet love affair that has got me hooked. I don't use the word love loosely when diving into the depths of this affair because I am in love with it, the affair that is.. I use the word fleeting for an entirely effective purpose, because like the wind, this love affair is fleeting. This way and that way, but never reprimanded. Even while this affair is in action, fleeting to the next moment, minute, hour, or day it is present. Like a raindrop that has stained your skin, a likely comparison for anything so supple as this. The amount of passion this affair is containing in those moments, minutes, hours, or days is the root of all that is passionate. Passion would be based on this sort of thing. Ultra violet dresses the affair in a flowing flavour, a colour you could taste, recognizable with just the tips of your fingertips. Not rose coloured or a dream even tho those moments, minutes, hours, and days feel dream like and all your thoughts are replaced with dreams and marbles for eyes and everything almost brand new, but still brand new. A new corner, a fork in the road and things are happening. An affair for champions. A winning of fashionable characters. Let me tell you about this thing. This passionate, fleeting, ultra violet love affair that has got me thirsting for more. Like a vampire in the sun, I want to sparkle - but don’t get confused, this is no movie and there may come a time when decisions needs to be made or regrets start to surface, but for now and until those moments, minutes, hours, or days are backed into a corner and squeezed of a choice. I choose this passionate, fleeting, ultra violet love affair. I have invested a part of me into it and soon will bottle and sell it for cash money, because we all need one of these. Trust me, you need a passionate, fleeting, ultra violet love affair. A second where your name sounds like flowers in their mouth, and they are the most spectacular of flowers around.

Cleavage, Like a Landing Strip For Idle Affairs

Raise a cheek bone to this joyous occasion of drunken love and sober lust. Eyes glistening with a well lit spark, a flame fueled by attention, a longing of eye contact, silently undressing me from across the room. The smacking of heels across this hard wood floor is hardening other things, like candies in pockets. Cleavage, like a landing strip for idle affairs, affairs of even the most clothed embarking on naked adventures. Shiny teeth, and it's only eleven o'clock, nails just as shiny but soon will chip while you claw anticipation. Surprisingly ripped off by childish elements, turning liquid into pretty idealistic moments shared behind closed doors; be it closets, bathrooms, doors, and stairwells. The closure of one thing and the opening of another - mind blown wide open. Pretty truffles, the perfect colour of under garments on an ivory skin. Lips marking up the most expensive of collars and tongues playing with the idea of sultry secrets that will be picked up in hear say. A Cadillac of fevers with their high beams on, flashing for photographs that won't be framed, underwear drawer material and a years worth of blame. Hand cuffed to ambition, on the coat tails of powerful people, with an enraged tipsy feeling that has casted stars across your eyelids, and we aren't talking makeup tonight, we ain't talking makeup tonight.

Dancing On A Flame

I've developed this condition. It might be like a love affair, or a blossoming infatuation. However, all the symptoms are there, all the feelings of nostalgic passion keeping me up at night, an insomniacs twisted occupation. It's something like wet nail polish, after you've done two perfect coats, you have your hands tilted to the sky and your waiting for them to dry, you touch the tip of a finger lightly to your lips and like a deadly kiss you've marked yourself with a fantastic colour of cupcake furry and you laugh, amused at the action but kind of torn between the spot on your lip and the lip print on your finger. You contemplate, soon forget about it, later remember it, but ideally you want to befriend your nail, take care of it's weak spot. I have developed this condition that I wouldn't dare label as love probably lust, definitely lust. But a different form of lust, it's a strange combination of too much feeling and not enough feeling but at certain moments in time I'm teeter tottering on this ramsack of either one or the other. Suddenly I'll want to pounce and then suddenly I want to talk. It's a mix matched emotion of fear and excitement, losing it all and gaining everything or gaining everything and losing it all. A spork in the road, and the round of the spoon has consumed me and the prongs of the fork are begging me to act. Make a move. Stand still. Make a move, make a move. I'm dancing on a flame we have both lit, a flame that is taunting you and I and I'm rolling around the idea like bubbles in a bath. I've developed this condition.

Dancing to The Cure Like You Need a Dose of Medicine

don't take it lightly when you hear i love you, the rust on the outside isn't comparable to that of the diamonds that have encrusted the inside of something much more beautiful. follow the answers to questions, question the answers and rewrite your offer. sugar on the table and i would like to see your signature. statue of evidence in a fish net oasis, and high powered dreams can't fight this fire. touching down in different places - twirling around in fashionable manner. looking for a bitter solution of all this happiness. a league of upsetting dreams, leaving you up late at night. impressionable tools with the coincidence of locations, off the rack studio time and a serious sense of pride. a severe lip gloss with the intensity to grab stars out of the sky and place them safely in your pocket, a place that houses coins and trinkets, beers and drugs, ambition and desire, lust and love. dancing to the cure like you need a dose of medicine. lightening tricks and there is no magic in what i've got to tell you, all-star setup and i can't help writing. yearbook secrets in a swollen bind for years to come, glossy covered rumours with no place to go.

Lost Stars, Sinners Repent

breaking hearts that might already be broken. cigarettes unlit but we're already smoking. people jumping for the ceiling, trying to catch a flight. flicking on their sunglasses even though it's already night. waiting for the wake up call that just isn't coming, kids getting looped out - straight slumming. times flying by but we don't really care. laughing at each others jokes, dare i dare. falling over one another to get to the phone, no body's calling and no body's home. laugh tracks keeps playing, like a song on repeat - there is not much music but we dance to it's beat. crumpled up ambition we shoot for the net, land upon lost stars, sinners repent. fashionable poisons, we inject into our sleeves - off the cuff notions full of stamina and steez. concentrated slumber, but we won't sleep. kisses from mouths of absolute strangers, we don't mind the contact. contacting people on whole other levels, ladders reaching spaces that you didn't know were there. size able candies all wrapped and ready to go, cracking up words and throwing them out. wilding out in a conservative setting, no place mats or ties of embellishment. no tidy attitude to step on your high. a beautiful day. a sun. a sky. shopping carts full of envy and your shopping for composure, disciplining radiation, a fiery romance. let me. i want to. i want to romance you.

Answer With Tongue

jagged affairs, cascaded on the tables that were ones danced upon, with 6 inch heels and women who couldn't remember their names. shelves, 10 stories high, reaching the roofs were a chandelier hangs, the crystal houses pictures of images it has captured over time, images of nudity and sin, sin and nudity. the rugs still a little damp, the smell of perfume, hormones, and lust creep along the surface of this place. cigarettes still burning, ashes as long as eyelashes no one to flick them away, for the fear of the flick would draw attraction to the tension in a now deserted place of party and touch. showering in their clothes so they don't waste time, forget the boots, were taking our minds off boredom and escaping to the peek of sleep. a dream world were the pool is still filled with blow up people, wrappers and rappers. claimed acclamation we have yet to put credibility to. shopping for sequins, covering your manhood in disco appeal. covering the risk with glitter and sprinkling ambition and passion on parts of you, parts of you that you were unaware could be heightened in such ways. an addictive cringe now kisses your lips and you want nothing but touch, nothing but sound, nothing but the you and the me the now and the now the never has been forgotten and we're plunging into a curtain of capabilities, a section of questions we will now answer with only our tongues.

Don't Be Shy, Pretty

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Boys With Names Sippin' Drinks Called The Same

they say if your going, to take your heart and guts. blonde haired disco divas slammin' back shots. twisted little faces, puckering their mouths and temptation sure does look good after a couple of shots. highway driving in the middle of suburbia. bandannas in our hair but we really aren't giving up. pretending we have secrets while we sip our cups. swimming in pools full of cocktails and we aren't losing much. game face on but the game is over.meeting different people, trying to get closer.watermelon chap stick has got things magnified,and boys can't help but collapse at this disguise.summer sun lightening our vision high heels got us on a whole other mission. dipping into pools that belong to our neighbors,high five idealistics got everything on fire. plastic money to buy their plastic dreams.the all American present is getting reamed. global ambition and we're "rolling in the deep"sugar cube mentality, and tongues looking suspicious glorified fashionistas, pretty boy kisses old school games with old school drinks - modernized playground of jacks and jacks. no ball, no plastic pieces. boys with names sippin' drinks called the same.

Verbal Ambition on a Suicide Mission

verbal ambition on a suicide mission. things got you stumbling, straight tripping and putting your wishes, those wishes, on hold, call waiting - next ticket? writers block because it won't slow down, minds on fire and the sirens are loud. chaotic appeal shaking up the world and there's nothing straight about this curl. curve your attitude, wake up it's all brand new, and you've got to want it- to need it and need it to want it. mixing up the rights and wrongs, everything sounds good when your listening to those songs, dance moves suddenly catch your body off guard but the words are forming and they're coming on strong. dressed up, dressed down, the words are naked to the sound, pushing statements of actuality, can you hear the war on tragedy, punctuating the causalities and they don't know why they do what they do but they do it with pride, eyes to the sky, no looking down for the ground is what will surround you in the long term and we don't have to time, for we've got the short term and in that term it's your turn so what are you waiting for, make a move before the snakes come and get you and down the ladder you'll go - before you get drawn into this life, and life is a game, not a game show no complimentary prize, or big flashing banner, when the game is over - hello sleepy manor.

Lathered In Confidence

patching up mouths with other mouths, searching your eyes for your heart and your hands for your tongue. countless details, remembering each and every one of them. tears fading into smiles and memories rewiring into present day and your suddenly captivated by this new found glory, this trophy of beauty is now resting on your navel and we shall kiss until the stars electrify this map of marks that we will connect like dots. firefly motions and sparks just the same, not fourth of July but you wouldn't know the difference because the fireworks you've got are those of a celebration and it's caressing this notion that things don't make sense, and you aren't about to pick them apart, picnic mode, it's up for grabs and you want it all, you want it bad. dancing to the melody of a song you can't remember, searching the radio for something stronger, cheers to no one in particular, you just really need a drink, heart dancing, you can feel it in your feel. and ruffling up the world won't make it concrete, idling on this coaster. in heels that bring you that much closer, accessory of nudity and you aren't about the cover up, sun kissing you in places you want to be touched, stumbling into a big heap of flaws, but when your this naked, what could go wrong, lathered up in confidence, dance moves taught as if you were in combat.

Touchdown On You

what am i doing. who am i am. i could ask myself a million times over but what am i trying to prove? all this feeling in me and who am i trying to love, trying to feel. im a mess. one helluva hot mess trying to act like i dont want those things, but i want them - secretly ill never have them because of the front i display. i want you but i dont. i dont but i do. i want you, who the fuck am i kidding. doesnt matter who i talk to, who i try to explain it to. im a disaster trying to touchdown on you.

Astrological Embellishments

a feeling. strong and bold like characters; highlighted. right clicked and italicized, for better emphasis. a feeling that's grown fingernails, and with outstretched arms finds the grit of it all. a feeling which pushes it's eyes open to see the beautiful of it's shape. a feeling, going off like an alarm clock in a chest, a chest guarded with bulletproof faces, a feeling masked by oneself, masked by the world, masked to the world. a feeling. like a windstorm, shaking the core, twisting it in the light, allowing the feeling to spill out over a day of feelingless unmentionables. a feeling kicked in the dirt, toyed with on the shelf. a feeling, picked up. tossed about. left on the curb. a feeling of colour. the warmth of a purple hue, in the contrast dance of a feverant blue all colliding with loving mouths into a sea of yellow so enlightening it forms green, on the verge of red. a colour me feeling, on the topography of astrological embellishments, contorting it's face as if a new angle will allow new feeling. a feeling. rushed. silenced. angered. adored and ignored. a feeling built towards the sun and kisses the clouds so the stars can penetrate it's feeling with a sugary dust of longing, a feeling capitalized, bottled and sold. a feeling smeared with something much more whole, much more solid. an itemized feeling. alphabetized, organized and unorganized. a feeling you can't quite taste but your fingers are all over it. mark your words you know it's there, even if you are stringing along the most perfect of imperfect cocktails to make it real. a feeling of making up. a feeling of taking down. a feeling you carry in a Tiffany's box, like a girl's best friend.

Where The Things Run Wild

throwing yourself under the bus because why wait for someone else to do it. you see the green of the traffic light sweep to red and your foot doesn't release the pressure your putting on the pedal, it thunders on quickly, anticipating the crash. waiting for the slice of white light to drag you into darkness some sort of luck comes crawling out of a place and the intersection is clear, allowing you to make a slap shot slide onto an open road. suffocating time with an invisible fear, a bad idea that apologizes can't make up for. time twisting it's hands behind it's back and now bobs for your throat like vampires in the night. intensity, seeping into your pain. unpredictable confidence budding and blooming on the thorns of sympathy and creating bridges to places that your mind wish to wander, leave you standard on a paperback disaster where things are cutting edge and cut loose, where the things run wild and your mind isn't afraid of them. worthy of beautiful things, letting things in and letting things out. dealing with things, twisting them up. driving in and out. smiling with a tinge of death in the corner of your mouth. swimming into a pit of perplexities. cart wheels and half smiles, scared for your life and you can't keep running away from yourself. talking to yourself, trying to make sense of things, cashing in paper bills for cents and closure.

All She Wants Is Darkness

she's full of truths. lies, and poison. she paints her lips outside the lines, to make them appear bigger. adoring the sultry smiles of women on the big screen. stays up late at night confessing things to herself, talking herself in and out of trouble. she wants everything and nothing all at once. she lives in a house, with a family and things. nice things, bad things, this house is full of things. things you can hold, and admire and things she'd rather tuck into her skull, leave them in a little nook, somewhere no one will find them. she's full of love. hate, wrapped in bow ties. she's fill of questions. answers, and surprises. she wears dresses that don't make her feel anymore clothed then if she were naked. she's full of promise. but she wouldn't dare make you one. broken pieces lay scattered at the bottom of her underwear drawer. pieces she could never put back together because some how she has misplaced a few of them, she would look for them but she fears the product they would create, the puzzle that would be answered with them all connected. she walks through life with things on her mind, piles of things, piling up into the sky. she walks through life. she does. turning over rocks she pokes at the darkness, the emptiness that seems so full, she inquires on why the sun doesn't try to poke into this space, why like water, must it spill into all of her, shine on everything she wishes to hid in the darkness, yet this rock; such a bore in all it's entirety, gets away with housing it's nothing in a darkness she longs to find, longs to capture and live inside, hide behind. all she wants is darkness.

Simply Shocked Surprised Syndrome

shocked.

your shocked at what you just went through your mind.

scared.

because this isn't the first, or the last time.

stunned.

as if headlights flashed in your eyes from the front end of a beautiful car.

surprised.

this is one, this isn't brand new at all.

simplified.

waiting for something to become dull.

shaded.

without reason.

scorn.

the possibilities that lay before you.

super.

intense, magnified.

stranded.

and you really don't have a care in the world.

shocked.

like a shock of blonde hair and your don't even care, no need to play with reason and the hype of brand new has faded, and it's the world and your eyes, a constant battle without any surprise.

Your Smile Does Things To Me

i've got to tell you something devilishly frightful. full of promise and hope, compassion and indigo smiles. i've got to tell you something so explosive it'll make you want to dance, casting shadows above your head into the night's sky, you would think it's the forth of july. it's mega, larger than life. beautiful like library books and sultry like cigarettes in glamorous, dressed up people.. huffing and puffing on glamorous poison, sending fog into the night. i've got to tell you, i've got to tell you. this is going to come as a surprise, but then again you might have known all along, what i've got to tell you, got to tell you. and when i tell you, oh i can't wait to see your eyes for they will cast a glance into space like a fishing line out on the ocean and the waves will rock that line like what i've got to tell you will rock your vision. so let me, won't you let me tell you, you're ready i can see it in your lips, thirsty like a shark for what i've got to tell you, don't go and bare your teeth because oops! the sight of your smile has caught my off my feet and i've gone and forgotten, forgotten what i've got to tell you, got to tell you. but now i'll tell you something i know and smile makes me forget things i'm sure i already know.

A Different Type Of Courage

prospective orchestras begin to chime and a thousand kisses slow to the speed of light. traffic picks up in the grocery stores as if all are hungry, hunger for change. twinkling lights catching your eyes and leaving your mouth half opened, you think about everything and anything all at once. i've gone and thought of too many things to tell you. words snapping at my lungs and i feel myself catching my breath as if now is not the time to say goodbye to it. rapid chaos swirls in the sky and today is the day to say it. spots of a dalmatian all different and cohesive like my feelings for you. a different type of courage, with a side of the liquid kind for smoother sailing, smooth sailing. stomping on reality, with shoes made from the most precious of metals and you like the clink like a toast at a fancy reception, one you weren't invited too but sneaking in made it that much more beautiful. pretty little strangers all dressed to the nines wanting change, wanting something new and there you were. different. new. a change from their typical family and friends scene, you were the different. standing there, almost blending in, your mouth wearing pride like a souvenir you being to sway to the music with thoughts in your head, the ones you want to share with someone, the words that have risen from your lungs lay flat on your tongue and as you toy with the notion of spilling them over, over someones ears, you spill your glass and your spotted, the outsider. the different. the one who doesn't belong and you go from blended to exposed and you and your spots, spots like a dalmatian are asked to go.