My Sponsor Doesn't Find This To Be True

I stumble over you to get to know you because I think you'll tolerate me more when I am drunk. I confess endless amounts of love to you with the clink of a half empty glass because I think you'll find my wine stained lips to be much truer than my sober ones. I order another cocktail just to get your attention, and when I've got both, I drink em right up. I swirl the ice in the shallow of my glass to keep your eyes fixated on my, like toying with a cat with a laser pointer. I hiccup with anticipation, for another sip of you or this or that could make me absolutely wasted. I am an alcoholic for your love. My sponsor doesn't find this to be true. 

Beg Me to Live Inside

the buildings tend to lurch like monsters as the shrinking sun says goodnight. i become weary with each broken pane of glass i see, tattered on window sills of once so-lovely creations. if those buildings could talk would they beg me to live inside of them, to keep my secrets in their walls. would they not only house me, but love me, as i do admire them in the rise and fall of the ever changing sun. the buildings here, look like vikings, strong and spent. i see the love they have thrown away in order to rise tall. the buildings here tend to lurch like monsters, 

and i see my reflection in the broken glass of their structures.

My Love Drinks Because of You

a drunken confession of sober love. a drunken courage concurring sober fear. there is a sort of strength that you embody with each swig of beer, and there is a sort of lust that approaches with each sip of wine. i have this lusty strength for you. a sober thought while i'm half in the bag. i stumble in the right direction to make all of the wrong moves. i fumble with my phone to make out the right sentences to you, and in return, all the wrong spelling breaks my heart. a sense of calmness when i am usually so anxious around you. a loose affection, wound so tightly under the influence of both heart and substance. my love lacks this vigor when i am jaded by my conscious self, but in the blanket of absolution… i can surrender and love you more openly and more wildly, more possessively and intently than any sober love in me could ever do.. and to that and to you, I drink because of you.

To Be The Condensation On Your Beer Bottle

the condensation appeared on your beer bottle. your hand grasped it and there was a slight clench of your wrist as you tried not to drop it. i encouraged with my eyes, trying to force your grasp to weaken and send that bottle crashing, so that I could appear and be your hero. you were stronger than the power of my eyes. the bottle raised to your lips and i willed myself to feel refreshed, as if you were sipping me down the length of your being. i longed to be the condensation on your beer bottle so that i could cling to your skin and remain until your heat evaporated me into your atmosphere. i imagined the sky then slowly blooming into darkness and the clouds releasing me down upon you in big heaping raindrops. I would pray for the sun to stay away as I cling to your beard and you ran for cover.

Love in Small Quantities

My love for you is a lot like my weekend to do list, it’s made up of a lot of little things but those little things usually have a much bigger affect on my days then you’d actually think. My love for you is fleeting, but present. It conjures up these raw and often metallic like sensations, festering quickly and gone just as fast. My love for you is icy and hot. It’s like a perfect fall day when you step in a puddle. I love you in the tiniest of quantities, like the way I love a raindrop on the tip of my eyelashes.

I love you like,

- A 1-ounce shot of tequila

That very first shot of the night that goes right to your head and burns the top of your throat for just one wonderful second, but ultimately leads to more 1 ounce shots and less burning..

I love you like,

- Two swipes of my purple lipstick, the kind that makes me feel like a mermaid and daring all the way up to the end of the night without ever having to reapply.. because starting the night off with a plum lip and going home with a lavender one smelling like bourbon is certainly a treat..

I love you like,

- the last cigarette of the night, the one that lights your tongue on fire and concludes an excellent concoction of mixed drinks and beer in the pit of your stomach..

I love you like,

- a hole in my stocking that is seemingly cute until the next time I wear them and I try to recollect why, just why did I let that happen..

I love you like,

- the tail end of my favourite song, and the trick the music does making you believe there is still two minutes left until it brings you up and knocks you down and 50 Cent comes on..

I love you like,

- avocados, because I never have a concrete answer for just how much I like everything about an avocado..

I love you like,

- change jingling in my pocket and the way the coolness feels against my fingers when I'm walking home and have this sudden urge to feel something..

I love you like when the street lights flicker on and then off again.

I love you like when someone has over paid the parking meter and I get to park for free.

I love you like when there is still enough ice cream in the carton for one more bowl.

I love you like returning my library books on time.

I love you like a fresh pot of coffee.

I love you like a brand new day.

I love you quickly and impulsively and spontaneously but absolutely wholly and entirely.

Lousy Lie of Tiredness

i was deeply impressed by the way it looked like you were swimming in a sea of butter yellow cloth when you awoke, stretching beside me. i closed my eyes lightly, so that my eyelashes would feather at the top of my cheeks, that you wouldn't see any sign of 'scrunch' because i had been watching you for hours. you nudged me and smiled, i opened my eyes with a lousy lie of tiredness but you didn't call my bluff and cooed about the day, half wasted, that you didn't mind and that we could stay in the sea of yellow, our own private oasis, for the whole day if i pleased. i wanted that. you and me, inside the coolness of my comforter. clinging to each other on our very own life raft as we traveled through a day together in our own little mission; bed bath and beyond.

Pep Talk / Personal Superbowl

there was something wonderfully wrong about the way things were going, everything was not as it seemed, things appeared cracked and closer then they actually were, like the mirrors on a beat up getaway car. there was a slow unravel of my surroundings and it hung loosely, casting a seductive veil like a promiscuous move of a slightly older out of shape women. this feeling was omnipresent. i'd be squeezing a tough avocado at the market and know it was there lingering, and when i spun a teaspoon in my black coffee-- as if i was adding that feeling to the liquid to consume and harbor inside of me. there was a beautiful out of sort-ness that was matter of fact in my routine and as much as i tried to ignore it, i felt as if it was oozing from my pores, a condensation, reveling my unexpected hot and coolness toward the sinking ship of my character. there was something perpetually blooming inside of me and as i involuntarily tried to slink out from under it i hadn't realized all along, all along that time of weirdness, i was there reigning right over it, on top of myself, hands full of my own shirt collar yelling into my own face like a crazed football couch about to win the Superbowl.

Lace Doused in Honey

she wore a stained red lip anytime she went out, it highlighted the lies she was about to tell. making up occupations and heart breaks that sounded like lace doused in honey. she was incredibly smokey and appeared like a black widow spider, all purring and warm so she could make love to you and then devour the contents of your brain, the contents she had created and placed there, leaving you with a scar that looked like chewed bubble gum left on the pavement on a hot summer day. her heels matched her fingernails, the claws of a lioness. she clicked them on surfaces, as if a siren's call, luring anyone into her grasp. she could be meek and humble and compassionate and kind, but once she shed her serpent's skin she was tough and mean and fierce and irrational. she adored pain, feeling and inflicting it. she was empty and full all at the same time, like a gun always being shot and loaded. she had no real plans or desires, no real motives or agendas.. she was deeply unsatisfied with herself and only found redemption in the demeaning of others. twisted and ragged, she was exactly what people found enticing and was a pretty little trap for anyone looking for solace in a black cloud.

 

Beach Boys in the Hood

beach boys in the hood looking for some waves to ride. hoodlums in the sky looking for their Lucy. mustard stains on yellow tops, nothing really changes. hook up the Nintendo do your state of mind. dance around the hour glass because who even use these things to tell time. homeless people in their homes waiting for new lives. people with their roofs looking for new sky. stepping in a puddle as the rain comes crashing down. driving to drive, sitting to sit down. getting up to go, but always coming back. ketchup stain on the toe of your red shoe.. and nothing really changes, while everything is brand new.

You're Far More Attractive On Paper

we met at a party, i left alone stain lipped and light headed. i spotted you at the grocery store, you might've pretended not to see me but the way you navigated through the produce was heavenly. i stood behind you in line at the coffee shop and your hair smelt just like wood chips and mango. i mowed your lawn before i mowed mine, i could see you sitting in your living room fanning yourself with an old magazine, i tried to count the beads of sweat that gathered on your collar bone. you probably thought i was squinting because of the sun. at the dinner party we were both invited too, i sat diagonally from you and kept refilling your wine glass before i'd pour my own. you folded and unfolded your napkin seventeen and a half times. you cut me off on my way too work, but i didn't mind driving behind you. i write about you in my journal, and you're always far more attractive in pen then in person.

Calendar Inked Predictions

the swift flick of a pen, creating a date in your calendar, in the blank space that haunted you for months. a plan forming, in the air, this thing you cannot hold, but the pen creates a date and even that may not be tangible but you can feel it's weight as you close the binding of your agenda. the anticipation makes it swell. i've been missing you for so long, you don't even know. only my calendar knows, it's been trying to harbor the intense amount of want that i have for that day. i cannot wait to come back, and to see you again. there is another daunting square that rest slightly behind this one, and it reminds me that i will have to come back and even that thrills me a bit, this bittersweet pretzel of coming and going, but surely i like leaving and i most certainly like staying.. and for a while i hope i stay with you, a little bit longer as the doors close and i am long gone ahead, but i stay there in your memories, a stain glass image formed upon your irises. 

Summer Girls Are Dying to Be Free

summer girls are dying to be free.

growing flowers for their hair,

dancing in the open air,

summer girls are dying to be free.

making gallons of fruit drinks,

dressing up to beat the heat,

summer girls are dying to be free.

matching their bathing suits,

grabbing a ton of summer loot,

driving in the best of cars,

breaking hearts and leaving scars,

summer girls are dying to be free.

 

Atoms vs. Adams

Fire engulfed the idea, shooting atoms into the space between the decision and the action. A slow spread of motion contemplating the percussion between sunrises and sunsets. The bubbling feeling of what ifs and could haves are resetting a blaze to any notions that might've been danced upon. But all this fire is making a lot of smoke and casting a haze on our dancing shoes. And there is a different spin on atoms and Adams in this sphere that I'm trying to collect slumber in. 

Hatred in the Glow of Your Computer Screen

These morbid cyber relationships where everyone comes to flaunt their plastic affection is bound to melt by all of your over heated technologies. For there is a breech in privacy when you experience things organically. The words are less computed and more muted but the feeling is stronger than your Internet connection. The birds use to tweet but now the people are fleeting to make birds out of themselves. I could find your face in the Book and scroll through all the empty compliments warped in the glow of your computer screen. Please look closely at all the animated knives you do not see because out in the real world without wifi or dial up without hour glasses loading, there is a sky and clouds floating and everyone is surely talking shit about everyone. Don't be fooled by the sense of validation your web browser gives you. You're off to a site with people that hate you and you've equally spread your own share of precious viruses on this loopy trip we call the net. We're all in it, the net, this trap, begging for us to document everything. Encode your life before it goes viral. We're all just marketing a different brand of hatred. We're just a bunch of Internet monsters disguised as friends, fans.. 

Questions Lips Dodge

A smudge appears on the transcript of our history and in the now you seem to avoid the void from where we disconnected to our greetings today. A strange feeling creeps along the dashboard as we roll toward a nostalgic broom closet and allow low lighting to incubate what once was, what might be, and truly what was meddled with in the beginning. And all the while I teeter on the verge of amusement and sadness because I'm not sure where to look, where to focus.. for what is the purpose of all of this and I have far too many questions you would love to dodge. I let me eyes linger on the corner of your lips equally pissed and intrigued by what I want to do with them.

Winning Nights

Twisted nights are the products of the crumpled sheets and lust is mispronounced as love but when I asked for one lump of sugar, one means one. Credits flick onto the television screen and projects a liquid light into the living room, which happens to be a room you never actually live in because I feel more alive in the kitchen then I do where the television sits on it's stand and brags about shit I may or may not want. But in the kitchen I feel full and I feel appreciated as I try and succeed and fail and succeed anyway. The TV is begging for us to sit down but we're taking it to the bedroom to wind down and meet back in the kitchen to make eggs that match the sun. And our crumpled night made lust twisted sheets. But we didn't break down in front of the television in defeat. We have won another night. 

Becoming Moronic Fiends

Moments began to run into one another and we didn’t even notice. It was happening so naturally that when something bad came along it seemed to threaten our entire existence. We pleaded with a temporary god to save us from ourselves. We begged for indifference because we feared that things would change. There was a make-believe notion that we could save whatever we held onto, so we’d cling to one another slowly dissolving into the world and into ourselves and even into each other… there we would stay, not for long, but long enough for us to realize our world was changing. We'd become these moronic fiends for the way things once use to be, but it would never get back all the way. Moments began running away from us and we thought we had been the ones running. It wasn't until we stopped and looked around that we realized we hadn't gone anywhere, we were wasting away in our own created nightmare.

The Internet Will Never Care

I could write you letters and tell you all about my days, but it would amount to nothing because of the modern plague. The social stance on our media has invaded all the things we do, adding them up and subtracting things making their value way past due. And I could describe the sky that reigns over me here, but compared to the graphics on your screen, well you wouldn't really care. And all the while, while I am here, you are there, and the Internet intercepts our way of life making you less aware; so do not disconnect your electronic self, but return your thoughts to a paper based perspective so that I will have something to hang onto and something to feel. And something to embrace because the Internet will never care.

Contribute or be Contributed

strangers passed along a busy street and only noticed each other's feet. 

the same clear sky dimmed above their heads but with necks craned down

they all seemed dead. stranger's went about their day, inhaling the same air, 

again and again. recycled ideas expanded on their desks; 

along with the headaches and pains in their chests. 

pressure built inside their spaces; offices growing dank with cases, 

nothing new just the same old faces.

the world grew strong in a concrete mass,

both rising and falling in another blast.

the people continued on their way,

never worrying about a day,

for they new their end would come without a say,

allowing them to start again.

and that is all they really wanted, was a faultier system

and empty promises, something they could lay their

blame; for they hadn't really contributed anything either way.

Consume and Kill Each Other

we breathed in the madness that was collecting

in the night around us, we had contributed such

sordid ideas with quick glances and shuffling feet,

we had wanted to be so near and so far from one

another all at once that we didn't know what

to do with all our thoughts but let them fall

over our lips and into the company of our

present, they looked at us, stunned and

conflicted. the wheels in their heads started

to spin and we willed the grit to settle on their

shoulders so that they could take some of our

weight. the wait we had for each other was

long over, fizzled out, now flat like soda left in

it's can out in the sun for hours, stung by bees

wanting to dance in it's syrup... 
we were so deathly sweet for each other and it

was all melting, all the chocolate kisses

now laid stale and broken and we wanted

the entire night to be aware of our battling

desire to both consume and kill each other.

the night so raw, exposed you exposing me

exposing you while the madness settled

and the whispers died to a silent vibration,

your cellphone sizzled on the table;

your other begging you to give up on me.