Wahhhhh

Cigarette smoke puff,

huffy girl rolling eyes behind lids like "shit, that's rough."

Too bold for the paper,

too sorry to see you later,

a waiver was waved directly in front of her face like "I see you pay her."

Jeeez,

what's with the solid face like "shit, it's fake."

The gem can only stun you when you're only half awake.

So many girls with rings up on their fingers,

I wonder if they even pay attention to the ringers.

It's only been two months,

too soon,

so sorry.

Divorce will come sooner than that wedding bell party.

---

Working mind in time with a little bit of paisley.

Lazy girl looking at someone else to say me.

Pay me,

I'm not moving fast enough to lose the guff you huff out of your mouth when you're only half fucked up.

I'm sick of feeling stuck then unstuck then in a rut.

Sputt-putt-

tongues tied, like shit I only Velcro.

My life's like "It's nothing compared to hell tho."

Walking backward forward backward stand still.

Sip a soda with this pill,

suck cigarettes till you're ill.

So tired.

Bodily pain consumed attire,

flyer than the bird that stole your sanity then flew it away up to the spire.

Wire thin slit in the skin starts to leak,

from the heat at your feet and the soul you'd like to speak.

Vital Repression Blood Leak

Bring you to where nobody knows.


It's a cold winter night. The snow is drifting off of trees onto us and we're sipping our drinks quietly with cigarettes in hand. Their bright red tips flare against the wind, the embers tickling eyelashes. Where does time go when you make it stop? There is never any talking in moments like these. If there is, you don't remember it because you were in awe by the moment you were currently existing in. Like that scene in your favorite movie, or the lines of your favorite song, the ones you never sing because they're too good to maybe accidentally fumble upon. His eye are like unlit charcoal surrounded by raw white paper waiting to roll around on the page and mark it till there's nothing left but black. I stare at them and they grab me. Little arms holding me tight and still, making my soul linger next to it's for a while longer. Never have I ever felt this way about someone else. Never have I ever enjoyed silence this much.
It's much louder inside and the moisture is leaving residue on the hairs on my arms and legs. I'm wearing a skirt, although it isn't warm or nice outside. No, I just felt today was skirt weather, marked by no calendar or meteorological meanderings. Then again, it could have been the heat of the being I decided to stand next to. This type of God staring out amongst other types of Gods, all of them swirling in the liquid gold they put forth. I'm simply a mortal, and to the Gods it is strange to see me here. Some find it amusing, some want to know me and what I like, why I was chosen. Chosen for what? For him, I suppose. They wanted to know what was so special about a mortal to one of their most revered entities. I did not know why or what. I remember the burn on my lip as I saw the spark light red in the core of that darkness in his eye, hurt and pain lingered there with concern. Concern for the mortal that he had spoken to and accidentally stumbled upon. What a tragedy for him is what I thought. What a tragedy that he had to stoop to loving a human, when there were so many beautiful goddesses for him to entrance, or were clearly already taken by him.


It is a cold winter night. The stars are barely a part of the sky, hanging down around me like the little balls of energy they seem to be. I am sharing this moment with a person I don't know, not well enough to say so yet. We breathe and the air turns to smoke before us. I have been told things I will never forget. I have believed things I will never see again. I watch the white flag wave with the dark center coming in toward me then getting smaller and further away until it disappears. I am all alone now, just as it was meant for me to be. I abandoned my youth for a fortnight with a God. All that remained was the skeletal corpse of my humanity.

I am not built of flesh but of ice. I am not but a glacier being heated occasionally for a cold glass of water to sip from. I am not for anyone. I am not particular. I am just existing, waiting for the day the sun burns so hot it melts away all that ever was.

But what will happen when that day comes?

Let me think about that for a sec.

Nothing was really special about that day, not in particular. I woke up earlier than expected, alone in bed with the tiny mews of kittens to welcome me into the day. The room was dark, beside a small sun lamp meant for half dead cacti. I got dressed for work, which wasn't for another three hours. I grabbed a coffee from the place across the street from my apartment. The morning went on slow like the smoke rising in the room's stale air. My roommates are either asleep or gone. That, or locked away in their personal space. I came to realize that morning that I no longer had any of my own.
The hour of my arrival at work was fast approaching. I gathered my things, hastily simply because I was always the best at procrastinating and running out the door with my one arm through a jacket, things clambering about in my pockets, hands and bag. Luckily I was allowed such privileges because I worked a half a block from where I lived at a small shop on a mostly busy bar street in the city I grew up. It was never a place I enjoyed much, even in my drunken youth. No, it was simply another infested crack in this town's old wood. Termites all hungrily eating away at what is left of a strange and terrible history. It's a form of escapism, hunger; but also one of the most heinous of sins. This whole world has been consumed by it. Hell, half of us consummated with glee and great unruly anticipation, like little children eyeing lollipops in the hands of the Devil himself. I work for a company, it's owned by someone who makes all the money off of the things I sell that they originally bought at a lower, more reasonable price. It is then escalated to ridiculous amounts through inflation and sold to the dumber, more gullible of the population and that percent that we reach out toward with greedy fingers is my own generation. I know this as I clock in and begin my eight hours of windex dust and glass gleams, shining and polishing, displaying with painted nails and a painted face. Retail is easy if you're a woman. It will always be that way. We are allowed some mysterious allure that makes grown men fall from their top wit to their slowest tongue. Some of us play with this powers. Others simply observe it's presence in their life. But there are very few who acknowledge it and choose to do nothing with it, most of those women pursue stagnant relationships that remind them of how boring life can really be alone or with someone. Women who have either scorned or been done with what they are made out to be, done using it at all. Many of my friends have categorized me as one of those women. I feel they are sadly mistaken.


I can literally get paid to sit on a concrete stoop all day at this job, if it's slow enough. Unluckily it is a night where the bars are bursting like the water molecules in the summer heat. I am alone on my shift, the stores door wide open like a diamond on a typical silver ring, so sparkly that everyone must stop and see. I am smoking a cigarette outside and the light of the sun is wavering from the purple night. I enjoy this every midday shift. I enjoy this from the south and from the north almost every day of the week. Although my store is a bright display on the now darkened street, no person stops in besides the occasional regular. The people walk by drunk, smiling and laughing, holding, touching, speaking. Enjoying each other, or at least pretending to. A vision of a person from a dream walks past me, a mousier looking fellow beside him on the crowded street. My heart flushes and internally I rate him off my stereotypical chart I made specifically based on my understanding of the world around me, not some petty magazine on the stand. He scores a decent number and I chuckle sarcastically to myself about how lucky that guy must be to be him. Attractive even when quickly making his way down the street with a friend, dressed in clothes that only said the word 'bartender'. I should've guessed for the half a second glance we gave each other before the connection was cut off that the cigarette in my hand meant conversation.
I am in love with life but I am also unconcerned by it. I've left myself indifferent because everyone else is indifferent to me. No one is worth the pain for the slight touch of glory you feel when in someone's warm visual embrace, so I just ignore it with frosted eyes that are iced over with impertinence. No one can touch me when I do this. No one can touch what exists inside the flesh they see before them. The spirit is willing and the body is weak. The body is a tool to advance oneself upon others in an intellectual and instinctual manner. We are all just here to appease each other's appetites. We are the living embodiment of gluttony, massive and autonomous. I drag my cigarette and suddenly the person from before is asking for one and of course, he and his friend can both have one. They stop to talk. The conversation is being drowned with street noises, piercing intensity. There's smiling, and laughter. We are feeding one another. We are enjoying one another's time and then the cigarettes are done and I have glass to polish.


My life has always been uninteresting to me, although, when I tell other people about my experiences they seem entertained by them. I assume it's because I've nullified most interactions in my life to stay alive that I now find most things of no real interest. My brain is a computer that is constantly on stand by mode. I am just here to feed you all. Such mentalities are said to be certainly harmful to oneself and perhaps others surrounding them. For me, it comes in waves. I am off, a happy unconcerned girl in her twenties working and being as nice as pie with a side of ice cream. When I am on, it is a hurricane that wants to drowned everything in it's path. I eventually came to the understanding I  got to choose weather my brain was on or off and chose to keep it off. Then it turned into something else. It turned into someone else.


(Oh snap is she really gonna start writing a real story? HOMG no wai~. Excerp ya face fool)

Don't you come near me.

When life gives you lemons, it's meant to make you sour.

We need to take a break.
We need distance.
There's already a crack in the plate.
and by '...more time away from each other' you mean 'You bore me.'
Because before you never wanted me out of your sight.
And now you'd much rather not look at me.
'We never sit together anywhere."
We never sat together when we had our own apartment.
You didn't talk to me either when we went places.
You.
You.
You.
And I think that's all it's really about.
But if I were to make it about,
Me.
Me.
Me.
You'd kill me in my sleep.

Vevoom

Balanced medical repression of mental confession,
specialize in despise defiles files for sleepy eyes.
Pried open,
you're no good unless you're broken,
and there's no way to control the waves as they come and go in,
steady shore hoping for someone to grab a hold.
Bold demeanor,
her vision was cleaner when she felt the keener mind eye replaced with opi-oid receivers.
A bleeder,
gushing out the scarlet uniform of sincere confirmation to the sanctity ward,
mobilizing the cripples to forsake the penalties you horde.
Bored and tired and hardly mistaken,
for a piece of pre-cooked bacon,
consuming your punctual vocation,
civilizing the daily dedication to repatriation,
a nation devout and divine,
with little to no rhyme scheme in the words they use to confine,
redefine the beaten path and sleek lines,
me thinks you'll be fine,
unless you reap what you sewed the tear-
nine stitches,
with nine inches of metal twitches,
keeping the cut close with the physics.
Mind fucked bitches with sacrilege under they witches hats,
posted with gats to show you where it's at and lay you out flat with a light tap.
Back to the beginning.
Balanced medical repression of mental confession,
a proper lesson folded up inside the compounds of this weapon.
Make out session,
sexualized deprived eyed babies with pride,
mind tight and out of sight but the body is ripe.
What's a groom without a bride?
Outside,
inside and entwined.
Macabre moaning motor boat snorting conceptual coke .40.
Horny enough to break the daylight with a day fight,
ended by evening with a rough bite.
The teeth marks create islands in the skin,
an ocean of sand swimming in pools of red marked sin.


----

Lepres

Suffocating location of the patron of kegs,
bleeding arms and legs,
chidhood was only a phase.
Drug up and sucked up like olives out of martini's.
Teenies walking around with wobbly legs and weak knees.
Completely,
out of their order out of their nature.
Complaining that they're having no fun, they'll see you later.
Late nights with flashing lights condemned the purity full of strife to take back what was whack when they were dreaming in mid flight.
Over exposure of your love to indulge.
A little too old to be stuffing that mold.
Fuck it I'll just sit here acting sorry,
that my stupid ass isn't as fun as that fucked up party.
Maybe you'd like a taste?
Of the marionette alcohol brings out.
The tear your net but not to let you out.
Just to pout while she carves a smile upon your mouth,
straight from the rum and down into her doubt.
Wanna see me throw a fit?
While you ma relax and keep on that baby shit,
I told you I'm sick of it.
Woulld you like to touch the fire?
It burns so brightly it turns you unsightly,
wishing you didn't show up for the likely.
I'm going to show you my rage,
through dipiction on a page,
but would you know what that means?
A simple eye could defy me but your eyes are pridely.
They make me take a step back and wonder if you could try me.
Alas I doubt you could handle the mixture in this body.
It's a tornado in a can,
it's a wrecking ball made specifically for man at hand and ready to destroy.
She was truly the gold piece of he grand master's ploy.
Not a toy meant to be played with,
just something temporary to fake with.
A ticking motherfucking bomb and you won't even try?

----

my eyes hurt.
so does my heart.
Fuck me.
Fuck me.
Fuck this.

Morning B

The leaves stumble from the dying trees,
huddled together on the ground before they're blown away by the breeze.
Frozen etiquette better than other's that you met,
winter just a stranger that you haven't heard of yet.
Sun spent on shining too bright for too long.
Voice cracked and wary from singing the same song.
Pawned the life breath to make life silent and spent the time becoming something priceless.
Meaning you are the only one.
The golden nature mother's womb is pointing at her only son.
Fun as it may be,
you will feel it.
The itching to flee and find someone else to talk and sit.
A lonely apple pit,
waiting for someone to stumble upon them.
A loose string on a shirt hem,
somewhere long ago you'd been.
Need a friend?
You lost them when you wouldn't find time to mend.
Striving for attention although you do nothing but defend,
your blindness.
You went from emotional to silence.
Try this,
remembering all the moments that felt timeless.
You see the faded leaves are only reborn into living beings,
like lucid dreams conjuring your favorite things.
Some may call it crazy when you're all alone,
but then again you always had the option to pick up a phone.
Or just listen to the dial tone.
It's truly up to you.
To advanced towards better anything instead of consuming all the gloom.
You need a room to run to when the demons come through.
So build a tomb and bury that seemingly everlasting doom.
Now watch the sunrise upon the spring bloom.
The buds of bright green proving love is pure and true.
That you too can be reborn into a flower or a thorn.
Do you want to amaze or do you wish to scorn?

#31011

Coffe lips,
quick stutter acid tips,
sips from the mug life,
an angel out of hell or a demon from a cell,
there's no entity here besides the single lined spell.
Conjure compulsions to cure the potion's,
harmful way of destroying the notions.
Paper skin folds like it's smothered in lotions,
no way to absorb the weight of mighty oceans.
Sea salt saint covered in a sea foam paint.
The fumes assuring that they'll taint,
air quality until you faint.
Self restraint won't help the slaughter.
You're bottled up epiphanies are best sent out to water,
best sent to join the daughter and her silly faced father.
Blotter up the page to mundanely leave this range of understanding the lame till they're contorted and strange.
No way,
I won't dance in flowers found in this field,
they wield a fragrance that will surely make you yield.
Sealed off that passage when it was harboring the snow,
NO YOU DON'T KNOW.
NO I WON'T GO.
NO YOU DIDN'T WAIT FOR THE PARTY THAT CAME BEFORE THE SHOW.
Who'da thunk your lungs were already filled to the brim,
with the hydration sack dripping into the place you contain sin.
CHOKE ON IT.
Maybe there's a reason I was never able to get up and split.
Shit.
Reality is tampered with.
I find more real things when I suck in myth.
I PLEAD THE FIFTH.
Sifting like a screen through sand in forlorn land finding gems and coins through ages they have spanned.
Bland nature taster building the reserve for later,
holding the lined paper,
controlling the man and maker.
The one who would save her but only if you pay them to do the favor.
The one who would blame her once they got the chance to savor the remainder.
The one who will take the chance then sell it to you later.
HATER.
Don't front unless your mad,
just suck it to me.
Let the whole world see you sad,
wear it like jewelry.
Consume the fruits until your sad,
or use the gold key,
so you can contrast from the fad.
It's all you have.

Blasphemy.

White dress tucked beneath the fine mess,
here eyelids are timeless,
covering up the cold sweat and silence.
Why this,
actions speak louder than words,
and judging by the verbs you use we're running out of turns.
Look left,
turn right and maybe I'm still here.
But there's the re-occuring fear,
the one you love will finally disappear.
Yes,
fly like a bird with wings strong and sober,
her heart is like a badly wounded soldier.
No steady rhymes or happy times console her.
How do you make money out of madness?
You can't,
it's only sadness that last the stands, tragic.
Write a story of a clipped winged,
mocking bird with the urge to sing but stumbles on the words,
stumbles on the words.
Play games until the sunsets,
upset,
visualize the tight grip and soft breaths,
the melancholy of time spent.
How do you turn the words to fire?
A liar will prosper,
while the guilty party sits there with their souls worn like attire.
Melody's wreck the brain to make it feel plain,
ranging from ok to insane and I can't bring myself to spell the name.
Blame game dame,
trying to conceal her heavy eyes,
too many tries to get the one she wants to hold her high.
It's too late,
too sorry,
too mistaken.
She was a little late but treated the invitation like it was forsaken.
Now where to walk to?
There's no street lights here.
No desire to run away,
no desire to reappear.
Nothing is what she wanted and that's exactly what she got,
now she wish she made a decision instead of standing in one spot.
Decimation,
the feelings can't be put on paper.
She wonders why bother cause no one will read it later.
Just a simple face, solid mine slowly running out of time,
wishing there was a pill that made the melody sound fine.
Too late,
too stuck up,
too stuck on memories,
while the memories haunt and postpone the proper remedy.
Remember me?
No please, I'd rather you just forget.
I'm a nothingness that just happened to fall out of bed.
Bled out and pinned up,
my eyes are glued ten times shut,
fingers still gripping the container that was stranger than danger.


----


Who listens to the wind in the trees?
Now me, I enjoy the sense of something being free.
A constant spilling spree of gust through thick hair,
a small stare to show I'm here but not really there.
Pulled out the frown like a hand me down.
Do I want to wear this once again?
Will you come back my friend?
I need your help in self help through the knowledge that you lend,
though we're both dead end and on the mend,
you can see it in my skin.
It takes just a brush of touch to explain my bad luck.
Our eyes whisper when we shut up.
It's hard to explain but it's known,
that the cold set it in stone.
Silly putty Sally can't get herself straight.
She's all self debate on if she needs a new mate,
a new slate to write on,
a new chapter to take pride upon,
something better than waiting for the weather to stop sending sun.

---

I'm getting really tired of this.
Why bother loving someone.
Why bother loving.
Why sit and talk and communicate the hate?
Why sit there solemn faced while they rape the human race?
WHY BOTHER!?
Yeah, maybe I'm talking to you.
Or maybe I'm talking to me.
Fuck it all I need a moment just to breathe.
Flee the situation that converts this subtle nation to a vacation spot for the dwellers of lower vocation.
Fucken fuck fuck fuck.


---

Pure nonsense.

The sun is bright but it's still slightly cold. The bus stop is filled with people and I fall deeply into the music playing in my ears. I recall the glimpse of happiness in the corner of my eye and felt it cautiously sneak up behind me. The warmth of a palm on the back of your neck, fingers slightly sketching across the line of your hair. The comforting sensation of feeling whole. Torn as a number and a destination arrive, the coldness of the lost embrace lingers and falls into a deep hotness once seated on the bus. I looked out the window at happiness and pondered if it enjoyed seeing me this way. And then I remembered, how far away it was soon to be away from me.

---

It's early in the morning and the snow has covered the town in it's glistening powder. Sleepy eyes open to the image of something to beautiful to describe. A face filled with color and a slight hint of being burdened. To think the devil himself could be so beautiful as his slept, more beautiful once the slight sun moves across his face and closed eyes slowly open. Dark pools to get lost in absorbing the day as if it powered the being itself. I always found myself mesmerized. Movements so elegant, quick but efficient. Even in a clumsy moment it almost looked as if it were done on purpose. Adorable yet dangerous. Deep, deep dark water that I was too scared to swim in. Deep dark water I was too afraid to fully understand.

---

The game of mystery is one played by many. We love the excitement is causes, the feelings it brings on. It's easy to become addicted to such things. Fingers moving up the side of stomach under a shirt, gentle and calm but adventurous none the less, or even the way smoke moves past your eyes from the other cigarette beside you. The way words sound coming from certain voices, even the way it feels to be beside another person. Oh yes, these are all quite easy addictive things, I myself have found myself yearning for certain company now and again, even using small mantras to bring me back to the memories, to live within them for just a moment before they once again become vague but important.

===

My mind is moving much faster than my fingers. My eyes are lazy, my heart slowly beating to some rhythm. Some song I've heard before while fingers entwined or the bus flew past me as I walked alone down the street at night. The feeling of running somewhere quickly to say goodbye for what seems like forever, only to realize that it is indeed forever. And having old faces return with new features but the same wonderful smile, soothing and enticing, barely something not to think about. Then again there's so much I should be doing, so many things I could be pursuing yet...I don't.

Placebo effect.

I don't precisely know what to write here. I feel the yearn for passion press at my outer shell waiting to break free and catch. Catch to whom? Or what? Nothing special I guess. Just a scent on a shirt I never owned and piles of books I'm too guilty to read. Meandering is one of my lamest qualities. I'm capable of telling it how it is yet I find my throat swollen whenever I need to say the right thing. The things that are on my mind are yes, not always the kindest. My intentions are always good though, which I suppose to most people doesn't account for much. The willows are crisping and turning from green to amber and all I can think about it bright sun, hot weather, and conversation rolling over the hills of grass. The gasping of my heart as words felt their way around my ear and into my soul. Rambling, like previously mentioned is what I do best and since many things have been sitting in the core of my imagination, it seems my ramble will make less sense than usual. It's a collection of stories, real or not, true or simply exaggerated. Or is it all true? Or is it all just a fictional tale of things lost in my own sanity? How can I conjure such a thing? Well, quite easily. I will just write and you will construe it all as you please. That is what a writer does.That is the purpose of all the words being formed into lines. The reason is simply to get your brain moving. Or is it? Oh, hahaha.

----

The fall is an uneasy time of year for those who dwell in the darkness of winter. Although for many it is the brightest time for their inner beauty to glow. I've never found a season that could fill me with such anticipation, just to leave me disappointed come the first snow fall. Then again, spring is so similar to fall, it seems that time of year will now have a permanent affect on me. These are the seasons of losing, you see. These are the seasons where most things, and especially people, are lost.


---

My dreams are haunted with faces that stall the words on my tongue. Visions of their emotions plainly painted in their eyes. I can't decipher it, or perhaps I am too scared to. For all I know my weakness is what caused this all. The isolation; the dysphoric hate I've developed for myself. Then again it is truly the greatest fault that I cannot find the strength to fight back and re-win what was lost. No. No, I'd much rather remember it fondly and continue my life of wariness.


---

the eyes you hope to see what is written are least likely the ones to stumble upon it. although my faith has lead me to believe that you are gone, the hope that you linger here stays.

---

Perhaps, I am just losing my mind.

Perhaps.

But then again, it's all just temporary.

Dream Sequence 83013

We were moving to a town, I suppose. I only recall breakfast in a strange hotel...or inn perhaps. The keeper had grown quite attached the the young couple she'd taken in so I'm assuming she had been telling us things about our new home all night.I  wasn't eating, although there was a lovely breakfast before me. Something was bothering my stomach, something about these stories. We were moving into the old manor of a doctor from the 30's. Not only did  we find it at an amazingly affordable price, but it was isolated with a small town not too far away and we were told it was still in amazing condition.

The path from town that led to our new home was short but it took us through a quarter mile of woods. As the woods fell behind us the path continued in a field-esque area and then more trees. The tall grass grew high above the dirt path then turned into tall trees once more. I told my significant other how amazing it was. So beautiful, even for fall. Before we knew it we were in front of a building.

"The lady at the Inn said that this place used to belong to the town doctor." he smiled widely at me and I felt the warmth in my face return it. We unlocked the door and ventured in.

The front hallway had a large stairwell that clearly led up to a hallway that immediately started at the top of the hallway, the walls were all a blank cream color, probably just from time and existing. Instead of wandering up I continued down the front hall to a small door past the stairwell. There was no ordinary handle, the door was a sliding door and it disappeared into the wall it sat so perfectly in. I screamed out to my husband that the kitchen door from the hallway was awesome and continued happily into the kitchen. I saw that it wasn't very well furnished, there was a large counter spread underneath cabinets on the right side, a large sink was at the end of it, looking large enough to put a whole turkey in for cleaning and plucking. There was also a central preparing island and in the corner on the opposite side a very nice wooden table. The varnish was slightly worn and there were four chairs tucked underneath it, the walk in pantry visible on the  wall behind it, the door slightly the the right of where I assumed the doctor and his family dined. At this point I assumed my husband was trying to find the doctors quarters, the place he did all his work. From what we were told at the Inn, this man had been a great help for the local family for years and years. He was a kind man with an even kinder wife. I smiled at my new kitchen, staring out the windows and door to our great wooded surroundings. It seemed the house led straight back into a patch of woods, with nothing but trees all around a small semi circle of where the kitchen's outside door led. It seemed strange that people then were so apt to not clearing trees for backyard space, although I recalled thinking it wouldn't be that strange, seeing as there was plenty of field space near the front of the house. I turned and started examining the furniture. The cabinets were painted the same cream and they had panes of glass in them. No elegant designs, nothing special. I walked over and popped on open, with a literal pop the door opened and the old brass clip system was the reason why. I marveled at how well kept such an antique was, especially in a house older than the first three generation of my family.  The brass even gleamed a little in the light peering from behind us. I closed it and kept walking around, at one point placing my hand on the center separate counter and running it along as I walked toward the pantry.I moved slowly and each bit of dust that collected on my fingertips felt like small pieces of glass shreading apart the very prints that resided there. I moved my hand up and caught a small speck of blood moving  down my finger. Looking down at the counter I saw that there was nothing around that could have damaged my finger, unless it was the old dust itself. An unsettling feeling filled my stomach and I made my way toward the pantry door. The  door was painted a bland blue that seemed faded but I was sure that was the color of the paint the day they smeared it on the wood. This door also slide open and I started to wonder if the kind doctor's wife had perhaps been too weak to open these thick doors, so he put them on a sliding system for her. I slide it open and walked in. The light from the windows didn't reach here. the room was very large but so dark I couldn't tell if it had shelving or was empty. I felt along the wall for a light switch just to be shocked by friction. I then considered a dangling light and went toward the middle of the room feeling high above me for some sort of rope or string attached to a light source. For a moment I questioned weather or not they had electricity, seeing as the windows I'd seen in the house were large and grand. The ceiling very high to accommodate those very same windows.


For some reason, standing there in the dark pantry, I stopped moving. Something in my head was telling me the story of a doctor who was not as kind as the one I'd been told about. No, it spoke of tortures I couldn't imagine. All that darkness...

"Well, you still have eyes. You can still see." I'm opening those said eyes and looked up to see my husband's face and had no memory of my eyes ever being in danger.

Watashi

Watashi wa hoka no mono yori o taisetsu ni sodatta hito ga atta. 
Watashi wa jinsoku ni mōichido soko kara ochita nochi, 
koi ni ochita. 
Kare wa, 
watashi wa iku koto ga dekimasendeshita basho ni kieta. 
Dakara watashi wa soko ni watashi no kimochi o akirameta, 
to kibō o hōki shita. Aisuru hontōni watashi o mitsuketa tokorodesu. 
Subete no mottomo odorokubeki koto wa, 
watashi wa ā, 
wasurete kanri shite itaga, 
watashinoyume wa dakara ima kare no sonzai to yoku watashi o nayama se, 
watashi wa chōdo watashi ga wasurete inakatta nā. 
Sate, watashi wa kesshite akiramenakatta negai ga, 
dōjini, 
ai no sono ataide wa arimasen?

---

Smoke in the clear sky destroying clear eyes.
Pride peeled off and placed to drip dry.
When did you fall into this type of distress?
Well, sir I was just getting undressed.
Could you say 'stressed'?

---

笑い

Ā otoko!

Eyes are just windows you observe from.

Life's an oncoming car you swerve from,

left lane scattered brain contains the valued center sane.

Lame.

I thought the best part of the soul was the body,

a bit unrealistic seeing as those thoughts are awful haughty.

It's just a vessel for my controlled organism of a universal collision,

a vision that someday we all understand the mission.

---

Make word play a way to slay the patient's patience and make them watch what they say.

---

Blah.

PostNormal

The longer I sit alone in the morning, half naked under a robe of light cotten, I feel the skin I'm living in. I feel the way my heart beats through the bones and muscle on top the pallet of my chest plate reverberating into the clothing. I realize that I am terribly alive, and the things inside of me are slowly welling up and sucking out my pride. Everyday I wake up the same way, lingering around too long in one place. Letting the sensation of the sunlight confine me, although this morning the weather's looking awful grimey. This is my mantra of clearing my dread, write a few paragraphs here and properly empty my head. Sometimes it's relieving the feeling of just breathing. Sometimes the past revisits me in smells and the sounds that surround. But I'm new in this old skin of mine. I wonder what's going on inside. I consummated so many horrible things into one awful plague that now it shows up once or twice a day. Unless sedated, and normally I have the means to do so. But why delay the rate of my soul's decay? Now this is where the split peach hairstyle may as well be my brain. On one side there's a devil and the other an angel, both in an epic struggle to get what's in the middle. The consistency of this is starting to make me sick, physically and terribly ill mentally. I keep myself in a place in between, where I hardly smile and never scream, never seem anything but serene, or at least clean of the nightmares and cold stares. The sticky fingers webbing their way through my hair, down my spine and pluck my right inside my glare. It's there but it's not, just a re-occurring thought that someone else can do what I cannot. But even more so it's the guilt of the things she says to me, things that I know aren't true at all and tend to be an awful way to be.
For the last two weeks I've felt myself growing stronger rather than weak, but that's only when I manage to keep away what haunts me. Where am I right now? Stuck on 10 mgs of sanity and cold cup of coffee and not nearly enough cigarettes. Children are playing in their yards although it's early. School's back soon, I remember doing the same thing.
Why do I even write things here? Let everyone in on the fear that I'm losing what I thought I'd cleared. No, it's more for me to control what little is in my possession and attempt to learn from this lesson of this demonic obsession. Maybe it's me just holding back the things I hate and being in a constantly passive state? Or maybe I really do hate myself? Maybe I for a moment convinced myself I had some sort of self wealth? It's making my mind mushier as the words are sprawled out. I feel the fear of everyone knowing, but also the fear of being drowned by it. Healthy is a broad term, and I don't think I fit it. Then again if I were terrible why would anyone call me a 'friend'? Why would the one who loves me want to love me till the end?
Pfff, maybe my only problems are that I over think and my imagination just needs to calm the fuck down.

Apparitions and Sullen Lullabies for the Patron.

Night watch the breathing and the eyes locked in dreaming,
your emotions are teeming through your bloodline and your feelings.
Believing there is something there is just a deception,
verbal aggression can contain only a fragment of this lesson.
Where'd the clear skies and rainbows wander off to?
All I see are shady grays and cloudy shades of blue.
The second step you take is the second level of mistake,
your subconscious will haunt you sometimes even when you're awake.
The air is cold,
you feel it,
the devil's hold is made of pure wit.
The wind picks up, your muscles constrict a bit just to believe it.
Now it's cold snow,
your dress is cut a bit low,
the leather from the winter boots scratch from the knee tip to the toe.
There's trees, but they are barren.
There's hope, it's what you're wearing,
a small silver locket with a lock you can't keep from staring,
it burns into your skin so hot you've found yourself slightly swearing.
Now your feet have made the motions through the trees still slightly frozen,
your eyes fill up with tears but you don't feel fear cause nothing's here.
Or is there nothing here?
Are you running from what's near?
Or are you trying to find a place where you can finally disappear?
There's a clearing up ahead that guarantees understanding of the where, who and when.
Now it's all grass and sunshine,
but the coldness still lingers.
You move to turn around but then your shoulder meets cold fingers.

---

Canvas skin bare and highlighted.
Porcelain, inspected then indited.
Given to the finest artist to paint away on.
She's your ultimate piece of paper,
she's the singer of your favorite song.
Now sing along,
smear upon the skin a solid sun tan,
bright pink tulips bursting up from piles of sand.
Now sullen the colors,
except for the eyes,
make them sparkle like diamonds held in infinitely sunny skies.
The lips must be made to daydream upon,
a lingering color for them to lean on,
lust after and feed on.

----

I had a message but someone already read it.

---

Nightmares of kind stares and smiles seem to taunt me.
Reality is a steep slope, you'd better be wary of an off knee.
Off key,
a melody is sedated and played in a way the darkness couldn't be debated,
the songstress has turned into the mess she once stated.
Variations in the vocals make you sleepy,
you force your eyes open but now you're sleeping deeply.


---


gughughioudiguosfjlsdjfskdfj

Vivid

Scarred scarlet droplets on the white paint coated carpet,
sticking with the story of "I'm sorry, I just dropped it."
Plopped my self down to allow the anger to drown what was left of my frown.
Her hungry eyes linger on my face,
I wonder if this is the beginning or just the middle of this awful game of chase.
There's no place to hide, no place to erase or replace the pride.
Not a single word was said once her fingertips touched my head,
just a smile with a bit of greed lingering, like the crusty old bits on a stale slice of bread.
Fingering my thick hair she whispered:
"You can run from me,
please I love it when you do,
but you are still a part of me and I'm very much a part of you."
Lips curled up into a triumphant smile,
as if the message was stated simply to defile my mental tiles.
Ripped out all the jewelry boxes and cabinets filled with files,
of my life,
my problems,
my tribulations and my trials.
Gems littered the floor with a gleam and a glimmer,
the staunchness of the paper made my sanity feel slimmer.
Her gentle strokes turned to a clutch,
I froze suddenly before I took the touch.
Why so gentle?
Why this time?
Her slurred verbal music started to rhyme.
I watched her comb through my hair and turn her back from me,
like she would set me free,
like this was the beginning of what was meant to be.
But to my torment she turned to face me once again,
bowed her head so low I saw the skin peeling away from the demon who claimed she was a friend.
Stood up,
shook up,
now I've got the guts to stop the rut and get the fuck out of wherever this creature has brought me after I'd been plucked.
But those eyes put me back down,
once again returned my frown,
now she's eyeing the bottle in her hand like it's gonna save her from this town.
"You can't save me and you can't save yourself."
She spat in acid tongue.
"I want you to remember I'm your number: only one"


----

Silver slowly consuming the skin,
her fragrance is of acetone,
her vocals are of sin.
"Will you let me in?"
The sultry silky demon with gold eyes,
many men were told to avoid her,
and women especially but only if they were wise.
Vanity consumed her like a mirror liquefied,
now her essence is in emerald and the beauty's locked inside.
Cobalt blue attitude pushed the sliding doors open and she stepped into the room.
BOOM.
All eyes moved to the crimson as it crawled across the floor,
limply it followed it's patron, the burning angel it adored.
A cup enters her hand,
the hostess's legs have turned to sand,
she wobbles backward and ponders what will happen when she sips.
With upturned pupils, tilts her head back and lets the liquid soak her lips.
"This."
Silence erupted in it's most unfashionable manner.
One by one I watched each person get up and leave the manor.
Before I had the strength to move my steel legs,
we made eye contact although she was so far away,
across the room,
but the feelings she omits sits inside and steadies you till you stay,
consumed.
"Ruins, that's all I see here."
Placed her half finished drink upon the table,
then made her way out the door without a noise and completely disappeared.

----

Pointless

Stubby gold fingers licking dry turkey dinner lingers,

pig like snouts informing us of the drought.

Let me reverberate the malcontent and murder rate,

learn which state is which and enter a national debate.

Hahaha,

gotcha, fooled you with stupidity.

Sorry, I'm just lost in the arts of pure lucidity.

I can't be me,

no she's a danger,

VIOLENT DANGER,

a stranger looking to ruin the manger!

But at one time she was a dime and a nickle.

She was the vinegar that made the best pickles.

Fickle maybe, but no person could slay me.

I verbally abused and used their anger to obey me.

Sick sorry demon stuck the good kid in her pocket,

told the little bitch not to squirm or she'd gladly stop it.

Until the little girl got strong and crawled up to her earlobe.

whispered sweet goodbyes then roughly began to probe.

Deeper and deeper she managed to find the spot,

to bring the end of this demon reign and be the one on top.

Snapped off and broken,

the entity got red and swollen.

It's the end of it all,

it's the end of me,

Sorry to all of those that I didn't let run free.

I wish that I was angrier but I cannot be.

Now I'm just the pocket dwelling little tiny me.

-----

Trying to understand what happens in a brain controlled by two entities is difficult work. You have to learn both but at the same time keep your distance from the one that wishes to destroy. Not only you, no, everything and everyone around you. Little spurts of unwarranted anger stick out like sore thumbs. People start to believe your crazy, and goddamnit you know you're crazy. But why express that in any way? Why tell people about what's going on inside that "pretty little head of yours" ?(go stuff it, by the way) There's no reason to sound the alarms when you've been coping with it all by yourself. NOW! AREN'T YOU THE BIG GIRL, TOUGH AND DEALING WITH IT ALL BY YOURSELF! I wish I were a big girl. Most days I feel like a small bug, creeping along and silently existing alongside others that would much rather see me exterminated or taken care of in any grotesque yet acceptable way. Then again there are so many people who flounder at me. They think I'm the nicest person they've met and tell everyone I'm good. Yet my soul feels so bad. THERE'S NO WAY YOUR CRAZY. YOU'RE THE NICEST PERSON I KNOW! Yeah, well, nicest doesn't always mean so. Then again it's not like I don't work hard to keep her at bay, god FORBID I let her get a hold of the steering wheel, I'd be done for good. She's angry this time and she's in it for the win. Every moment of weakness I show is a grab at the gold for her. So, like I earlier stated how could someone understand what it's like to battle with yourself every day for control of the things you say and do. Especially when everything that is said and done will be reflected upon you and only you. Not you and the other you, HAHA, because there really is no other you. It's a figment that is dominating your consciousness. It's a clutter of subconscious anger trying to pry open your cognitive thought and control it to release the welled up infatuation. Many people pick up hobbies or little mantras they perform to control these things. They eat different foods, sleep earlier, keep journals, work out, take yoga lessons, clip coupons, whatever pleases their fancy really.But everytime I've attempted to keep my mind busy with other things, I find this other entity starts to control even those things. Now, I'm telling this to an internet blog because no one else wants to hear about it. No one else even thinks its real. Probably laughable mostly, "hahaha, she thinks there's two people in there." 

WELL HAHA YEAH I'M A FUCKING LOONY TOON THANKS.

And now I'm done because this is pointless.

exposed

Quick is the clench in jaw,
sedated memories come back from the freezer unthawed,
unmarked, naw,
just more violent than they were before the shadows learned their certain way to crawl.
A mall,
the people that I love,
sweet fragrances above,
my head get me clouded then it's all decay,
ruined and focus set astray,
Elegance starts to fray,
tattered landscape in the way.
Where did they all go?
Why can't I see?
Why are all the noises pointing all their poison at me?
I hear you need me in a panting scared gasp of breath and before I can move my head they drag you off to join the death.
Wake up in bed, try to relax to tired eyes,
although your muscles restrict the sleepiness and create a deep feeling of despise.

----

Fellipscious Delibate

Centerfold blindness your kindness is mindless,
silence.
I'm tired of hearing the jibber jabber,
the chitter chatter,
weak knees on a tall ladder,
making money out of matter.
Pitter patter,
fuck the rain just let it pour,
watched her eyeball me from the corner of that door.
Sore sorry son of a bitch,
switch your ass a little bit and poke out the lips,
wish his bliss was your hips,
cause commotion with these kids.
Never have I ever,
brew streaming down throats to prove their better,
than the rest,
better than the mess,
better than the cess.
Fessed up to complications in the chest,
to be struck down by the forger of the crest.

----

Panic attack.
Panic attack.
That's thinking positively, good fucking job.
Thanks for being the leader of my flash mob,
feel sorry for me only when you have to see me sob,
breakdown and act uncalled-
for you were the one who made the heart spun,
working too hard to keep the glow of the rising sun,
forever making magic to impress the only son.

----

Broccoli

Where to and how far?
In the alley behind the bar,
bright eyes shine like I'm some movie star.
Small talk small city,
if you knew my name you'd fuck with me.
History don't repeat itself,
it sticks.
Tall house,
yellow bricks,
lost mouse snacking on tricks.
Flicker the visual remedy,
fix the cerebral chemistry,
master the mind craft then come and set sail with me.

---

"Another day. Another excuse to be sent your way."

Some Shit Just Happens.

Get the dew drops on old mops pouring out the shoe box,
mood rocks to cure the talk of losing what you thought could walk,
and launch the magic music mock-ery.
de-bauchery, how'd you fucking construe the lame attributes to the-"SOMEONE STOP HER, PLEASE!"
Running down empty stairwells,
dim light emotions got me spitting out farewells.
Perhaps it's not the time for me,
but I've got time for you,
so hand me the mood and get misconstrued till we rename the rule.
Cruel deconstruction after combustion,
a lone-ly waiting for some suction.
Lustin' for the movie dwellers, making porno party cellars some gold off of faux feathers,
forever.
Locked inside the realm of what you are, not what you want,
now the laser beam is aiming, gleaming, pointing at your spot.
Whatcha gonna do now, run away like every knows?
Or take a chance, turn around and start the fucking show?

Maybe I could bust out something like holy water to a drought but my doubt got me stutterin' and making a mess of this mouth.

You give me the sweet talk.

We were waiting on the dewy, shiny image of some goddess.
Supposedly she enhanced moods and gave those who met her a concious.
Blondeness, hair that looked like something off a unicorn.
Flowing linen uniform,
blessing you with the ability to conform.
We were warned, yes,
of her eminence's offenses,
impaling people with picket fences,
demented from her stresses,
from constantly making messes,
in places,
but she never meant it.
Spent the last of my paycheck on the rain check.
Sorry honey,
I would waste your seconds if you had some.
I need a faster method to cure the panic attacks and cloudy message.
To fix the quick way I tend to react,
to any potential push or smack,
and the quickness in which I retract from human contact.
I feel the culture feeding on my soul.
"But I feel whole,
honestly, I've never been more complete.",
said the bright eyed daughter as she kept staring at her feet.
In defeat?
No,
there's still a bit of struggle in her voice,
but staring at the ground calmly is the only choice.

---

Cigarette lust,
bust you down on my emotions.
steady tolkin' on some hope you found to cope, him.
Maybe it was 40 or 50 or 60 dollars,
squandered on products that stab the brain with tiny fishing hooks,
take a look,
I published this happy mess into a set of books.
Shook but not shaken,
cheeseburgers with bacon,
she knows exactly what was taken.
The dosage amount of that medication.
Eight times five equals just too much,
but every time I bring it up,
your first begins to clutch.
Not tryna' diss,
just sayin' I love you kid.
And maybe I should mind my own business,
but apparently that's his.
Where to begin...
My bad, I already begun.
Handed out my purple oyster to be given a gun.
Shoot,
but intend to miss.
The intention was to stun,
to get the sleepy eyed magician to stare away from the sun.

---

Fingers slip up and under your anatomy,
implanting self sufficient advocacy.
Re-establishing all the reasons you're mad at me.
Since when was I your special rendition of a nightmare?
A nice stare and steady voice that sounds like it's unfair,
but it's there!
Better than those other things you find comfort in,
the complicated chemicals causing that silly grin.
No, it ain't a sin,
but it should be considered.
Maybe by those holy master visitors,
who come with books filled with psalms so sinister.
Pivot once,
step left foot right then pivot once again.
If you manage the motion you earned the title of 'friend'.
If not, I'll put an end to your act,
to reprimand the backlash slap and bag of stems,
you used to pay for ammends.
Shit,
my daddy taught me the difference between good and evil.
He also told me why that "thing" is called Smeagle,
and that he grew up in a town where no one liked The Beatles.
So my fetal position is out of comfort.
Got too old to feel this young,
busy answering the phone when it rung.
"Hello? Hi, yeah he'd not here. You misses his by 20 milligrams and some deep down fears."
Peered out of the window to see you sanding on the lawn,
hands wrapped tight around a flask of napalm.
It ain't mom we ten to call in these situations.
I sat you down on the grass and conversated about instant gratifications.
Life is constantly a bitch and she won't allow the word 'vacation'.
So just stick to your regular stations and listen to her slander in moderation.


----


"Nothing for me to know,
nothing left to lose.
I chose the high road,
you chose the noose."

Maybe it was spite,
or just some other form of malcontent that caused me cause fights that ended in bites.
Or maybe I was wired for another kind of life,
where you can just drink yourself to sleep without worrying about the price.
Keep me in a bag of rice,
maybe I'm not broken.
Just jokin;, two weeks in there and still no progress,
you must've fried the modem,
not the anciety had a hold and got you chokin'.


---

It only took a couple seconds to wreck it.
It only took a couple minutes to mess it up.
I'm not stuck,
I just don't give a fuck about luck,
or your trust.

I won't wait for it,
not for self respect,
just for common sense and compensation.

I won't think of it,
not for one moment,
just for common knowledge and adoration.

I won't hear you just to hear you shout,
out of rage for making accomadations.

---

Okay

Fan fiction depiction of easy livin',
pill flippin and whippin',
found myself on the floor of my kitchen,
wishin',
"If I could grab hold and maintain myself,
keep whole,
I'd probably feel a little better,
probably feel much more full."
But if I wanna pay that price, it shouldn't be put on ice.
Better be charbroiled right there and cut with a sharp knife.
Killed my steak and cooked it too,
wandered in and out and through,
hallow minded selfish rules to decide weather I wanted to,
follow the mellow dramatic shallow streets littered with potholes,
grinding on the daily just to drive myself crazy, and I don't even pop dros.
My thoughts get kinda hazy when I'm feeling the light bulbs,
resonate their heat into my aspirations and goals.

Well, I met a decent fella at a house party,
he told me nothing at all but I was smitten to say the least.
No fleece, just cotton on the shoulder blades,
holding cups and saying names,
passing pieces left and right to smile when they see the tame,
awesome nature of this funky colored hurricane.
Place faith in his face,
hold hearts you tend not to break or mistake for a knock off or fake,
deliberate and consider the fact you said it straight,
to the kindest of smiles,
the sweetest mouth you'll ever taste.


Replaced a metaphor with real talk,
felt the heart race a bit and quickly stop.
Wondered why these things in my brain tend to make no sense,
and then I find myself relaxing on the otherside of the fence, thinking,
"Damn, I'm happy,
got no money,
not driven a caddy,
my place is shabby,
but I'll still call it home.
Got hit by the bullet but dodged all other obstacles.
One penny is enough for me I feel relaxed, enjoying a popsicle."
Spread love through effortless smiles and conversation.
Contemplate the fact that we all create the nation.
Quit playin',
you know you wanna get down with what I'm sayin'.
Swiftly slaying, the bitter faced attitudes without triple D boobs and Harley Quinn tattoos,
just here to better that mood.
Let's just smile and take a minute to appreciate, a moment spent with a mate.
A temporary comrade to halt the self debate.



---

I should keep with this slithering snake tongue I've been witholdin'.
The sober minded mistress found herself a smoky couldron.
Magic potion, yeah I'm feelin' the motion of filling a glass of health and hope rum.


---

Post Ti-Fuckkkk it.

Fish eyes wrapped like a worm around a hook,
shook, or maybe shaken is the word.
Really taken by your smile, but maybe that's just sounds absurd.
Word, catch you sometime,
a couple thousand rhymes later.
Debate weather or not you wanna maintain the translator.
Protest what made you faker,
the things that make or break her.
If you have a golden dollar you could probably repay their empty hands that went a long way to make sure they won't starve before they wake-
Sir, it's easy to mistake the verbal way I meditate,
but don't debate the steady rate my sanity starts to levitate.
Get it straight,
I'm on that fucken silly shit of the highest rate.
Baited like a fish in shallow water,
what you got to say?
I'm just some dudes middle daughter.
I can wander all I want but there's an apocalypse here to slaughter,
every single person here,
motherfuckers don't play fair.
Crooked smiles tend to switch back and forth between a cold stare,
no reason to feel uneasy,
we were just chillen to something breezy.
sipping wine listening to some Jay Z.
Play me?
It's alright, I'll act a fool for you.
Just give me a drink or too,
play some smooth tunes to set the mood.
Strike one,
man, that was something that shouldn't be put out there.
But judging by the smile you won the fucking dare.
Ensnared by the substances but you reply "It's just tangles."
Yeah tangles,
that strangle you till you're mangled.
Even blind eyes can see your pain though.
I'm sorry,
that was wild.
You're just some corny gentle child.
Trying to do you and make miles in some shoes,
it takes a while.
Props to you for taking that and making it worth while.
Smiles,
smiling,
everyone's so fucking happy.
It makes me wanna cry to see the people that love me enjoying what they deserve and feeling lucky.
Trust me,
to feel low at shouldn't be an option,
and to see people you know, simple holding tight on their hope.
Saying "Fuck it, liberation, I'm not getting tied by the rope."
Soap opera feelings.
Constant complicated dealings,
making simple sword wielding an art,
just taken my heart from off my sleeve,
tear it apart and leave it in as an abstract sign of peace.
Please,
blame it on the vees but I feel a little more free.

----

Feeling addicted to breathing,
for once seized the seething,
the bleeding wounds were subsiding,
the scabs were starting the binding.
Rewinding the damage rather timely.
Blimey, where have I been fucking lost at sea,
in my own head in my imagination, gee.


----

"Maybe someday we'll meet some time and you'll start talkin' to me as if you knew me."

Come on and dance with me pretty sweet fool. I wanna be your toy.

"Don't take me tongue tied. Don't kiss me goodnight"

Voices swarming, controlling, informing.
'Hey girl, you're mourning, a person worth forming,
Some sort of permanent holding to keep the souls from touring.'
Great story, wanna hear it again?
Another vivid smile meant to fuck you with a pen.
Come here, take me.
No, wait, save me.
Better yet delay thee option to tame me.
I'm not worth the maybe,
And you don't deserve the kind of person I've been lately.
Perhaps this was fate,
for you to just fly in and decide to forfeit the bait,
forget the very date you stopped and asked for a stick to sedate,
the craving for something that isn't yet on your plate.
Something you can't afford,
Someone you want to adore,
New locks placed on an old door,
To keep the reality secure.
Even if you stop to think that the brink came and went,
You must not understand how time reprimands.
Show of hands,
How many people feel like that was the best of plans?
Two out of three,
Kick dirt in the sand.

----

I wanna dance with the breeze,
Fuck the sun,
Make love to the moon,
Right a little passage revolving all around you.
Put down a hand, just stay
Move your mouth,
I'll give you words to say.
Just sit here and smile.
Just forget and play the game
Stay the same,
Keep your name,
Do whatever keeps you sane.


---

Diamonds and Pearls and Rich Greedy Husbands.

The rhythm pitter patter,
thick emotions slathered like soap lather.
Deny the matter,
the last thing you lose is the easiest to shatter.
Why do you choose to distrust?
You afraid of the lust,
that you can' muster up?
Stuck?
Confused at where this is and how we got here.
Came outside the wet dream just to enter a fucking nightmare.
Angry glare.
Barely can force up the strength to care,
so I just sit there quiet and stare.
Hardly fair,
the way you're treating me.
A caged bird with amputated wings,
no desire to sing.
No water to sip,
and nothing but green,
grinning at me from beyond the glass's gleam.

Pulled out my favorite sweater,
but it had loose strings.
It'd throw it out you know,
but it's one of my favorite things.

---

Boo Who

Confession Etiquette

Withered from the moments in the sun,
left some holy grains in the earth to create a little fun.
Burnt up the moments,
smoked down the puns.
Spent every minute catering to the opponent,
my only one.
Now I'm glittervibe with zombie eyes and stir fried aphrodisiac,
combat the repetition of gaining then losing the things you lack.
Packed tight,
stuck up,
squinted eyes,
hands tucked,
away in that pocket full of gossip that she once mistook for yours but in reality she's the one wearing those colored drawers.

---

Forged a pollen locket for the knowledge.
Seeing how many hands were upon it,
desire burning the eye socket,
fought the desire to fucking rob it,
take the golden emblem for yourself, don't stop it.
Let it consume,
control,
relapse,
enfold,
ensnare you into the coffin that that tends to scare you,
the bed you made to dare to,
lay down and for once, be there too.

---

MAY FIRST TWO THOUSAND THIRTEEN AT LATE AT NIGHT CAUSE FUCK TIME.

Now,
I'll try to promise not to hold onto this forever,
but love syndrome and stormy weather always make the story better.
Haha,
no, I wasn't trying to be clever.
Because weather or not you realize it,
this is not some punch drunk letter of affection or a,
cry for attention.
I just thought that I should mention, this obvious sexual tension.
This should be considered a type of prevention,
cause both know how the game goes,
it ain't all butterflies and rainbows.
Tight grips on plain bowls, chiefing on that fragrant green, dreaming of gold, shifting into the scenes,
the way we scuff up our favorite memories like they're petty things all for some herbal remedies,
release.

It's some type of...

---

FUCK THIS NOISE!

Holy macaroni,
decorated portrait of a homie,
next to a sewn wreath of, goodness fucking me.
Sorry that was fantasy.
Just trying to provoke insanity.
If you think you're mad at me,
the pack your shit up and leave!
SHIT,
it's been way too long but feels like I've been on this forever.
Been a decent year being two birds of a feather.
Tethered,
weathered beyond recognition.
New car, broken ignition.
Bright star too hard on the vision.
Velcro to linen,
silent yet deadly in the art of winnin'.
Pinning down your panic attack patterns up on the ceilin',
wheelin' and dealin'.
Why did I say it?
Just cause I could.
And if I could've relayed it kindly,
I probably would.
Got all hood on you for a second there.
Sorry everyone,
I just needed a breath of fresh air.

I can see you happy in the shadows I despise.

Simmering nail paint saint,
faint on the dainty portions on the plate.
Set up a date with fate,
find myself a year later fingering electrical sockets to masturbate.
Finished off with that doting grin; infinite backspin,
flick the cigarette toward the ash bin.
We make laughs out of misery once we seen who's really laughin'.
Passion,
something we all possess but some of us can't control it.
That moment?
Just an influx of emotional atonement.
Physical component,
fixing the hard drive,
locking your spine,
bringing memories to life, intwined.
Vines are just tangles in mother nature's hair.
And we learn to and swing on the to accomplish any dare.
Pair off and sit squared,
in the middle there was some unidentifiable silverwear.
A spoon to feed you with,
cook up poison for the drip,
a knife to cut and roll the piff,
or a fork to fucking stab you quick.


---

Vibrant green blades of grass tickle the back of your shin,
the sensation vacation lets the memories back in.
Devilish grin,
How's it going? Where you been?
It's been a while since a smile came to tickle my chin.
Double the dose of reality to the vanity,
once spelled it all out hoping one day he'd be proud of me.
But now you see the golden tree, that sprang from the cigarette ashed days that were meant to be.
Existing is enlisting the the likelihood of loving free-ly,
wondering deep-ly,
so bad sometimes you find yourself stumbling,
and not once in my life have I had to revert to mumbling,
but some days are just so fucking amazing it's truly humbling.
So pardon me if my stare is a little distant,
the cinema is premiering our past and I don't want to miss a minute.
Don't make fucking assumptions,
I just wanted to admit it.
The fact the you were a piece cut perfectly to fit inside the person alive and in it.

Or something like that?

--

Torso twist wormhole dramatic empty Virgo.
Er go,
or was it "avoid" the nerve to step on boots,
so acute though.
Gifted with ta smooth tongue and envious attributes.
Scoot, scoot, scoot.
The sunlight is only just starting to fade to grey,
burghandy, deep green,
or was it something else you couldn't yet convey.
Strayed from the cold breeze that gives out weak knees with a silent glimmering gleam of the red from itchy bee stings.
Fangs long enough to infect you through the vocal chords in bed,
make you the living dead,
sing you alarming lullabies,
taking scissors to the strings you tied.
Five minutes ago I felt completely pron to grab the fucking rope and swing across this gaping threshold.
Make gold.
TALLIHOE!
Sedate the feeling of:
"RETALIATE!"
or the feeling of:
"TAKE THE BAIT!"
or like,
"FUCK IT, THIS SHIT IS FATE!"
Blind snakes,
vaped brains slither and instate fear into the tears slipping fast off your face.
Misplaced or just easily mistaken,
for taken moments without a grain of salt.
If only you'd savored the taste,
you wouldn't be to pron to walk up and out of this place.
Trace back the steps,
throw out the old regrets,
prepare yourself to rearrange just to make a new mess.
Decompress the stress from the back of your neck.
No need to take twenty minutes,
ain't got time to get tangled in the spinet.

Today is shit.

Snap my head back,
quick instant relapse,
passionate magnetic tics tacs lined across the skyline with matching colored pasts.
Don't react, don't press it,
don't touch it,
don't pull it.
Don't fucking talk to me like that.
no more misses nice bitch, I'm fucking through with it.

Stuck on gauze wrapped bliss and punishment,
stuffing my face like a glutton, shit, today was shit regardless of any accomplishments or lackluster compliment,
staples deep in the brain sewed that rip better than a stitch.
Slipped out the steeple for some funny honey spit,
for some birthday madness happy randomness to sooth the 6 hours of what I'd call plain Godly malice.
And to think now he's gonna take what you can't afford,
kick open the door and store away your cookies in his horde.
Bored or maybe strung on that livelihood of running shit with dopey eyes and schizophrenic shaken looks of "But I'm not done with it."
It was a sword,
or maybe just a knife.
Quick stab to the back,
or the long slash to your life.

Why did it have to be today that the gun went and bit the bullet?
Construed it blatantly enough even a deaf man understood it.
Pull it in,
Deeeeeep,
no push it out.
Spout happiness out cha mouth,
wish for some solidness in that house.
You claim you're a man but you're a mouse,
and every day the hole gets smaller while they're hunting you, ouch.
Maybe that was a bit harsh, huh? Yeah, I can slow it down a little.
Don't worry I can sing a melody if you can fake the fiddle.
We can't speak in riddle, but someone's mistaken something.
You think I'm here to twiddle,
I'm just waiting for the golden wing salvation claimed to bring.
And yes I'm stuck here in the middle but I'm still trying to spread my wings,
throwing objects out the sling into the meandering model of our home in late spring.
Fucking lucky bird got out the cage just so it could sing,
now I'm stuck here wondering if I've gone and done the right fucking thing.


----

Solid paint board,
make more folk lore than a snake lord.
Target,
aim for-ward,
you've got a imagination instead of a sword.
Poured out the remedy till there wasn't anymore.
Sore from the time spent bent on some ill wishes.
Sick on some high self esteem and tropical fishes,
and verbs that make you bored.



----


Break the mass hysterical mixes of retribution and salvation. Feed the restless animals the tribunal revolution and desensitization. Fuck this nation of wannabe mommy's, pop stars and computer screens, I want real things, fucking people with prosperous poverty dreams, eyes bright shooting beams of the imagination they breathe.

---

The time starts moving faster than you're thinking,
blinking away minutes,
keep em' shut,
please stop that winking,
impermanent scars on a starlet's ships sinking.
Lips sucked,
slinking up the heels just to combat the light that's blinking,
ripped up breaths heaving,
distressed mess leaving.

Quick imagination overwhelming the images that've been taken from a book he wrote his name just to convey the feeling of containment. Blamed it on the sunbeams and the angry style of self expression, a lesson once learned from a human with something the mention.
Suspension from the school of unlikely depression.

----

I need a cheeseburger and a new life.

Words retaliate,
mix and collaborate,
make stakes for the faces they tend to rate.
High on benevolence,
low self esteem from the dishevelment or the cement that kept away ill will and malcontent.
Bent on a bit of the lack of interest from the 'interested'.
Spent the rent then took scissors to my head.
Fled the previous notion about getting into that bed,
for god sake if you were half awake I wouldn't feel this fucking dead.
Lead heart, don't go no near it, it's known to chip in the wrong places.

---

Tangle your fingers in that hair of the girl you'd like to ensnare,
care to take a walk somewhere,
have a smoke sit back and stare.
Lose the feeling of lacking air and enjoy the vibes coming from off that,
male with the composure of those who'd never talk to ya'.
Dream of self esteem gleam bright, but still don't shine enough.
Got a permanent heart beat when I talk to ya',
but I'm lonely in a place I feel I could never leave.


----

Give me a little something or other to single out the doubt of the oncoming drought. Found myself locked inside an enigma. Sucking face to concentrate, getting off sooner than late. I'm just fucking bait, a good tail and face to look at. A girl with a sense of style and sensitivity that combats the utter essence of feeling lonely and self doubt. She'll put a smile on your face. She'll make your belly full during that drought. Reverberating you time to make minds dance with one another. Hold awkward pitter patter silly grin. Lacking sin, it's all pure just emotional connection making amends in all the places you haven't been near in a while and then some. Blending colors on your palate trying to show you some directions. Blessed souls walk these streets, it just takes a cigarette, smile and weed. Bleeding hearts don't find each other, they are born to meet eventually. Sent to one another from some extraterrestrial entity. Meant to be. Fucking one another creating the new underground fleet, of people who know it's more important to eat. Take a seat on that bus of permanent nightmares, cold glares ruining what you thought were onward stares, blaring their strange form of ignorance out of bullhorns and fucking bus fare.

---

I'm so fucking...

----

Little Miss Sunshine Pants

Planning each step toward the residence of self regret and money debt.
If I had a some self respect, I'd pay them less and less and less.
Buy a new dress,
Wear my hair up,
instead of leaving it a mess.
Put some make up on my face,
sedate the whole mutant race.
Place in the hall of 'what the fuck did you just do there?'.
Next to the same names that taught her all of the certain ways to stare,
clothes that blare,
evident pertinent sexuality,
not picking boys or girls,
she likes a, bit of variety.
Instead of that she chose prosperous propriety.

Society is the one got her jumping over these obstacles,
skipping goals to make up for the days she sold.
Holding a tight grip on that handle of previous mortal scandals,
trying on the golden goddess sandals,
wishing to God that she had someone else to grab the handles.
Steer the wheel a bit so she could sit,
get away from the cracks in the street that trip,
the head grip up until it performs a full split.
Ripped up,
sucked up,
fucked up,
that's tough.

So instead of make up on the face,
she wears a cold stare,
heating up for two minutes then returning to the glare.
Unless the senses get warm with the radiation of another,
who thinks outside the source that plugs us into the mother.
Shit, she'd get ready to smother,
that individual in a rigid hold,
just to keep out of the mold.

Instead of clothes that blare,
she wears whatever's clean.
And what she means is anything that everyone's already seen.
Then with the hair down,
she's showing you why she's so mean.
Hiding behind the veil given by the creator of our lead crowns.
Giving out little bits of obscene,
just to keep from the blood gleam,
literally plucked out the fucking seams.
But the grin is good enough to warm the worried smile.
It's nice that you feel the need to make this peasant feel like a queen.
Now sit down for a minute,
I'd like to talk to you for a while.
Get to learn about person that's walking all of these miles.

---

Fuuuuuckckckckckc

Model A

Early morning rush to the head,
break bread,
make sense of whatever was once said.
Her life,
make that.
His strife,
take that.
Leaking slow drips like tree sap.
No map to help with the winding road called tomorrow.
The compass is broken but borrowed.
Fuck I can't continue.

---

The sun is too bright. Too hot. My skin it itchy against little green blades of grass. Spring was nice here. The nature swelled, purely happy for the warmth of the sun. Glowing brightly in it's presence. There's hands moving through my hair, but I'm not sure whose hands they are. Then his face comes in, blocking the harshness of the white. Clouding it out to black and instantly, I am alone with him here in the shadow of life. It's too easy to say things, words flooding my mouth onto the pavement like they were strung together just to amuse that other person. Bringing out your best and your brightest sentences, facts, anything, whatever you have that's worth something. It's all leaked out in perfect sync with theirs. Blah, perhaps this is just a dreams. There's no way this is reality. This isn't a place I've been, nor a place I've visited. No. This place is imaginary, and so is this person for all I know. This feeling suddenly starts to fade, and the white starts to blind me from that face.

Now I am alone. Alone and blind, incapable of even wanting to know what would happen next. Then, just when I think everything is about to disappear the face is back, as dramatically as it interrupted the blindness before. That smile is awfully soothing for one I hardly know. I'm rolled over onto my knees and then there was no more sun in my eyes. Yes, I could see very clearly this face. I returned it's smile immediately.

---

"For a poor shmuck, he's temptatiously fucking cute."

Man, I'm starting to hate this thing called thinking,
always out of breath feeling like the boat is sinking.
A demon with passion for the delicate souls he's drinking,
he'll have you in his arms before you can get to blinking.
Winking,
that smile was drawn up just for you,
now that those eyes are shining, tell me what I'm s'posed to do?
Caffeine habit,
got weak knees for the white rabbit,
trying to kick the the rock,
not smash it,
re-verberate,
retreat then watch the reaction!
Shitty compassion,
underneath the sole of your high heels,
high pitched squeals,
making all of the deals.
Stuck out a leg for some feels,
got in the passenger side,
but now look who's taking the wheel!
Got a diamond like eye,
cutting glass holes inside your mind,
your in-sides,
stop, rewind,
we won't be going there this time.
And before I lose the money for the fine,
I'll throw it at them in hundreds of dimes,
nickles,
but not quarters,
cause you know, those are mine.
Fuck the institutions,
I've got sunshine to feel blind.

---

Common sense society,
a social group of monotony,
Sorry,
please go away,
you just bother me,
and if I could, I'd stay,
but really I should leave,
don't follow,
see?

I've got so much to say,
but he's in my brain all day.
Constantly paving the way,
to the road I've been waiting to stray.
I mean follow,
of course that's a lot to swallow,
hallow souls ain't got no motto,
they just plug their ears and wallow,
waddle around like fucking ducks
shmucks,
stuck on the luck, fucks and bucks.
Deluxe limited edition trust,
tearing off your shirt from the bust,
extorting the desire to make a fuss.
He likes your smile,
yeah that's a plus.
There's only so many things you can say that fall under the word 'must'.
Only so many ways to lean the soul toward the lust.

The gluttony,
the hunger for acknowledgement,
get fucked up and leave.
The envy,
desire to have what's not yours,
so badly that you can hardly breathe.
The pride,
your ego when it starts to bleed.
the wrath is dementing,
it will be the greed to which you'll be descending,
till sloth is where your ending.

Pending the sins live within one another,
sisters and brothers,
mingling with your thoughts like intimate lovers,
Biting your neck till you feel smothered.
Holding your hand till you feel mothered.
Holding the gun to your head,
yeah nobody really ever wondered.
Evil can convince you to do anything once you're under,
the control of more than less of the whole picture,
your less than the whole thing,
to a house you'd be just a fixture.
A fixation on the mixture,
we've created with our many pantone elixirs.
It's not you that got me bad,
I just drank too much of that mixer.
Fixer upper of the pure boredom of...
what was I even..

---

We were walking on this dirt path on a mid afternoon in spring, chatting about different things, the specifics are too hard to remember now. The feeling of it all was warm, safe. He was leading me through these trees like he had some wonderful secret place to show me. We were practically running, but perhaps it was just the giddiness putting the extra step in our strides.

Now it's darker, the sun's emitting a red hue through the tree bodies. The path is just minutes away from being less than useful.I'm starting to wonder where we're going. I'm starting to wonder why we've gotten quiet.

There's a long stretch of road, we're walking outside some strange field, his hand moves over the skin on the back of my arm. I was leading now, not quite sure where we were going. I stop the cringe before it meets up with my face. For some reason, I don't feel safe any longer.

---

subtit...

I should be getting some sleep
yes,
sleep.
Something you do to make time pass while your physical being gathers energy to continue the daily grind.
I've gotten maybe,
half what's recommended.
I have to be somewhere in 8 hours.
I should be resting.

---

Gold crushed smoked up bud luscious lip drug.
Smug interactions with a snide thug,
thoughts tug,
stuck on some shit like a thorn or a dagger,
dripping liquid gems and unadulterated swagger.
No matter, I've got a dime and nickle that says you don't care.
Smiling wide inside the vines with that dope stare.
Baby maybe we could get together play a game of truth or dare,
then we can really figure out the who, what, when and where.
Hold up,
don't put it there,
remember it's all said through the wild child,
naked and bare,
with soft curves and thick hair.

----
The pur of recognition,
your speech starts it's infinite repetition,
message liftin',
wondered how long before they'd all be spittin'.
Maybe too long,
but that's only called simple livin'.

---

Subtitles.
Her eyes are there but only when I close my own. Yeah, it's hard not to stare but I'm better off alone. Sitting stone, high upon my mossy green throne, still an silent in the morning but arise my mind at night with appetite.

The things I write don't make any sense.
Or they do but not right now and that's awful because it's just run on sentences with fillers and improper everything.
I couldn't get published if I was rich.
And that surely is saying a lot.

---

Feeling a little undertheweatherforever.

You smile brightest when the darkness hits your eyelids,
mind teetering on some divine shit.
I thought we were what you called divine, shit.
My lines aren't as heavy as my arms feel.
My minds isn't sharp like a thorn anymore.
No wonder, I've become less to adore,
a sign merely pointing at the door,
telling you to get out, jump and soar.

---

Poor demeanor,
feeling slightly hotter than a fever,
trying to get my hands out of the water heater.
Defeat her,
but mastering the mind will take a moment.
Get your ingredients together,
this recipes excellence is based on the components.

----

It's Christmas at the bong store,
4/20, tolk, that's whatcha minds for,
got more lines that a dollars got dimes,
plain for the sight but tangled up like vines,
wildfire rhymes,
spitting liquid, no, never mind.

I should try and write some bullshit here.

A latern held high,
shine light into the eye,
through the frontal lobe, down through the spine.

Captioned obliterating hatred, steeped in pure turnaround debate shit,
spit turned into a mound of feathers and paste bits,
fell down the rabbit hole to Alice before the night shift.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder--

To be plain and honest, I can't sleep, and last night I assumed my restlessness was purely the adderall. Now, a while back I decided that if I were to pursue a career in creating stories I'd have to start thinking from all sorts different perspectives.
Yeah, I decided that I had to concern myself with other people's emotions to the point where I could understand almost any circumstance and be able to create probable fixes and such to create more comfort for those around me through my stories or just my words, even if they're not 234 pages long with an introduction.
In all honesty, it's mostly worked in my advantage. I'm more understanding than I could've ever been before. I looked through eyes and made conclusions based on how I've learned people think. From them telling me, from intimate conversations about head trauma and early morning nightmares. I thought through their irrationality, when on certain drugs, after consuming a certain amount of alcohol or even watching them drink too many cups of coffee. Being able to feel what they felt when whatever I said or did was occurring in their personal timeline of existence, considering all the little details.

Partially drunk, smoked through about four cigarettes in the last 20 minutes. Dull expression, bored although painted to absolute perfection. Whoever thought boredom could be so awfully sexy. It's clear that what I am about to say isn't going to do me any good, but because I could not understand where she currently was I would not understand why it ended up the way it would. Therefore, I'd be confused considering I personally ignored her feelings being conveyed slightly through facial expressions because I was too concerned for what I had to say. What I had to get off my chest. And of course, we all play games when we're bored. But who's to say victim? Not me, not this time, no, because I was the one who couldn't see it and she was the one who knew it the whole time.

None of this really makes any sense, to be blatant I can't sleep because something passed away in that room recently and it makes me nauseous just thinking about sleeping in that torture.

I participate in a pretty awful chain of events but I choose to keep it out of my hands. It still hurts me in the sense that I'm thinking from the perspective of the recently deceased. Particularly, a caged animal. One, that really can't feel any real emotions toward an owner but could exist alongside it respectively being taken care of. Unless, it wasn't.

I shouldn't feel guilty but I do. And maybe I should but I've shirked the responsibility once again. Or perhaps I just didn't care at all, but now that things have turned out the way they have I'm upset that I didn't care. I guess that's human enough.

Blue skin. Dried.

Ugh.

I can't even think straight, and I've got to work all day tomorrow.

Glory.

Time to make up some shit to try and get my face off this image.

----