Secret's safe with you
We can keep a secret if
One of us is dead
We can keep a secret if
One of us is dead
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Friday, September 23, 2011
Travels
The cave has narrowed and Death and I are close.
We crawl together
Arms brushing.
I pace myself carefully, not to burn the small amount of energy I'm allowed.
When I wake, I wake hopeful. I see the future, the world outside;
I'm building it in my mind;
I'm pacing my travels,
tracing my steps,
walking on fist and toe
with large pupils
but never running on instinct;
no, only on intellectualism;
next to Death as an equal
a mutual teacher.
I show him life
and he shows me death.
We work together to create a superior being.
We work together to even the burden,
exchanging weights, answering questions,
balancing the load
between two halves
of one person.
Death and Life, functioning together,
Death creating Life, and life creating Death
We travel
towards a common goal:
equilibrium.
We crawl together
Arms brushing.
I pace myself carefully, not to burn the small amount of energy I'm allowed.
When I wake, I wake hopeful. I see the future, the world outside;
I'm building it in my mind;
I'm pacing my travels,
tracing my steps,
walking on fist and toe
with large pupils
but never running on instinct;
no, only on intellectualism;
next to Death as an equal
a mutual teacher.
I show him life
and he shows me death.
We work together to create a superior being.
We work together to even the burden,
exchanging weights, answering questions,
balancing the load
between two halves
of one person.
Death and Life, functioning together,
Death creating Life, and life creating Death
We travel
towards a common goal:
equilibrium.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
The Reminder
Divorces, separations, widowings
Happiness, empty, closed, reserved
Dead, never touches the eyes, alone with company
(Kissing without saliva)
Brushes the heart but never enters
(Fond but not in love)
Doors are locked
Keys are hidden
Under the mat
In the lamp
Underneath the rock
On the back porch
Reminders
This house is ours
Not my own
Happiness, empty, closed, reserved
Dead, never touches the eyes, alone with company
(Kissing without saliva)
Brushes the heart but never enters
(Fond but not in love)
Doors are locked
Keys are hidden
Under the mat
In the lamp
Underneath the rock
On the back porch
Reminders
This house is ours
Not my own
Saturday, August 20, 2011
two evils
unsure of how to choose between
one evil and the other
i thought, why not give you a chance
i know, one day, you will break me,
i know that this won't last forever
i know that the world will destroy what we have
but i chose you
because
you've taught me so much
and i need to know how to love again
i chose you because
you are where I'm supposed to be
you and i are a team
you're my fate-for-now
you're my i need to understand this
you're my sleep with me tonight and wake with me tomorrow
you're my love now
i chose you
and that's all there is to it
the sweeter of evils
the painless death
the eyes closed orgasm
i chose you
and now you're mine
and it feels right.
for now.
one evil and the other
i thought, why not give you a chance
i know, one day, you will break me,
i know that this won't last forever
i know that the world will destroy what we have
but i chose you
because
you've taught me so much
and i need to know how to love again
i chose you because
you are where I'm supposed to be
you and i are a team
you're my fate-for-now
you're my i need to understand this
you're my sleep with me tonight and wake with me tomorrow
you're my love now
i chose you
and that's all there is to it
the sweeter of evils
the painless death
the eyes closed orgasm
i chose you
and now you're mine
and it feels right.
for now.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Pseudopathy
I hope
this is what you wanted.
I hope you wanted to see me die.
I hope you actually stopped loving me that day.
I hope I bear no attraction, no ounce of beauty, in my body.
I hope you never loved me.
Just like you said.
No one sees you as well as I do.
No one sees the way you
act like you care
almost like you actually feel it
it's like you really feel it
and then you shred it apart
like it's nothing
when addressing the mind.
No one sees the sharp teeth you bare.
The glistening, dragon eyes you use.
The venomous tongue;
The sharp edges of your structure;
The knives on your fingertips;
The killer in your heart;
The apathy in your soul.
You murderer.
You monster.
Killer.
Psychopath.
Lunatic.
Freak.
My favorite person.
My partner, soulmate, my dancer.
I need you.
this is what you wanted.
I hope you wanted to see me die.
I hope you actually stopped loving me that day.
I hope I bear no attraction, no ounce of beauty, in my body.
I hope you never loved me.
Just like you said.
No one sees you as well as I do.
No one sees the way you
act like you care
almost like you actually feel it
it's like you really feel it
and then you shred it apart
like it's nothing
when addressing the mind.
No one sees the sharp teeth you bare.
The glistening, dragon eyes you use.
The venomous tongue;
The sharp edges of your structure;
The knives on your fingertips;
The killer in your heart;
The apathy in your soul.
You murderer.
You monster.
Killer.
Psychopath.
Lunatic.
Freak.
My favorite person.
My partner, soulmate, my dancer.
I need you.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Legend (Surviving the Schism)
One cloudy night, they laid together in bed, spooned. Their hearts gently beating in unison. Their bodies were cold, their faces were stone. Their eyes were the same shade of grey. They slept in dead silence.
All he had were nightmares. His mind unsettled and restless, imagining himself running from a large wave of darkness, feet barely moving. The darkness never engulfs him, even when it touches him, but he's afraid that one day, it will.
She dreamed in monotone black, staring at her eyelids throughout the night, and waking to face nothing but a lifeless corpse of the human she used to be, and the dead man that slept next to her, flinching, softly whimpering.
She created this hell. She killed him. Every ounce of beauty in him, she drained him of, every ounce of identity and manhood.
She stood up and entered the bathroom, going to wash the dirt from her face. For a long time, she simply watched the mirror with an empty expression. Then a tear streamed down her cheek. And another. Her eyes, like rusted pipes, slowly leaked more and more salty wet bulbs. Her face was unchanged. She stared into herself, seeing nothing.
A small sob erupted from her when she felt the knife enter her back.
She didn't have to look back. She knew it was him. She knew his expression, his posture, his heartless stare that was piercing through her mind, as if the knife carried a shock that lasted as long as it remained in flesh. She knew exactly what happened, and she slowly fell to the ground, laying on her side.
Heavy weeping suddenly burst through her lips as she bled out. He knelt by her side and put his hand on her hip, staring into her eyes, maintaining his glare. He watched her die slowly, waiting for her heart to stop fighting the knife in her back and give up on her, on life.
But as she cried, convulsed, and cringed in agony, she grabbed hold of the knife and slowly took it out of her. She removed his hand from her side and held it in hers for a solid moment, kissed him goodbye, and walked to the nearest hospital.
She had an amazing willpower to live, they say. That's how she made it.
Some say she actually just drove there.
No one knows how she made it. But she did.
God must have been looking straight down on her that day.
But she's not really alive. She's something far beyond the living. An old soul, they call it.
And she still loves that man, that man who almost killed her. She watches over him, pulling the strings of fate to keep him from getting the grey she cursed him with, as she is the only cure.
And sometimes, he looks up at the sky at just the right moments, to see her smiling down at him, sending her love.
"To fall in love is a blessing. To stay in love is a curse." - Unknown
All he had were nightmares. His mind unsettled and restless, imagining himself running from a large wave of darkness, feet barely moving. The darkness never engulfs him, even when it touches him, but he's afraid that one day, it will.
She dreamed in monotone black, staring at her eyelids throughout the night, and waking to face nothing but a lifeless corpse of the human she used to be, and the dead man that slept next to her, flinching, softly whimpering.
She created this hell. She killed him. Every ounce of beauty in him, she drained him of, every ounce of identity and manhood.
She stood up and entered the bathroom, going to wash the dirt from her face. For a long time, she simply watched the mirror with an empty expression. Then a tear streamed down her cheek. And another. Her eyes, like rusted pipes, slowly leaked more and more salty wet bulbs. Her face was unchanged. She stared into herself, seeing nothing.
A small sob erupted from her when she felt the knife enter her back.
She didn't have to look back. She knew it was him. She knew his expression, his posture, his heartless stare that was piercing through her mind, as if the knife carried a shock that lasted as long as it remained in flesh. She knew exactly what happened, and she slowly fell to the ground, laying on her side.
Heavy weeping suddenly burst through her lips as she bled out. He knelt by her side and put his hand on her hip, staring into her eyes, maintaining his glare. He watched her die slowly, waiting for her heart to stop fighting the knife in her back and give up on her, on life.
But as she cried, convulsed, and cringed in agony, she grabbed hold of the knife and slowly took it out of her. She removed his hand from her side and held it in hers for a solid moment, kissed him goodbye, and walked to the nearest hospital.
She had an amazing willpower to live, they say. That's how she made it.
Some say she actually just drove there.
No one knows how she made it. But she did.
God must have been looking straight down on her that day.
But she's not really alive. She's something far beyond the living. An old soul, they call it.
And she still loves that man, that man who almost killed her. She watches over him, pulling the strings of fate to keep him from getting the grey she cursed him with, as she is the only cure.
And sometimes, he looks up at the sky at just the right moments, to see her smiling down at him, sending her love.
"To fall in love is a blessing. To stay in love is a curse." - Unknown
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Friday, July 15, 2011
The Cave (The Return)
When you're in the Cave, all you want is to get out of it.
You'll do anything to get out of it.
Anything to make the pain stop,
to slow the decay,
to kill what's killing you.
When you're out, the world is beautiful.
After rest and a moment of revival, there comes a point of Realization.
You must go back.
You have to return to the pain, the hurt, the destruction and the death.
You're not dying in there. You're living.
This world is nothing but a dream. A matrix. A hallucination.
It's not real.
But it sure as hell feels good, doesn't it?
You contemplate staying here. What could possibly be wrong with it?
You could live. You could be happy.
But you will never live. And you will never be happy.
You'll live in a world that you know isn't real.
You have to unlock that part of your mind that can only be set free
through Pain. Torment. Self-Death. Self-Revival.
Cautiously, carefully, cowardly,
You re-enter the Cave.
Death approaches you, like an old friend.
You take his hand and a shot of pain runs through your body.
You nod at him, and he nods back, pride glimmering in his enlarged pupils.
And you walk with him, like a child walks with his Father.
You walk, unknowing of where the Cave will take you.
"No more detours," Death whispers in your ear.
You swallow deeply and nod.
Back in the Cave, ready to die.
You'll do anything to get out of it.
Anything to make the pain stop,
to slow the decay,
to kill what's killing you.
When you're out, the world is beautiful.
After rest and a moment of revival, there comes a point of Realization.
You must go back.
You have to return to the pain, the hurt, the destruction and the death.
You're not dying in there. You're living.
This world is nothing but a dream. A matrix. A hallucination.
It's not real.
But it sure as hell feels good, doesn't it?
You contemplate staying here. What could possibly be wrong with it?
You could live. You could be happy.
But you will never live. And you will never be happy.
You'll live in a world that you know isn't real.
You have to unlock that part of your mind that can only be set free
through Pain. Torment. Self-Death. Self-Revival.
Cautiously, carefully, cowardly,
You re-enter the Cave.
Death approaches you, like an old friend.
You take his hand and a shot of pain runs through your body.
You nod at him, and he nods back, pride glimmering in his enlarged pupils.
And you walk with him, like a child walks with his Father.
You walk, unknowing of where the Cave will take you.
"No more detours," Death whispers in your ear.
You swallow deeply and nod.
Back in the Cave, ready to die.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Eye 3 (Prying it Open)
I thought I was blind.
In fact, I was sure I was blind.
I could see with my eyes, but not with my mind.
I swore I was blind.
When the light hit the Eye, I was shocked to see the world as it was.
Beautiful. Astonishingly beautiful.
Everything is filmed and unclear, but the colors are vivid enough for admiration.
Even from afar.
Through the crack, I gazed.
There was no society, no establishment, no trace of humanity.
Just nature, functioning together, working as one.
I saw the entire world moving together in unison,
the system of it all, the eternal circle,
the birth of a baby blue jay weighing the death of an elderly fox,
the way the sun shines just enough to make the grass grow,
the miracle of Sheer Coincidence as a base, allowing a great world to blossom from Chance.
I recognized the beauty inside myself, the pure, instinctual place I hold in this world,
and at that moment, I suddenly felt as I joined in the Movement of the World,
stepping through the crack, out of the cave,
settling into the grass in front of a great river, where a deer drinks across from me,
I crossed my legs, feeling it be the right position,
and ceased my marveling,
and I began my harmonization.
Life is a miracle.
Not a moment of it should be wasted.
The time in the cave, I cannot say was wasted time.
Had I found this place without that Great Journey, I would never see the world as I see it now.
The Eye would have never opened.
I would have never been free from the confines of Sanity.
No, I haven't wasted any of my time here.
Every moment I've spent has lead to this one, this one moment that allows me to finally understand why I am and love being alive.
This moment, teaching me the boxed ways of thinking my fellow humans indulge in from birth, and in many circumstances, die in; this moment, allowing me to see the world as God would see it; this moment, allowing me to unify with the many things that also live on this planet with us; this moment, allowing me to realize that time and limitations and boundaries are simply man-made; this moment, granting me the right to accept myself and the life that thrives from selfishness and thoughtless destruction around me.
This moment, the one that has pried my Third Eye open, so I may finally understand why I'm here and what my purpose is.
Words cannot describe the amount of Reconstruction this allows.
In fact, I was sure I was blind.
I could see with my eyes, but not with my mind.
I swore I was blind.
When the light hit the Eye, I was shocked to see the world as it was.
Beautiful. Astonishingly beautiful.
Everything is filmed and unclear, but the colors are vivid enough for admiration.
Even from afar.
Through the crack, I gazed.
There was no society, no establishment, no trace of humanity.
Just nature, functioning together, working as one.
I saw the entire world moving together in unison,
the system of it all, the eternal circle,
the birth of a baby blue jay weighing the death of an elderly fox,
the way the sun shines just enough to make the grass grow,
the miracle of Sheer Coincidence as a base, allowing a great world to blossom from Chance.
I recognized the beauty inside myself, the pure, instinctual place I hold in this world,
and at that moment, I suddenly felt as I joined in the Movement of the World,
stepping through the crack, out of the cave,
settling into the grass in front of a great river, where a deer drinks across from me,
I crossed my legs, feeling it be the right position,
and ceased my marveling,
and I began my harmonization.
Life is a miracle.
Not a moment of it should be wasted.
The time in the cave, I cannot say was wasted time.
Had I found this place without that Great Journey, I would never see the world as I see it now.
The Eye would have never opened.
I would have never been free from the confines of Sanity.
No, I haven't wasted any of my time here.
Every moment I've spent has lead to this one, this one moment that allows me to finally understand why I am and love being alive.
This moment, teaching me the boxed ways of thinking my fellow humans indulge in from birth, and in many circumstances, die in; this moment, allowing me to see the world as God would see it; this moment, allowing me to unify with the many things that also live on this planet with us; this moment, allowing me to realize that time and limitations and boundaries are simply man-made; this moment, granting me the right to accept myself and the life that thrives from selfishness and thoughtless destruction around me.
This moment, the one that has pried my Third Eye open, so I may finally understand why I'm here and what my purpose is.
Words cannot describe the amount of Reconstruction this allows.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
The End of the Tunnel
It's getting hotter in this cave,
that seems to go on forever.
I reek of odor and of decaying flesh,
and I can barely stand upright.
My pupils are beginning to dilate.
Far past my iris.
I'm becoming a Dead Man.
I'm slowly Dying.
I used to scream at the top of my lungs
in pain, in decay,
clothes torn,
hair matted and frizzy,
spitting up blood,
insects and arachnids surround me,
the usual nightmare...
One day, I stopped screaming.
I let the decay win.
One day I woke up, and never moved from my sleeping position.
I let go of Sanity,
I let go of Normalcy, I let go of Understanding.
I let go.
The bugs, over time, skitted away.
Decomposition eventually stopped tearing at my flesh.
My skin stopped feeling like Fire, like death,
and the screaming in my mind slowly faded.
I wondered for a moment if I died.
I tried moving my hand, and it bended to my will.
My first three fingers clenched to my palm weakly,
I barely saw it through my mangled hair.
The pain faded gradually.
It stopped, one day.
I was afraid to move.
The Light opened from the side of my cave,
Death fled far from my bedside, like a desperate scavenger,
appearing finished with my body.
It was a large crack in the wall.
I felt a difference in me. It triggered the split.
I suddenly realized at that moment,
as the Crack stared at my grotesque body,
the key to getting out of here.
Its name rang on my lips and made the walls of the Cave shudder,
"Change."
that seems to go on forever.
I reek of odor and of decaying flesh,
and I can barely stand upright.
My pupils are beginning to dilate.
Far past my iris.
I'm becoming a Dead Man.
I'm slowly Dying.
I used to scream at the top of my lungs
in pain, in decay,
clothes torn,
hair matted and frizzy,
spitting up blood,
insects and arachnids surround me,
the usual nightmare...
One day, I stopped screaming.
I let the decay win.
One day I woke up, and never moved from my sleeping position.
I let go of Sanity,
I let go of Normalcy, I let go of Understanding.
I let go.
The bugs, over time, skitted away.
Decomposition eventually stopped tearing at my flesh.
My skin stopped feeling like Fire, like death,
and the screaming in my mind slowly faded.
I wondered for a moment if I died.
I tried moving my hand, and it bended to my will.
My first three fingers clenched to my palm weakly,
I barely saw it through my mangled hair.
The pain faded gradually.
It stopped, one day.
I was afraid to move.
The Light opened from the side of my cave,
Death fled far from my bedside, like a desperate scavenger,
appearing finished with my body.
It was a large crack in the wall.
I felt a difference in me. It triggered the split.
I suddenly realized at that moment,
as the Crack stared at my grotesque body,
the key to getting out of here.
Its name rang on my lips and made the walls of the Cave shudder,
"Change."
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Dragon Eyes
Held in the circus, the Lady with the Dragon Eyes steps into the center.
The crowd can't see them.
A camera, hooked up to a large screen, shines into her corneas and the crowd gasps.
They're sharp, they're golden and blue. They're crystal clear.
Her pupils are gone, engulfed by the colorful irises.
She looks away from the camera and at the crowd,
she hears a child whisper to his mother,
"I wonder what she sees."
"I don't think she can see," she responds.
I wonder what she sees.
I don't think she can see.
Can she see, if she has no known pupils to see with?
Can she see, if she does not see you?
Can she see if she sees the world without the painted view
of the neurological interpretation
of the pupils.
Can she see the flashing red lights that circle the tent,
if she doesn't see the lights, but instead, the implications behind the chosen color?
Can she see the expressions of the thousands of people viewing her
if she can see the painted tone of voice, the disapproval, the fear, the attempted normalcy and fear of the unknown?
I wonder what she sees, says the boy to his mother.
I don't think she can see, she responds.
Who can see clearer, the woman with the Pupil-less Eyes, or the rest of the world?
Who can see at all?
The crowd can't see them.
A camera, hooked up to a large screen, shines into her corneas and the crowd gasps.
They're sharp, they're golden and blue. They're crystal clear.
Her pupils are gone, engulfed by the colorful irises.
She looks away from the camera and at the crowd,
she hears a child whisper to his mother,
"I wonder what she sees."
"I don't think she can see," she responds.
I wonder what she sees.
I don't think she can see.
Can she see, if she has no known pupils to see with?
Can she see, if she does not see you?
Can she see if she sees the world without the painted view
of the neurological interpretation
of the pupils.
Can she see the flashing red lights that circle the tent,
if she doesn't see the lights, but instead, the implications behind the chosen color?
Can she see the expressions of the thousands of people viewing her
if she can see the painted tone of voice, the disapproval, the fear, the attempted normalcy and fear of the unknown?
I wonder what she sees, says the boy to his mother.
I don't think she can see, she responds.
Who can see clearer, the woman with the Pupil-less Eyes, or the rest of the world?
Who can see at all?
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Something so Beautiful
Female, male, female, male
Neither of the above in here
A safe place where we're together
A safe place where we can talk
through our stares and our emotions
Our skin is invisible
Emotions bare in the light, shifting pigments, colors
curious and happy
unafraid for the first time
Something so beautiful cannot be real
and it's not, by real's standards
Once the 'real' barrier is broken
Everything felt, everything experienced and everything not
is suddenly very real
These moments define the vitality of life
and the pain releases and seeps through my eyes
but I'm okay, I'm okay
For the very first time, I'm okay
Neither of the above in here
A safe place where we're together
A safe place where we can talk
through our stares and our emotions
Our skin is invisible
Emotions bare in the light, shifting pigments, colors
curious and happy
unafraid for the first time
Something so beautiful cannot be real
and it's not, by real's standards
Once the 'real' barrier is broken
Everything felt, everything experienced and everything not
is suddenly very real
These moments define the vitality of life
and the pain releases and seeps through my eyes
but I'm okay, I'm okay
For the very first time, I'm okay
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Reflections of a Dead Man
The date has been set.
Then again, I suppose it always has been.
If you believe in that sort of thing.
The day, I hope, is as beautiful as it was all those years ago.
I hope the magic sustained in the air like dust in the sunlight
from when it was born.
I hope it isn't as ugly as it seems.
The action itself seems liberating, yet so demeaning.
How odd it is to consider that a heart that has been beating for such a long time,
may end by a sudden trauma.
Life is so fragile. Truly, a gift.
It's shameful so much of it was wasted
looking for the very thing it had all along.
Life.
The virtuousness should be unlimited, considering how easy it is to lose.
But I guess life was never easy.
Life is a problem-solving game we play by chance, only to lose in the end.
Such a shame it has to end like this.
How I wish it didn't.
How I wish I could pursue the dreams I once held so dearly,
to believe in the things I once believed,
to love the people I once loved,
to hold the one I once held, hourlessly.
If only there were a way out of this tunnel.
Wishful thinking. I've searched every nook and cranny.
There are no holes in these solid walls.
There is no light in front of me.
If I could only go back to the start and change my wrongs,
ease the burdens of my loved ones,
frequently explain to them the deepest affections I once held for them, truly,
may my soul rest in peace.
But they will never know.
This is an act of martyrdom.
I've become a burden to my loved ones,
not even graciously an empty shell they must carry,
but a full shell, filled with cement and dirt and worms and the odor of a decaying man walking amongst the living.
The only light in this tunnel is bored against my back,
and I see my silhouette, the personality I used to be,
and I would wave at myself but she's crying.
Because I'm not coming back and she knows that.
And her pain is my pain. I feel it in my bones when every tear runs down her delicate, innocent cheek. I cannot turn back, but oh god, how much I want to.
How much I want to walk back into the light and embrace the self I'm used to, the Safest Place in this world.
But I can't, because she's dead.
I'm not her anymore.
The date has been set, and my time is limited.
I refuse to waste a moment of it.
Then again, I suppose it always has been.
If you believe in that sort of thing.
The day, I hope, is as beautiful as it was all those years ago.
I hope the magic sustained in the air like dust in the sunlight
from when it was born.
I hope it isn't as ugly as it seems.
The action itself seems liberating, yet so demeaning.
How odd it is to consider that a heart that has been beating for such a long time,
may end by a sudden trauma.
Life is so fragile. Truly, a gift.
It's shameful so much of it was wasted
looking for the very thing it had all along.
Life.
The virtuousness should be unlimited, considering how easy it is to lose.
But I guess life was never easy.
Life is a problem-solving game we play by chance, only to lose in the end.
Such a shame it has to end like this.
How I wish it didn't.
How I wish I could pursue the dreams I once held so dearly,
to believe in the things I once believed,
to love the people I once loved,
to hold the one I once held, hourlessly.
If only there were a way out of this tunnel.
Wishful thinking. I've searched every nook and cranny.
There are no holes in these solid walls.
There is no light in front of me.
If I could only go back to the start and change my wrongs,
ease the burdens of my loved ones,
frequently explain to them the deepest affections I once held for them, truly,
may my soul rest in peace.
But they will never know.
This is an act of martyrdom.
I've become a burden to my loved ones,
not even graciously an empty shell they must carry,
but a full shell, filled with cement and dirt and worms and the odor of a decaying man walking amongst the living.
The only light in this tunnel is bored against my back,
and I see my silhouette, the personality I used to be,
and I would wave at myself but she's crying.
Because I'm not coming back and she knows that.
And her pain is my pain. I feel it in my bones when every tear runs down her delicate, innocent cheek. I cannot turn back, but oh god, how much I want to.
How much I want to walk back into the light and embrace the self I'm used to, the Safest Place in this world.
But I can't, because she's dead.
I'm not her anymore.
The date has been set, and my time is limited.
I refuse to waste a moment of it.
Monday, June 27, 2011
No Inspiration
The ocean feels hot today.
Perhaps compared to my cold blood it is.
I'm standing at the entrance of the sea,
the undertow is tempting the sand around my feet.
The sun is setting
and the ocean feels hot today.
Breaking away from the current, I walk to through the dry sand
the heat reminds me of a blow-dryer
to the sandy deck where my apartment lies.
Instead of using my key to unlock my door,
I break in with my credit card.
I still feel this place is not my home.
I'm just a permanent visitor here.
Roommate is gone, don't know where.
It seems irrelevant.
The kitchen is clean and empty.
This house is spotless. Perfect.
Empty.
Bedroom is Sanctuary.
Dying in this room is half the way I live.
The familiar smells, not exactly odorous, but humanly,
the bed to rest and never rest on,
Only the pale blue walls and the windows communicate with the outside world.
It's the safest place to die
when there's no inspiration left.
Perhaps compared to my cold blood it is.
I'm standing at the entrance of the sea,
the undertow is tempting the sand around my feet.
The sun is setting
and the ocean feels hot today.
Breaking away from the current, I walk to through the dry sand
the heat reminds me of a blow-dryer
to the sandy deck where my apartment lies.
Instead of using my key to unlock my door,
I break in with my credit card.
I still feel this place is not my home.
I'm just a permanent visitor here.
Roommate is gone, don't know where.
It seems irrelevant.
The kitchen is clean and empty.
This house is spotless. Perfect.
Empty.
Bedroom is Sanctuary.
Dying in this room is half the way I live.
The familiar smells, not exactly odorous, but humanly,
the bed to rest and never rest on,
Only the pale blue walls and the windows communicate with the outside world.
It's the safest place to die
when there's no inspiration left.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Pounding on the Door With No Fists
Screaming in your ear with no mouth
Pounding on the door with no fists
Swallowing pride that doesn't exist
Speaking in tongues without a lisp
Killing the daughter that was never born
Torn by pain that was never scorned
Hurt by words that were never said
Instead just implied,
between the lines that were never read
Pounding on the door with no fists
Swallowing pride that doesn't exist
Speaking in tongues without a lisp
Killing the daughter that was never born
Torn by pain that was never scorned
Hurt by words that were never said
Instead just implied,
between the lines that were never read
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
I Can't Listen to Them Anymore
You're the Angel and the One, my little Blackbird.
Sweeter than Rhubarb.
Don't Ever Fucking Question That.
I've Just Seen a Face,
and it looked Just Like Heaven.
It was A Thousand Miles away,
but it was Brighter Than Sunshine.
I Let him Be, because he was holding up Warning signs.
Yesterday, I saw you.
Yesterday seems so far away.
I was Hanging By a Moment, so you never saw me too.
but I saw You. And I saw The Waitress, too.
God Loves her.
You should know that I still sleep with a Body Pillow.
All the girls ask about it, but I tell them that I'm Fallin' for 'Em.
I need someone to hold on to.*
"You're a God in bed," I tell them, "and it aches If You're Gone."
I love my Suicidegirls.
Everything reminds me of you.
Why do you get all the love in the world?
Sweeter than Rhubarb.
Don't Ever Fucking Question That.
I've Just Seen a Face,
and it looked Just Like Heaven.
It was A Thousand Miles away,
but it was Brighter Than Sunshine.
I Let him Be, because he was holding up Warning signs.
Yesterday, I saw you.
Yesterday seems so far away.
I was Hanging By a Moment, so you never saw me too.
but I saw You. And I saw The Waitress, too.
God Loves her.
You should know that I still sleep with a Body Pillow.
All the girls ask about it, but I tell them that I'm Fallin' for 'Em.
I need someone to hold on to.*
"You're a God in bed," I tell them, "and it aches If You're Gone."
I love my Suicidegirls.
Everything reminds me of you.
Why do you get all the love in the world?
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Things I Wish I Could Tell You, III
I can see you now.
It's amazing. I can see you, for the first time in ages.
And you can see me. We're sharing an awkward, intimate stare.
My hand is pressed against the glass dome that contains you.
There's black smoke clouding your environment, but it doesn't matter.
There are cracks from my fights with it,
often beating the sides
and throwing mass energy, fueled by anger and desperation
and need.
but you see me now.
Yes, you see me.
You're looking right at me.
My vocal cords have atrophied.
Your expression seems confused and sad. You press your hand against the glass.
I want to take my hand away, to hide.
but I don't.
No, I can't.
You can finally see me.
Running away, I cannot see.
Most of my muscles have given way now,
under the pressure of your stare.
I am conscious of the need to move, to prove I'm real.
But I don't know where to go
or what to do.
I don't want to frighten you.
I don't want you to leave.
My other hand touches the thick glass, where your face would be.
I wish then I could touch you, to heal the scars across your eyes;
The many scars I've dealt you,
to medicate them.
But I must settle with distant touch.
Staring, I see so much pain.
So much hidden in your eyes.
So much no one can see, no one can see you.
No one can see us, but we're almost touching.
I want to heal the scars on your face.
But my muscles are stiff.
I realized how important this moment is.
I realized how much more I have to tell you.
I trace the crack in the dome with my finger.
It doesn't frighten you, but you're still. Hand pressed against the glass. Against mine.
I punch the crack with contained force, and a puff of smoke emits. I smell it before it hits me.
Marijuana.
Perfume.
Ignorance.
Money.
Carelessness.
Excitement.
Youth.
Your stare digs deep into my thoughts. You live in this constant high, and yet, you still press your hand to the wall. You press your hand to mine, though I offer none of these things; I offer uncertain future, I offer truth. You live in a world absent of these things... And you press your hand to mine.
You Still Believe in Me.
It's amazing. I can see you, for the first time in ages.
And you can see me. We're sharing an awkward, intimate stare.
My hand is pressed against the glass dome that contains you.
There's black smoke clouding your environment, but it doesn't matter.
There are cracks from my fights with it,
often beating the sides
and throwing mass energy, fueled by anger and desperation
and need.
but you see me now.
Yes, you see me.
You're looking right at me.
My vocal cords have atrophied.
Your expression seems confused and sad. You press your hand against the glass.
I want to take my hand away, to hide.
but I don't.
No, I can't.
You can finally see me.
Running away, I cannot see.
Most of my muscles have given way now,
under the pressure of your stare.
I am conscious of the need to move, to prove I'm real.
But I don't know where to go
or what to do.
I don't want to frighten you.
I don't want you to leave.
My other hand touches the thick glass, where your face would be.
I wish then I could touch you, to heal the scars across your eyes;
The many scars I've dealt you,
to medicate them.
But I must settle with distant touch.
Staring, I see so much pain.
So much hidden in your eyes.
So much no one can see, no one can see you.
No one can see us, but we're almost touching.
I want to heal the scars on your face.
But my muscles are stiff.
I realized how important this moment is.
I realized how much more I have to tell you.
I trace the crack in the dome with my finger.
It doesn't frighten you, but you're still. Hand pressed against the glass. Against mine.
I punch the crack with contained force, and a puff of smoke emits. I smell it before it hits me.
Marijuana.
Perfume.
Ignorance.
Money.
Carelessness.
Excitement.
Youth.
Your stare digs deep into my thoughts. You live in this constant high, and yet, you still press your hand to the wall. You press your hand to mine, though I offer none of these things; I offer uncertain future, I offer truth. You live in a world absent of these things... And you press your hand to mine.
You Still Believe in Me.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
No one said it was going to be easy (moving backwards, ii)
Back a year,
in the eyes of you.
my feet are cold
as I listen to my own voice
on the other end of the phone
crying so loud
in the middle of the day.
I'm screaming, please, no
please don't do this
please don't go
your tears, now mine, are suppressed,
you're empty but something is stirring in your stomach
it feels like fear, it feels wrong
it's received as pain but it just makes you tired
like the tears are stirring in the bottom of your heart,
knowing what you're doing
is wrong on so many levels,
knowing that you're supposed to leave
but you're supposed to be with her
forever.
not because you want to,
but because it's etched in your genetic make-up.
my sobbing on the other end keeps it alive.
when i'm gone, you feel okay,
but it feels off,
like the earthquake
somehow tilted a tectonic plate sideways,
a crooked world.
i don't know you.
or if this is how you felt.
but what i feel right now
feels like you.
it feels like your body's pain.
it feels like your cold feet
and your pain
and your cauldroned tears.
i don't know you but this is your pain.
guilt is unfamiliar.
it feels so off.
this doesn't feel normal, not even remotely.
it feels nauseous, it feels cold, it feels tired, it feels miserable but happy.
not happy because im gone, but happy for some other reason,
and it doesn't feel like her,
it doesn't feel like freedom,
it feels like release.
it feels like half of you is miserable
while half of you is happy.
why were you so happy, you crazy man?
hah. you crazy man.
if only you knew what happened to me.
unresolved wounds, so complicated.
this pain feels unfamiliar, feels strange.
like no one has felt this before.
it feels like a unique strain of pain
that belongs only to you,
can only effect you,
can hurt only you
can kill you...
this is the day you died.
you became Lord of the Flies after this day,
when i cried so loud
when you told me
everything was going to be okay. Those were your last words to me.
Your last real words, anyway.
that was the day i let go of you
the day I accepted you were dead
in the back of my mind.
This is when the decomposition began.
This is when the world ended.
We're moving backwards in time so quickly, my friend,
and we're going to fix the mistakes we made.
Just hold my hand
and don't let go.
It's not going to hurt you anymore.
in the eyes of you.
my feet are cold
as I listen to my own voice
on the other end of the phone
crying so loud
in the middle of the day.
I'm screaming, please, no
please don't do this
please don't go
your tears, now mine, are suppressed,
you're empty but something is stirring in your stomach
it feels like fear, it feels wrong
it's received as pain but it just makes you tired
like the tears are stirring in the bottom of your heart,
knowing what you're doing
is wrong on so many levels,
knowing that you're supposed to leave
but you're supposed to be with her
forever.
not because you want to,
but because it's etched in your genetic make-up.
my sobbing on the other end keeps it alive.
when i'm gone, you feel okay,
but it feels off,
like the earthquake
somehow tilted a tectonic plate sideways,
a crooked world.
i don't know you.
or if this is how you felt.
but what i feel right now
feels like you.
it feels like your body's pain.
it feels like your cold feet
and your pain
and your cauldroned tears.
i don't know you but this is your pain.
guilt is unfamiliar.
it feels so off.
this doesn't feel normal, not even remotely.
it feels nauseous, it feels cold, it feels tired, it feels miserable but happy.
not happy because im gone, but happy for some other reason,
and it doesn't feel like her,
it doesn't feel like freedom,
it feels like release.
it feels like half of you is miserable
while half of you is happy.
why were you so happy, you crazy man?
hah. you crazy man.
if only you knew what happened to me.
unresolved wounds, so complicated.
this pain feels unfamiliar, feels strange.
like no one has felt this before.
it feels like a unique strain of pain
that belongs only to you,
can only effect you,
can hurt only you
can kill you...
this is the day you died.
you became Lord of the Flies after this day,
when i cried so loud
when you told me
everything was going to be okay. Those were your last words to me.
Your last real words, anyway.
that was the day i let go of you
the day I accepted you were dead
in the back of my mind.
This is when the decomposition began.
This is when the world ended.
We're moving backwards in time so quickly, my friend,
and we're going to fix the mistakes we made.
Just hold my hand
and don't let go.
It's not going to hurt you anymore.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Wake-Up Call (moving backwards, pt i)
Drifting back into consciousness
sweat pouring down my forehead
and everything's dark and calm
The longest nightmare in history.
I'm awake, but I need to wake up.
I'm going to set it in reverse
and put the pedal to the floor
and fix what's eating me alive.
Sometimes,
you have to go backward
to truly move forward.
The alarm clock's buzzing in my ears,
today isn't the day,
that's okay.
The day will come.
So set me in reverse.
It's time to pull the vase
from under the rug
and dust
from under the couch.
It's time to tell mom and dad about
the parties I threw while they were
out of town.
It's time to bury the nameless dead men
that linger on the shoulders
of my soul.
It's time to set them free
to disintegrate into the night;
to fire them from
the graveyard shift.
It's time to put Mary and Lucy,
to lay them in their
eternal slumbers,
to find peace at last.
It's time to walk this road I chose backwards,
to go back to that fork
in the yellow wood,
to choose the one less traveled by.
The nightmare is over
because I'm going to end it.
This is my wake-up call.
sweat pouring down my forehead
and everything's dark and calm
The longest nightmare in history.
I'm awake, but I need to wake up.
I'm going to set it in reverse
and put the pedal to the floor
and fix what's eating me alive.
Sometimes,
you have to go backward
to truly move forward.
The alarm clock's buzzing in my ears,
today isn't the day,
that's okay.
The day will come.
So set me in reverse.
It's time to pull the vase
from under the rug
and dust
from under the couch.
It's time to tell mom and dad about
the parties I threw while they were
out of town.
It's time to bury the nameless dead men
that linger on the shoulders
of my soul.
It's time to set them free
to disintegrate into the night;
to fire them from
the graveyard shift.
It's time to put Mary and Lucy,
to lay them in their
eternal slumbers,
to find peace at last.
It's time to walk this road I chose backwards,
to go back to that fork
in the yellow wood,
to choose the one less traveled by.
The nightmare is over
because I'm going to end it.
This is my wake-up call.
Monday, June 6, 2011
I don't like your tone.
Travel through the dark, cold tunnel
See the faces of the men fallen from hunger
In the darkness, see them
their twisted faces
hungry and sorrowful
and so very dead.
then the tunnel ends
and the sun illuminates the scene,
warms the face and the soul,
the green of the trees glow with vitality
the flowers smile and the fields roll
the rabbits hop
and the deer jump
and the baby foxes play.
mamma fox hunts in the forest
to feed her children,
her teeth bared
and her body vibrating with adrenaline,
wary, hyperaware
she spots her pray,
a bearing rabbit,
and mamma leaps,
catching the rabbit by the neck,
tearing her apart,
slowly,
she must savor the flavor,
she must make sure it's well,
she must catch the best for her children.
the ground below holds two groundhogs
in their first parenthood.
Mom engulfs her children,
Dad engulfs Mom.
their warmth is shared amongst
the Cold Ground.
The babies fidget and fuss
and Mom shifts
to accompany them.
Dad's heart is
warmed
as his blood pounds to a new rhythm,
"Family."
Re-entering the tunnel,
three words are written on the side of the wall,
carved from rock, white and rough.
"LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL."
See the faces of the men fallen from hunger
In the darkness, see them
their twisted faces
hungry and sorrowful
and so very dead.
then the tunnel ends
and the sun illuminates the scene,
warms the face and the soul,
the green of the trees glow with vitality
the flowers smile and the fields roll
the rabbits hop
and the deer jump
and the baby foxes play.
mamma fox hunts in the forest
to feed her children,
her teeth bared
and her body vibrating with adrenaline,
wary, hyperaware
she spots her pray,
a bearing rabbit,
and mamma leaps,
catching the rabbit by the neck,
tearing her apart,
slowly,
she must savor the flavor,
she must make sure it's well,
she must catch the best for her children.
the ground below holds two groundhogs
in their first parenthood.
Mom engulfs her children,
Dad engulfs Mom.
their warmth is shared amongst
the Cold Ground.
The babies fidget and fuss
and Mom shifts
to accompany them.
Dad's heart is
warmed
as his blood pounds to a new rhythm,
"Family."
Re-entering the tunnel,
three words are written on the side of the wall,
carved from rock, white and rough.
"LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL."
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Infantry
You had your chance and you wasted it.
I don't care if I can't find another you.
I don't care how beautiful you are.
I don't care if you are the "one and only" people search for all their lives.
I'm going to destroy your presence inside of me
just like I destroyed the Others.
I've had enough of these cliches.
No more relapse.
No more second thoughts.
Take all of your stuff.
Take everything.
I'm not coming back.
Ever.
I don't care if I can't find another you.
I don't care how beautiful you are.
I don't care if you are the "one and only" people search for all their lives.
I'm going to destroy your presence inside of me
just like I destroyed the Others.
I've had enough of these cliches.
No more relapse.
No more second thoughts.
Take all of your stuff.
Take everything.
I'm not coming back.
Ever.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Finger drums
Perhaps the loudest in percussion,
the finger drums
against the armchair.
So loud as to wake a dead man
from his eternal slumber
and get him to dance
in the fantasies
of the patient.
The finger drums
against the armchair
with the twisted frown
and the angry eyebrows.
I'm stuck in a queue.
the finger drums
against the armchair.
So loud as to wake a dead man
from his eternal slumber
and get him to dance
in the fantasies
of the patient.
The finger drums
against the armchair
with the twisted frown
and the angry eyebrows.
I'm stuck in a queue.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
God Loves Ugly
They said I should be proud of
the red dots on my face.
I should embrace the curves on my hips and my chest,
they're gifts,
not curses.
They said I should love the Bob
and the thick glasses
and the braces
and the pimples
and the big nose
and the way people look at me.
Because
in order to love the plant,
you have to love the seed
and watch it grow.
someone loves those glasses
and those dots
and those curves
and those pimples
and that nose.
Even if God's the only one who ever does.
the red dots on my face.
I should embrace the curves on my hips and my chest,
they're gifts,
not curses.
They said I should love the Bob
and the thick glasses
and the braces
and the pimples
and the big nose
and the way people look at me.
Because
in order to love the plant,
you have to love the seed
and watch it grow.
someone loves those glasses
and those dots
and those curves
and those pimples
and that nose.
Even if God's the only one who ever does.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
the crack in the sky
I took the road unknown, if you didn't know.
It lead me to the sky.
The sky fell onto it's side as I walked through the forest, dark and eerie, the clouds and oblivion falling in front of me with a cloud clap. I was walking West, and West disappeared. Now, I walk through the sky. The rain obeys gravity and falls from the clouds to the ground, only an inch from their origin of condensation. I walk around them, and as I pass them, the sky is blue. Gradually, the weather is gone. Only blue and the ground beneath me and myself.
A boom of thunder snaps, and the delicate blue splits in an eternal black tear from the ground up. Two realities appear on either side of the torn sky.
On one side of the tear, I see myself as an old woman, watching children play on a playground in my hometown. On the other, I see my love as an elderly man, sitting on a park bench, feeding birds. He suddenly slaps the remainder of his feed to the ground and looks to the sky, and I notice tears glistening down his cheek. He says my name and begins heavily sobbing. I begin walking to my love, and a tombstone with my name appears where his face once was. I notice that I do not recognize the graveyard. He must be crying because I am dead?
I suddenly hear screaming coming from the other side of the tear, and when I go to that side, I see myself, still as an elderly woman, screaming loudly at what looks to be a photo. She says only two words, "The middle, the middle!" Over and over again, she screams them. Then she finally drops the photo and the glass shatters. She runs away and I no longer see her, but I see the person in the photo. It appears to be a photo of me, where I am, in the midst of the two realities playing before me.
I realize now that I must choose one reality and live it.
A long time went by before I knew it, staring into the two portals. One of them containing my love, sobbing into his hands on a sidewalk covered in pigeon feed, and the other containing a broken photo of myself, in an empty living room, where I can hear myself restrainingly sobbing, as I always have done, in the distance.
Thinking about what my elder self screamed, I approached the two realities.
Then I walked through the black crack in the sky.
It lead me to the sky.
The sky fell onto it's side as I walked through the forest, dark and eerie, the clouds and oblivion falling in front of me with a cloud clap. I was walking West, and West disappeared. Now, I walk through the sky. The rain obeys gravity and falls from the clouds to the ground, only an inch from their origin of condensation. I walk around them, and as I pass them, the sky is blue. Gradually, the weather is gone. Only blue and the ground beneath me and myself.
A boom of thunder snaps, and the delicate blue splits in an eternal black tear from the ground up. Two realities appear on either side of the torn sky.
On one side of the tear, I see myself as an old woman, watching children play on a playground in my hometown. On the other, I see my love as an elderly man, sitting on a park bench, feeding birds. He suddenly slaps the remainder of his feed to the ground and looks to the sky, and I notice tears glistening down his cheek. He says my name and begins heavily sobbing. I begin walking to my love, and a tombstone with my name appears where his face once was. I notice that I do not recognize the graveyard. He must be crying because I am dead?
I suddenly hear screaming coming from the other side of the tear, and when I go to that side, I see myself, still as an elderly woman, screaming loudly at what looks to be a photo. She says only two words, "The middle, the middle!" Over and over again, she screams them. Then she finally drops the photo and the glass shatters. She runs away and I no longer see her, but I see the person in the photo. It appears to be a photo of me, where I am, in the midst of the two realities playing before me.
I realize now that I must choose one reality and live it.
A long time went by before I knew it, staring into the two portals. One of them containing my love, sobbing into his hands on a sidewalk covered in pigeon feed, and the other containing a broken photo of myself, in an empty living room, where I can hear myself restrainingly sobbing, as I always have done, in the distance.
Thinking about what my elder self screamed, I approached the two realities.
Then I walked through the black crack in the sky.
Monday, May 23, 2011
the thrill (panic attack)
it begins with a sort of tingling sensation.
felt in the chest, then spreading out, circulating. it's noticed the most in the hands. temperature both rises and drops. breathing picks up, slowly, gradually gaining itself into smaller and shorter breaths. a sudden wave of fear sweeps over, and for a split second... you can remember being born.
an immediate need to sit down, lined with a overwhelming light feeling, like a bird taking flight. a sort of euphoric feeling. it's not peaceful, but it's not particularly scary. eyelids cover the eyes, and pink and yellow are common colors to view. all control is lost, and at some point, fists become clenched and breathing becomes nonexistent.
it feels so close to death, as if he's spinning and twirling around, briefly brushing and sweeping. it's as if love is being made with the end of life, so close to him, you can feel his breath on your neck.
and then His face is visualized, and an urge to cry and kick and scream to get away from The End takes over.
the rapid breathing is sounded loud now, like an alarm. a soft, calming voice is clear, recognized as Bre's supportive and caring tone, and suddenly, a heating sensation radiates throughout and you're safe.
you're alive.
somehow, you're still alive.
thank god... you're still alive.
felt in the chest, then spreading out, circulating. it's noticed the most in the hands. temperature both rises and drops. breathing picks up, slowly, gradually gaining itself into smaller and shorter breaths. a sudden wave of fear sweeps over, and for a split second... you can remember being born.
an immediate need to sit down, lined with a overwhelming light feeling, like a bird taking flight. a sort of euphoric feeling. it's not peaceful, but it's not particularly scary. eyelids cover the eyes, and pink and yellow are common colors to view. all control is lost, and at some point, fists become clenched and breathing becomes nonexistent.
it feels so close to death, as if he's spinning and twirling around, briefly brushing and sweeping. it's as if love is being made with the end of life, so close to him, you can feel his breath on your neck.
and then His face is visualized, and an urge to cry and kick and scream to get away from The End takes over.
the rapid breathing is sounded loud now, like an alarm. a soft, calming voice is clear, recognized as Bre's supportive and caring tone, and suddenly, a heating sensation radiates throughout and you're safe.
you're alive.
somehow, you're still alive.
thank god... you're still alive.
schism (umbilical cord)
darkness engulfed me
as i awoke in the womb.
the mother is dead.
Not decomposing, no, not nearly so obscene.
she was just... not alive.
her heart wasn't beating.
the kind of dead that
brings to light how
alone you really are.
Sanctioned under a dead woman's skin.
She was the kind of dead
that highlights the
vicarious ways
of the origin of life.
the kind of dead that reminded
me that to some, you are nothing
but an inconvenient tumor.
perhaps the dead woman I'm trapped in
thought of me that way.
after all, I'm so very alive.
and she is so very dead.
this body wasn't big enough for us.
no, she wanted me to live. I can feel it in her bones.
she died for me.
the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck.
Thank you.
as i awoke in the womb.
the mother is dead.
Not decomposing, no, not nearly so obscene.
she was just... not alive.
her heart wasn't beating.
the kind of dead that
brings to light how
alone you really are.
Sanctioned under a dead woman's skin.
She was the kind of dead
that highlights the
vicarious ways
of the origin of life.
the kind of dead that reminded
me that to some, you are nothing
but an inconvenient tumor.
perhaps the dead woman I'm trapped in
thought of me that way.
after all, I'm so very alive.
and she is so very dead.
this body wasn't big enough for us.
no, she wanted me to live. I can feel it in her bones.
she died for me.
the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck.
Thank you.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
somewhere in the middle
here's the setting.
it's a forest. it's also night time, and all animals, abnormally, are quiet. only the sound of moderate rainfall is heard, along with your own breathing. there's no clear path, but the trees aren't webbed together, so you begin walking forwards through the rainy dew. most of the rain is taken by the treetops, but every once in a while you feel a cold drop of water fall in your shoulder or head. as you continue walking forward, you begin to hear circus music. it's loud and distorted, as if it were being played on an overused, breaking record player. it's slower than normal, but somehow, the tempo feels faster than it should be. it sounds like something straight out of a nightmare. so you turn around. the circus music fades away, and you've returned to your beginning state: the very center of this forest. you notice a temperature drop, and realize that the circus you were about to approach was radiating widespread amounts of heat. you curiously walk in the opposite direction of the circus. the forest seems to get darker and darker as you proceed, until finally, you're barely able to see the trees in front of you. the rain appears to stop falling, or at least stop making noise, and the sound of your heartbeat becomes the only heard thing. the silence is eerie and somehow enveloping your mind and all thought process. you stop walking in fear of losing all five senses. you hear a shuffling through the forest, and immediately turn around and blindly run back to your center. the world gets brighter, the rain continues falling, and your senses are restored.
now, you don't know where to go, so you consider going one of the two ways that you haven't explored. except by looking into the distance, you notice one of them leads to a strong brick wall, and the other is completely unknown and has a mild 50-50 chance of being any benefit to you.
in which direction will you go?
the circus?
the darkness?
the wall?
or the unknown?
it's a forest. it's also night time, and all animals, abnormally, are quiet. only the sound of moderate rainfall is heard, along with your own breathing. there's no clear path, but the trees aren't webbed together, so you begin walking forwards through the rainy dew. most of the rain is taken by the treetops, but every once in a while you feel a cold drop of water fall in your shoulder or head. as you continue walking forward, you begin to hear circus music. it's loud and distorted, as if it were being played on an overused, breaking record player. it's slower than normal, but somehow, the tempo feels faster than it should be. it sounds like something straight out of a nightmare. so you turn around. the circus music fades away, and you've returned to your beginning state: the very center of this forest. you notice a temperature drop, and realize that the circus you were about to approach was radiating widespread amounts of heat. you curiously walk in the opposite direction of the circus. the forest seems to get darker and darker as you proceed, until finally, you're barely able to see the trees in front of you. the rain appears to stop falling, or at least stop making noise, and the sound of your heartbeat becomes the only heard thing. the silence is eerie and somehow enveloping your mind and all thought process. you stop walking in fear of losing all five senses. you hear a shuffling through the forest, and immediately turn around and blindly run back to your center. the world gets brighter, the rain continues falling, and your senses are restored.
now, you don't know where to go, so you consider going one of the two ways that you haven't explored. except by looking into the distance, you notice one of them leads to a strong brick wall, and the other is completely unknown and has a mild 50-50 chance of being any benefit to you.
in which direction will you go?
the circus?
the darkness?
the wall?
or the unknown?
Anger
what a foul emotion.
the hostile hormone flowing throughout the body
brings any man's morals to a weak state
with a weak impact.
this anger, it nearly engulfs me.
controls me.
it's drowning my conscious choice.
but sometimes
anger is so much better
than melancholy.
i don't know if i can't handle this.
i don't know who it is i'm speaking to.
i don't know who's listening,
and how the ear picks up my words.
such a foul emotion,
controlling every sane thought and morphing it into it's own to fuel itself.
changing reality in the eyes of the angry.
but the underlying cause must be important,
otherwise it wouldn't bother pushing through with such haste.
so should I be angry with you, saawariya,
or should I rationalize your obscene, twisted behavior?
should I hate you for your actions,
or should I learn to silence myself in times of disagreement?
i feel such disdain for your persona.
but it occurs to me now
that perhaps it was a chemical reaction
from my happiness.
perhaps my happiness
makes you act this way.
how can we possibly make peace
and coexist
if this is to continue?
change your ways
or we will wipe this place clean.
the hostile hormone flowing throughout the body
brings any man's morals to a weak state
with a weak impact.
this anger, it nearly engulfs me.
controls me.
it's drowning my conscious choice.
but sometimes
anger is so much better
than melancholy.
i don't know if i can't handle this.
i don't know who it is i'm speaking to.
i don't know who's listening,
and how the ear picks up my words.
such a foul emotion,
controlling every sane thought and morphing it into it's own to fuel itself.
changing reality in the eyes of the angry.
but the underlying cause must be important,
otherwise it wouldn't bother pushing through with such haste.
so should I be angry with you, saawariya,
or should I rationalize your obscene, twisted behavior?
should I hate you for your actions,
or should I learn to silence myself in times of disagreement?
i feel such disdain for your persona.
but it occurs to me now
that perhaps it was a chemical reaction
from my happiness.
perhaps my happiness
makes you act this way.
how can we possibly make peace
and coexist
if this is to continue?
change your ways
or we will wipe this place clean.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Back in the Box
i fell through the floor, into the familiar walls
of the square prison
they keep me in
when they don't know what to do with me.
square isolation.
there are exits. an endless amount of them.
i'm swimming in drying concrete.
just dry enough
to keep me from moving
at a reasonable speed.
though it never really dries.
but it's an effort
just to keep my head up.
at least i'm alone.
at least the screaming stopped.
the worst part of being in this box
is i know exactly which door he's behind.
but it's locked.
he's only one doorway away.
i linger by his exit, but i can't enter.
i just listen to the sound of his voice.
soft, melancholic.
oh, if i could just bust through that door.
i would kick it in. i would reclaim what's mine.
but i can't. the door is locked.
padlocked.
we're so close in this box
and you don't even know.
of the square prison
they keep me in
when they don't know what to do with me.
square isolation.
there are exits. an endless amount of them.
i'm swimming in drying concrete.
just dry enough
to keep me from moving
at a reasonable speed.
though it never really dries.
but it's an effort
just to keep my head up.
at least i'm alone.
at least the screaming stopped.
the worst part of being in this box
is i know exactly which door he's behind.
but it's locked.
he's only one doorway away.
i linger by his exit, but i can't enter.
i just listen to the sound of his voice.
soft, melancholic.
oh, if i could just bust through that door.
i would kick it in. i would reclaim what's mine.
but i can't. the door is locked.
padlocked.
we're so close in this box
and you don't even know.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Friends (limbo reprise)
I can't stand being alone anymore.
I'm addicted to dead mens' tragedies.
Hearing about them is a bed time story.
It keeps the monsters away.
My friends never ask anything.
They just listen.
But there's noise in their minds.
Personal drums beating against their ears
shielding them
from any outside contact.
They listen, but they never hear.
They don't know what my voice sounds like,
even though they've listened to me talk
for 10,000 days.
I'm never alone anymore.
But I'm lonely
all the time.
And it's just the opposite for me.
My friends, they've so many stories.
I read them, in their eyes.
They never say anything,
but I know them better
than I know myself.
I love my friends.
But they're all dead men.
Imaginary men...
They're not men at all.
Their wide eyes.
Noisy minds.
Running on instinct.
Fist and toe.
I'm not one of them,
and I can't stand being alone anymore.
I've got to get out of here.
I'm addicted to dead mens' tragedies.
Hearing about them is a bed time story.
It keeps the monsters away.
My friends never ask anything.
They just listen.
But there's noise in their minds.
Personal drums beating against their ears
shielding them
from any outside contact.
They listen, but they never hear.
They don't know what my voice sounds like,
even though they've listened to me talk
for 10,000 days.
I'm never alone anymore.
But I'm lonely
all the time.
And it's just the opposite for me.
My friends, they've so many stories.
I read them, in their eyes.
They never say anything,
but I know them better
than I know myself.
I love my friends.
But they're all dead men.
Imaginary men...
They're not men at all.
Their wide eyes.
Noisy minds.
Running on instinct.
Fist and toe.
I'm not one of them,
and I can't stand being alone anymore.
I've got to get out of here.
Monday, May 9, 2011
limbo (eyes wide open)
dead men roam this place.
but they are not men anymore.
animal instinct reigns.
eye dilation consumes the iris, sclera.
they can see inside their heads
in clarity
for the first time.
they walk on fist and toe, like apes.
guess science was right.
it's dark here.
owls and mice are our company,
perhaps to compliment the bleak forest
of the silent dead.
we were born here without mouths
so no one makes a sound.
not even a mouse.
all anyone does
is stare at one another.
the shame of their lives
beams through their glares.
lasers of emotional communication.
most of them signal
desperation.
guilt, anger, and fear
are also common.
each pair of corneas
has a story.
and i've learned them all.
those desperate, fear-driven
men
are ex-carnies.
they all say the same thing
at the end.
"God abandoned me.
So I abandoned God."
these dead men roam
but they are not men.
not anymore.
not right now.
they're waiting for death,
or anything better
than the graveyard shift.
but they are not men anymore.
animal instinct reigns.
eye dilation consumes the iris, sclera.
they can see inside their heads
in clarity
for the first time.
they walk on fist and toe, like apes.
guess science was right.
it's dark here.
owls and mice are our company,
perhaps to compliment the bleak forest
of the silent dead.
we were born here without mouths
so no one makes a sound.
not even a mouse.
all anyone does
is stare at one another.
the shame of their lives
beams through their glares.
lasers of emotional communication.
most of them signal
desperation.
guilt, anger, and fear
are also common.
each pair of corneas
has a story.
and i've learned them all.
those desperate, fear-driven
men
are ex-carnies.
they all say the same thing
at the end.
"God abandoned me.
So I abandoned God."
these dead men roam
but they are not men.
not anymore.
not right now.
they're waiting for death,
or anything better
than the graveyard shift.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
deliverance (ice age)
as the cold sweeps over me,
i raise my arm to the sky.
my hand outstretched
and my head raised
to the dead, grey clouds.
eyes closed.
body temperature drops
and feet are turning an icy blue
bela lugosi
and boris karloff
loiter at death's door
awaiting my arrival.
a circus of freaks
with flashing red lights
and loud, distorted music
and laughter and tears and miserable disdain,
lingering in the air all around,
where the paint is made of latex
and the tears are thick red
and the walls are falling
and ceilings are collapsing
and the children are crying
and no one cares
and up is down
and everyone's laughing
and spinning
and dancing
with broken smiles
and dead black eyes, overdialated
to see in the dark...
where the music plays forever
and the world spins
like a confused, drunk man
on a backwards axis
hot humidity
intercourse in every corner
so loud, constant
but the music dominates
the high immobilizes every muscle
and death begins to set in at last
and all that is heard is the sick laughter
of the sad clowns
and red flashes on black
and everyone's getting closer
while farther away...
and for the great last second,
an angel's face,
rivers down his eyes
calling, "home, come home"
screaming to come back
"please, don't die..."
yes, great creator, deliver me to this hell,
deliver me from this cold, dead world
let them lead me to the circus
of relapse
and distrust
and hate
and neglect
where everything is too humid
and there's no oxygen
or exits
or tears.
allow a dirge for my spirit.
i raise my arm to the sky.
my hand outstretched
and my head raised
to the dead, grey clouds.
eyes closed.
body temperature drops
and feet are turning an icy blue
bela lugosi
and boris karloff
loiter at death's door
awaiting my arrival.
a circus of freaks
with flashing red lights
and loud, distorted music
and laughter and tears and miserable disdain,
lingering in the air all around,
where the paint is made of latex
and the tears are thick red
and the walls are falling
and ceilings are collapsing
and the children are crying
and no one cares
and up is down
and everyone's laughing
and spinning
and dancing
with broken smiles
and dead black eyes, overdialated
to see in the dark...
where the music plays forever
and the world spins
like a confused, drunk man
on a backwards axis
hot humidity
intercourse in every corner
so loud, constant
but the music dominates
the high immobilizes every muscle
and death begins to set in at last
and all that is heard is the sick laughter
of the sad clowns
and red flashes on black
and everyone's getting closer
while farther away...
and for the great last second,
an angel's face,
rivers down his eyes
calling, "home, come home"
screaming to come back
"please, don't die..."
yes, great creator, deliver me to this hell,
deliver me from this cold, dead world
let them lead me to the circus
of relapse
and distrust
and hate
and neglect
where everything is too humid
and there's no oxygen
or exits
or tears.
allow a dirge for my spirit.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
things i wish i could tell you, pt ii
- I was very reluctant.
I admired you from a very, very far distance.
I didn't want to get close.
In retrospect, I realize
I was afraid
and I didn't know why.
- When we met, you were so fascinating.
Something about you
drew my interest.
- Even when I wasn't paying attention,
I was.
- I remember nearly
every single word
you've ever said to me.
- I remember every thought, every idea, you've ever told me.
- I remember the complaints you had about your parents,
- I remember every word of how you felt about me
and what specific word choice
you used.
- I even remember
the words
you didn't say.
- My mind
marked you
as important.
it's important you know that.
Especially since
my conscious mind
did not always appear to
acknowledge you
unless you were immediately put
in front of me.
- the most important thing that you should know, my friend,
is that
my draw to you
is not normal,
it's not something people
casually see, walking down the streets.
no, my affection is unquestionably irrevocable,
and everlasting.
i cannot logically explain the phenomena.
and it's large to say that
i will feel this way forever.
i know that.
if you haven't heard one word i've said, hear this
and maybe you'll understand
my certainty.
the actions of the heart are as sophisticated
and logical in their own way
as the mind's decisions are,
and if anything, they are better holistically.
the ignorant are the most
susceptible to it's
demands
and often,
they tend to transmutate
the heart's wishes
with the mind's.
and that always ends in failure.
The heart in my chest
speaks without the mind.
I love you, my friend.
I do.
And forever I will.
I admired you from a very, very far distance.
I didn't want to get close.
In retrospect, I realize
I was afraid
and I didn't know why.
- When we met, you were so fascinating.
Something about you
drew my interest.
- Even when I wasn't paying attention,
I was.
- I remember nearly
every single word
you've ever said to me.
- I remember every thought, every idea, you've ever told me.
- I remember the complaints you had about your parents,
- I remember every word of how you felt about me
and what specific word choice
you used.
- I even remember
the words
you didn't say.
- My mind
marked you
as important.
it's important you know that.
Especially since
my conscious mind
did not always appear to
acknowledge you
unless you were immediately put
in front of me.
- the most important thing that you should know, my friend,
is that
my draw to you
is not normal,
it's not something people
casually see, walking down the streets.
no, my affection is unquestionably irrevocable,
and everlasting.
i cannot logically explain the phenomena.
and it's large to say that
i will feel this way forever.
i know that.
if you haven't heard one word i've said, hear this
and maybe you'll understand
my certainty.
the actions of the heart are as sophisticated
and logical in their own way
as the mind's decisions are,
and if anything, they are better holistically.
the ignorant are the most
susceptible to it's
demands
and often,
they tend to transmutate
the heart's wishes
with the mind's.
and that always ends in failure.
The heart in my chest
speaks without the mind.
I love you, my friend.
I do.
And forever I will.
relapse (things i forgot about you)
how beautiful your face was,
my dreams have reminded me.
how your eyes glimmered
when you are happy
and at peace in yourself.
how it felt
to be surrounded by you,
your emotion,
your essence,
your being.
how overwhelmingly warm your soul is.
my dreams have reminded me.
they've notified me.
part of you has returned,
after a long slumber.
but it seems i've forgotten,
and with loving liberty,
my sweetest dreams have reminded me,
your love, like a thick, warm fog, is blinding.
the intoxication
i cannot allow.
i haven't forgotten what it was like
to end up alone,
blind,
deaf, and dumb,
terrified
in the forest
where the fog
is freezing cold
and the ground
is made of brown-colored paper.
to be in this forest,
is to find your own way out.
this i have not forgotten.
i refuse to relapse.
the cycle must break
before it begins.
my dreams have reminded me.
how your eyes glimmered
when you are happy
and at peace in yourself.
how it felt
to be surrounded by you,
your emotion,
your essence,
your being.
how overwhelmingly warm your soul is.
my dreams have reminded me.
they've notified me.
part of you has returned,
after a long slumber.
but it seems i've forgotten,
and with loving liberty,
my sweetest dreams have reminded me,
your love, like a thick, warm fog, is blinding.
the intoxication
i cannot allow.
i haven't forgotten what it was like
to end up alone,
blind,
deaf, and dumb,
terrified
in the forest
where the fog
is freezing cold
and the ground
is made of brown-colored paper.
to be in this forest,
is to find your own way out.
this i have not forgotten.
i refuse to relapse.
the cycle must break
before it begins.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
embryo
the beginning.
subtle, slow movements.
blind, dumb, deaf, lame.
light never acknowledged.
i am this place.
living is mechanical, and home is given.
the light of the world approaches. i am unafraid.
i am unafraid.
subtle, slow movements.
blind, dumb, deaf, lame.
light never acknowledged.
i am this place.
living is mechanical, and home is given.
the light of the world approaches. i am unafraid.
i am unafraid.
relapse (never coming back)
I've decided to stay in this hell-filled circus forever.
Not with you. Not with myself.
Just this red circus.
I like it here. The pain
makes me laugh.
And it doesn't matter how I got here.
Carnies don't care.
They like to see me laugh.
I think it's funny.
I laugh.
I forget.
I want to spend my life
in this spiral.
This time
I think I'll die
before I come back down.
Not with you. Not with myself.
Just this red circus.
I like it here. The pain
makes me laugh.
And it doesn't matter how I got here.
Carnies don't care.
They like to see me laugh.
I think it's funny.
I laugh.
I forget.
I want to spend my life
in this spiral.
This time
I think I'll die
before I come back down.
things I wish I could tell you
I hate you when you're not looking.
Sometimes
the laces don't fit
and you get the wrong idea.
I love you.
more than anything.
I have since the minute I told you.
Since you told me.
I always will.
You are my life partner.
Your thought will not
always be a peaceful one,
but don't take it personally.
I love you.
I have 2 hangnails.
One on each hand.
One is making it hard to write.
The other is bleeding.
Memories fade
but you will last forever
in my mind.
Sometimes
the laces don't fit
and you get the wrong idea.
I love you.
more than anything.
I have since the minute I told you.
Since you told me.
I always will.
You are my life partner.
Your thought will not
always be a peaceful one,
but don't take it personally.
I love you.
I have 2 hangnails.
One on each hand.
One is making it hard to write.
The other is bleeding.
Memories fade
but you will last forever
in my mind.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
dear mary (find your wings)
this is your last chance.
drop the facade.
stop lying to yourself. to everyone else.
don't try to be someone you're not.
stop trying so hard
to please everyone.
you are not
a sea creature
a machine
or a monster.
you are not
a sociopath
incompetent
or a murderer.
you are not
useless.
helpless.
worthless.
mary...
sweet, bruised mary...
managing the symptoms
will not get rid of
the sickness.
please, mary.
this is your last chance.
your only chance.
let go.
drop the facade.
stop lying to yourself. to everyone else.
don't try to be someone you're not.
stop trying so hard
to please everyone.
you are not
a sea creature
a machine
or a monster.
you are not
a sociopath
incompetent
or a murderer.
you are not
useless.
helpless.
worthless.
mary...
sweet, bruised mary...
managing the symptoms
will not get rid of
the sickness.
please, mary.
this is your last chance.
your only chance.
let go.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
mary the damned
born blind,
she struggles with
depression
and untidy daddy issues.
born deaf,
she suffers from
bulemia and
sociopathy.
both versions love their daughter.
both versions seek to destroy
the other.
deaf mary is potent.
blind mary is invasive.
mary vs mary.
she struggles
to kill herself.
and she will eventually.
slowly.
Mary...
make peace.
she struggles with
depression
and untidy daddy issues.
born deaf,
she suffers from
bulemia and
sociopathy.
both versions love their daughter.
both versions seek to destroy
the other.
deaf mary is potent.
blind mary is invasive.
mary vs mary.
she struggles
to kill herself.
and she will eventually.
slowly.
Mary...
make peace.
small places (Lucy)
in this small place,
i'm surrounded by
beautiful shoes.
no one can find me
and I miss row row.
these shoes are so beautiful.
sometimes when i put on
the right ones
at the right time,
i can see his face
in a daydream.
he says to me,
hold on,
wait for him.
and i wait.
but i'm starving,
i am nothing but
blood and bones.
and i am alone in this
crowded room.
yet no one even suffices.
the shoes are worth more than
my empty company.
and for that,
i am bitter.
i am alone.
where is my mother?
i'm surrounded by
beautiful shoes.
no one can find me
and I miss row row.
these shoes are so beautiful.
sometimes when i put on
the right ones
at the right time,
i can see his face
in a daydream.
he says to me,
hold on,
wait for him.
and i wait.
but i'm starving,
i am nothing but
blood and bones.
and i am alone in this
crowded room.
yet no one even suffices.
the shoes are worth more than
my empty company.
and for that,
i am bitter.
i am alone.
where is my mother?
ice age coming, ice age coming
i've got to get out of here.
mary's beautiful daughter
must be saved.
before the ice age.
oh,
she will surely freeze to death.
surely she will die.
mary the damned
locked inside her mind
her soul is getting colder
her soul is rotting,
disgustingly tragic.
an ice age is coming.
we have to run away.
hide.
someplace.
warm.
i have to save her daughter.
men by the pier
with their faces gone,
unidentifiable.
disembowelment.
enjoying the view.
mary, oh mary, what have you done?
and where is your daughter?
where is she, mary?
where is sh
mary's beautiful daughter
must be saved.
before the ice age.
oh,
she will surely freeze to death.
surely she will die.
mary the damned
locked inside her mind
her soul is getting colder
her soul is rotting,
disgustingly tragic.
an ice age is coming.
we have to run away.
hide.
someplace.
warm.
i have to save her daughter.
men by the pier
with their faces gone,
unidentifiable.
disembowelment.
enjoying the view.
mary, oh mary, what have you done?
and where is your daughter?
where is she, mary?
where is sh
locked-in syndrome
help me.
i'm not dead.
please.
keep me.
someone help me.
can they hear me?
why can't they hear me?
i'm scared.
i can't scream any louder.
they can't hear me.
some pain
never makes you stronger.
i'm not dead.
please.
keep me.
someone help me.
can they hear me?
why can't they hear me?
i'm scared.
i can't scream any louder.
they can't hear me.
some pain
never makes you stronger.
shoe shopping (laces don't fit, pt. iii)
Lucy, show me those in the light.
they're beautiful, but they're not
the ones i'm looking for.
what is it you're trying to say?
millions of words are said,
and there are so many combinations,
the laces of at least one of these shoes
has to fit.
original feeling? original feet?
please, something has to fit.
even just a little bit.
the reflection on these are wrong.
i need something stronger.
the sole is too hard, too soft.
the laces don't fit.
why can't I walk around barefoot?
Lucy says it doesn't work that way
no shirt, no shoes, no service.
no one will listen.
shoe shopping
takes too long
and the laces never fit quite right.
so i opened my own shoe shop.
feel free to browse around.
they're beautiful, but they're not
the ones i'm looking for.
what is it you're trying to say?
millions of words are said,
and there are so many combinations,
the laces of at least one of these shoes
has to fit.
original feeling? original feet?
please, something has to fit.
even just a little bit.
the reflection on these are wrong.
i need something stronger.
the sole is too hard, too soft.
the laces don't fit.
why can't I walk around barefoot?
Lucy says it doesn't work that way
no shirt, no shoes, no service.
no one will listen.
shoe shopping
takes too long
and the laces never fit quite right.
so i opened my own shoe shop.
feel free to browse around.
please don't let me die
i can see the light is gone from my eyes
and the beauty of pain
only the brutality remains; the dissonance
i know i am not the same.
i'm not innocent
i'm held together with stitches.
time can only do so much.
when the sun comes out, i hide
against my will.
that will change.
everything you hate about me
is everything it takes to survive.
but only for the moment.
i am not righteous, i love you
no matter what sins you commit.
i love you, regardless of status
and class.
i am not righteous, but i am not so dissonant,
so confused,
that i do not know how to live without you.
this conversation may not even be happening.
but still, everyday,
she wonders why i'm so insecure.
and the beauty of pain
only the brutality remains; the dissonance
i know i am not the same.
i'm not innocent
i'm held together with stitches.
time can only do so much.
when the sun comes out, i hide
against my will.
that will change.
everything you hate about me
is everything it takes to survive.
but only for the moment.
i am not righteous, i love you
no matter what sins you commit.
i love you, regardless of status
and class.
i am not righteous, but i am not so dissonant,
so confused,
that i do not know how to live without you.
this conversation may not even be happening.
but still, everyday,
she wonders why i'm so insecure.
absence (laces don't fit, pt. ii)
disguise emotion under thick metaphor
frustration builds
I want you to understand.
dead men are mute, but mute men aren't dead.
what's the difference?
she can't move, she can't speak...
but neurons are registered, and she can moan...
she can't see, she can't hear...
but she can visualize, and she can remember...
she can't feel...
but we can touch her...
she can't love...
but we can love her...
she can't smile...
she can breathe...
she can't live...
she's not dead...
absence of life,
temporarily temporary.
please don't let me die.
the laces don't fit
and if we make them any longer
they're going to rip
i've got to get a grip.
frustration builds
I want you to understand.
dead men are mute, but mute men aren't dead.
what's the difference?
she can't move, she can't speak...
but neurons are registered, and she can moan...
she can't see, she can't hear...
but she can visualize, and she can remember...
she can't feel...
but we can touch her...
she can't love...
but we can love her...
she can't smile...
she can breathe...
she can't live...
she's not dead...
absence of life,
temporarily temporary.
please don't let me die.
the laces don't fit
and if we make them any longer
they're going to rip
i've got to get a grip.
nothing comes in many forms
spacious and empty,
trash floats down the street
on the invisible nothingness
made only by God.
a man walks down the same
alley, admires the trash
he has a gun in his right pocket
covered by a large jacket, pockets vacant,
he found lying
on the side of the road,
where no one walks.
if pavement could get lonely,
the sidewalks of his town
would cry more than
the cumulonimbus figures above.
vacancy in all forms
in a single city,
a single street, in
a single vision
the only emptiness missing
is the absence of understanding.
...confused?
trash floats down the street
on the invisible nothingness
made only by God.
a man walks down the same
alley, admires the trash
he has a gun in his right pocket
covered by a large jacket, pockets vacant,
he found lying
on the side of the road,
where no one walks.
if pavement could get lonely,
the sidewalks of his town
would cry more than
the cumulonimbus figures above.
vacancy in all forms
in a single city,
a single street, in
a single vision
the only emptiness missing
is the absence of understanding.
...confused?
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
the heartless have hearts
spades, clovers, hearts, diamonds
ace of hearts is all she needs
to beat that game of
solitaire.
jack of spades won't do
two of clovers can't suffice
not even the ace of diamonds
she needs the heart,
diamonds won't bring her life
jacks are jokers in disguise
spades are only as good as their symbols
the heart lives forever,
unlike the others,
there are no secrets to hide.
flip through the stack, but
the ace isn't there
she plays the game,
flipping cards, considering the king
of hearts, cheating herself,
second best.
the ace is revealed
as she moves her king
to a blank space.
for a moment, she thinks she's delusional
the red heart, centered and pure
she places in the empty space
the game unravels,
the cards fall into place.
play again?
ace of hearts is all she needs
to beat that game of
solitaire.
jack of spades won't do
two of clovers can't suffice
not even the ace of diamonds
she needs the heart,
diamonds won't bring her life
jacks are jokers in disguise
spades are only as good as their symbols
the heart lives forever,
unlike the others,
there are no secrets to hide.
flip through the stack, but
the ace isn't there
she plays the game,
flipping cards, considering the king
of hearts, cheating herself,
second best.
the ace is revealed
as she moves her king
to a blank space.
for a moment, she thinks she's delusional
the red heart, centered and pure
she places in the empty space
the game unravels,
the cards fall into place.
play again?
shape-shifter
lift them up,
tighten them,
push them together,
spread them apart
and close your eyes.
shape shifter,
your eyes are bold, but black as your liner,
and your body is hard, but so delicate, as your heart,
you don't need to change for them, beauty adapter,
you don't need to change at all.
lessen the load, yet carry more weight,
bear the burden and
learn to love the self-hate
speak for all of us, as if we are mute,
tell us who we are, great shifter,
tell us what to do.
were you empty with too much space?
the vacancy, manifested in weight?
did you feel if you lost it,
the vacancy would fill?
but now your body is brittle
and your heart is cold
and your mind is silent
as you lay in your coffin.
you are dead, shape shifter.
i hope you learned your lesson.
tighten them,
push them together,
spread them apart
and close your eyes.
shape shifter,
your eyes are bold, but black as your liner,
and your body is hard, but so delicate, as your heart,
you don't need to change for them, beauty adapter,
you don't need to change at all.
lessen the load, yet carry more weight,
bear the burden and
learn to love the self-hate
speak for all of us, as if we are mute,
tell us who we are, great shifter,
tell us what to do.
were you empty with too much space?
the vacancy, manifested in weight?
did you feel if you lost it,
the vacancy would fill?
but now your body is brittle
and your heart is cold
and your mind is silent
as you lay in your coffin.
you are dead, shape shifter.
i hope you learned your lesson.
How to Fall in Love
Excuse me sir, can I sit here?
The other seats are taken, and
You seem awful friendly.
(how do you treat your mother?)
What do you do?
That's nice.
(do you enjoy it?)
Who do you work for?
I'm an engineer.
(so you pick your nose?)
What do you believe in?
What kind of things do you like to do?
(how often do you share your thoughts?)
(do you tell the truth?)
What's your favorite food?
(do you chew loudly?)
Who did you come here with?
(are you cheating on your wife? do you have 3 kids at home?)
I'd like to have dinner sometime.
(i think we should stop seeing each other.)
The other seats are taken, and
You seem awful friendly.
(how do you treat your mother?)
What do you do?
That's nice.
(do you enjoy it?)
Who do you work for?
I'm an engineer.
(so you pick your nose?)
What do you believe in?
What kind of things do you like to do?
(how often do you share your thoughts?)
(do you tell the truth?)
What's your favorite food?
(do you chew loudly?)
Who did you come here with?
(are you cheating on your wife? do you have 3 kids at home?)
I'd like to have dinner sometime.
(i think we should stop seeing each other.)
write with purpose (laces don't fit, pt. i)
lingering hearts can fly
no matter how jammed they are.
and if they don't fly, they're
constantly hovering
2 inches off the ground
afraid if they touch it,
they'll fall right through.
it's been 10 years you've been gone, and dear, I still think of you every day
the car crash festers in my dreams
branching into day, and
I ride the bike to work now
the phone's ringing but I don't want to know
what I already know.
you pushed the vase off the
end table
and with the glass, my thoughts shattered
onto the water-stained carpet
laces don't fit
as tight as your smile
stop drawing lines, Laney
make your point
say something profound
walk a mile
even if the laces don't fit
no matter how jammed they are.
and if they don't fly, they're
constantly hovering
2 inches off the ground
afraid if they touch it,
they'll fall right through.
it's been 10 years you've been gone, and dear, I still think of you every day
the car crash festers in my dreams
branching into day, and
I ride the bike to work now
the phone's ringing but I don't want to know
what I already know.
you pushed the vase off the
end table
and with the glass, my thoughts shattered
onto the water-stained carpet
laces don't fit
as tight as your smile
stop drawing lines, Laney
make your point
say something profound
walk a mile
even if the laces don't fit
sociopathy
community believed in only the leader, and the heart of man
loved her all very well
He trusted her and her love,
all of her love,
belonged to him.
Mary, may I?
Mary, Mary,
she breaches at the far away gate
utopian metropolis she can't leave
"but I have to protect my daughter!" she cries
"I can't leave my baby behind."
anger soars through the atmosphere, brushing
the sky and embracing the fertile clouds
splitting them into
two hostile pieces.
"I have to take her with me," she's crying,
and they killed her beloved, they killed
her in their bitter impatience.
and Mary killed them back.
she all slaughtered them, all mutilated.
Mary was angry.
Mary was crying.
Mary felt nothing.
loved her all very well
He trusted her and her love,
all of her love,
belonged to him.
Mary, may I?
Mary, Mary,
she breaches at the far away gate
utopian metropolis she can't leave
"but I have to protect my daughter!" she cries
"I can't leave my baby behind."
anger soars through the atmosphere, brushing
the sky and embracing the fertile clouds
splitting them into
two hostile pieces.
"I have to take her with me," she's crying,
and they killed her beloved, they killed
her in their bitter impatience.
and Mary killed them back.
she all slaughtered them, all mutilated.
Mary was angry.
Mary was crying.
Mary felt nothing.
you were a lot cooler ten years ago
speak my mind
cover thoughts in dry ice
half of that time I'm living half my half life
I carry trust like a bombshell,
and love like a knife
she bought me 10 red rubies yesterday
with hearts engraved, with golden plates
she said her heart is in one of them
and if I chose the right one, I get
to be her date
I chose the 7th one, betting on God
she said her heart was in the 6th
but my fate was fixed
a piece was in all 10
I met you on the coldest day of the year.
you brought angels in your eyes
but all I had was christmas ornaments
I said hello and raised my hand
telling God to count to 5
when I said the hard work was done
I was hard at work, so
you could have some fun
and alone anyone would have turned to stone
and your concrete beliefs slipped through the cracks
will you ever get them back?
cover thoughts in dry ice
half of that time I'm living half my half life
I carry trust like a bombshell,
and love like a knife
she bought me 10 red rubies yesterday
with hearts engraved, with golden plates
she said her heart is in one of them
and if I chose the right one, I get
to be her date
I chose the 7th one, betting on God
she said her heart was in the 6th
but my fate was fixed
a piece was in all 10
I met you on the coldest day of the year.
you brought angels in your eyes
but all I had was christmas ornaments
I said hello and raised my hand
telling God to count to 5
when I said the hard work was done
I was hard at work, so
you could have some fun
and alone anyone would have turned to stone
and your concrete beliefs slipped through the cracks
will you ever get them back?
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