i stay you far away.
the truth, liquid, in un-day.
A roaring crash chest cavity
A dread of death anxiety.
I am blind and blood and suffering
With each drink you down, my agony.
I un-recognize your long black coats, and eyes.
You’ve unfamiliared you, when we sang of “spies”
you damage you, you damage me
I will be six feet, your company
I yell at it and give it rude glares
But it “creep”s and whispers the truth, it dares
where you hardly care
i am hard aware
but you dont lose sleep, do you?
i wish i didn't too.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Thursday, January 21, 2010
amelie.
and although she sang in french sounds i could not understand, i could feel she sang about the moment we became. and as the feelings melted into one another, in the driver seat, in your lap, i felt your hands shaking and nerves about uncertain; that it was too good.
[much time and days and years about pain and starving inside.]
happy crashes at me. and as i am destroyed into hot pieces of ash and fire i become light that shines into the tips of your eyes and the corners of your brain. i coerce your laughter and am free.
[much time and days and years about pain and starving inside.]
happy crashes at me. and as i am destroyed into hot pieces of ash and fire i become light that shines into the tips of your eyes and the corners of your brain. i coerce your laughter and am free.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
sea thing.
Un-pigment
She had futile fists fighting. her stomach salted like sea.
[And he will wipe the sad and deepest things away until you think they aren’t so close anymore]
But this was before words crept unto the pallet; premeditated and empty.
When she spoke in was in sounds like rain.
[your fire and my light]
Her Melody had gone black.
The feeling of it burst in tree like branches throughout her chest as if lightening had raced down, reducing her [heart thing] into pieces of hot glass; aching and open like a searing volcano.
[much description of pain, and awful hurt; a very long time and some words about saving a pretty girl with scar and not feeling real.]
she abandoned the earth, the place she was. And descended into the most genuine depths of mysterious and dark water.
where, although she could not be loved, she could not be un-loved.
And in time, the nerves that once allotted memory and knowledge of time and experiences of tastes and sounds about rain, and the trickle of fingertips about her palm became dormant and inanimate.
And human rules faded off of her body.
She did not age.
Her hair grew out white over a mile in length; floating in silver tinsel up the ocean reaching towards the surface and the sun danced upon in.
And specs of light danced as luminated sky adornment on it, playing games “not to touch the shadow”.
The memory of amber darting through tree, sitting aside soccer morning sunrise drifted into the liquid and evaporated into the atmosphere; digested into shapes of stars and other lights that people look up to and wonder about.
it was a desperate reach into her acknowledgment, that the wind and the atmosphere would attempt to catch her eyes with a tsunami, a violent sky, or in aurora. And in its admirations, the sky would try and try its best to capture a rouge star for her. to burn and scar itself, just to plead its diligent devotion for her. and she was just as persevering in her unrequited interest.
as she would spend her nights laying a field, rearranging stars with her fingertips.
She had futile fists fighting. her stomach salted like sea.
[And he will wipe the sad and deepest things away until you think they aren’t so close anymore]
But this was before words crept unto the pallet; premeditated and empty.
When she spoke in was in sounds like rain.
[your fire and my light]
Her Melody had gone black.
The feeling of it burst in tree like branches throughout her chest as if lightening had raced down, reducing her [heart thing] into pieces of hot glass; aching and open like a searing volcano.
[much description of pain, and awful hurt; a very long time and some words about saving a pretty girl with scar and not feeling real.]
she abandoned the earth, the place she was. And descended into the most genuine depths of mysterious and dark water.
where, although she could not be loved, she could not be un-loved.
And in time, the nerves that once allotted memory and knowledge of time and experiences of tastes and sounds about rain, and the trickle of fingertips about her palm became dormant and inanimate.
And human rules faded off of her body.
She did not age.
Her hair grew out white over a mile in length; floating in silver tinsel up the ocean reaching towards the surface and the sun danced upon in.
And specs of light danced as luminated sky adornment on it, playing games “not to touch the shadow”.
The memory of amber darting through tree, sitting aside soccer morning sunrise drifted into the liquid and evaporated into the atmosphere; digested into shapes of stars and other lights that people look up to and wonder about.
it was a desperate reach into her acknowledgment, that the wind and the atmosphere would attempt to catch her eyes with a tsunami, a violent sky, or in aurora. And in its admirations, the sky would try and try its best to capture a rouge star for her. to burn and scar itself, just to plead its diligent devotion for her. and she was just as persevering in her unrequited interest.
as she would spend her nights laying a field, rearranging stars with her fingertips.
.insanity.
And If I turned crazy, I know you’d still love me. And you would invite my imaginary friends inside, to visit while my panic subsides. And my smiles would be endless, where your happiness bursts. And you would take care of me. Take care of me. Because your heart swells and you believe my spells. And my dreams are things you listen to and believe. Where I cannot tell a lie. And you are as beautiful as the moment I met you in my dreams. And you are with me everyday, in my ear. And you hold me in my sleep, even when the dreams are too deep. And ill cry of try and be brave, but you are close at my side Because of people that have died you are Where I cannot tell a lie.
face gush.
As always from anesthesia you wake up at someone talking about you.
Usually a doctor and your mom or dad, in this case it was my mom telling me how good my face looked.
Which was swollen and gushing.
I remember the night before I was dreading waking up from this.
And so it was like someone hit me in the face with a spiked bat to wake me up.
And I moaned. And a male nurse with a ponytail held a crescent shaped plastic bowl in front of me as a puked blood. Eleven times.
And when it didn’t get better.
They held me down, they pulled things out. They yelled. And I went to sleep.
Usually a doctor and your mom or dad, in this case it was my mom telling me how good my face looked.
Which was swollen and gushing.
I remember the night before I was dreading waking up from this.
And so it was like someone hit me in the face with a spiked bat to wake me up.
And I moaned. And a male nurse with a ponytail held a crescent shaped plastic bowl in front of me as a puked blood. Eleven times.
And when it didn’t get better.
They held me down, they pulled things out. They yelled. And I went to sleep.
puff, puff.
there are melted, rubber spirals aching on the bottoms of your sneakers from the fire you quiet; the habits our bodies silently endure.
And revenge plotted inside of you; hatred exponentially horded and feelings of inconsiderate carcinogen
that hi-jacks cells and coerce others to follow, blossoming and thefting tissue for its' solely aesthetic means; a useless group of blackened spots scattered like stars across your lungs.
And calculations of equality, appropriating time above and under groud; “a breath for a puff”.
And revenge plotted inside of you; hatred exponentially horded and feelings of inconsiderate carcinogen
that hi-jacks cells and coerce others to follow, blossoming and thefting tissue for its' solely aesthetic means; a useless group of blackened spots scattered like stars across your lungs.
And calculations of equality, appropriating time above and under groud; “a breath for a puff”.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
The feeling of it quickly exploded in tree like branches throughout her chest as if lightening had raced down, reducing her [heart thing] into pieces of hot glass; aching and open like a searing volcano.
[much description of pain, and awful hurt;
a very long time
and some words about saving a pretty girl with scar and not feeling real.]
she abandoned the earth, the place she was. And descended into the most genuine depths of mysterious and dark water.
where, although she could not be loved, she could not be un-loved.
And in time, the nerves that once allotted memory and knowledge of time and experiences of tastes and sounds about rain, and the trickle of fingertips about her palm became dormant and inanimate.
And human rules faded off of her body.
She did not age and her hair grew out white over a mile in length; floating in silver tinsel up the ocean reaching towards the surface and the sun danced upon in.
And specs of light danced into glimmers on it, playing games “not to touch the shadow”.
The memory of amber darting through tree, sitting aside soccer morning sunrise drifted into the liquid and evaporated into the atmosphere; digested into shapes of stars and other lights that people look up to and wonder about.
it was a desperate reach into her acknowledgment, that the wind and the atmosphere would attempt to catch her eyes with a tsunami, a violent sky, or in aurora. And in its admirations, the sky would try and try its best to capture a rouge star for her. to burn and scar itself, just to plead its diligent devotion for her. and she was just as persevering in her unrequited interest.
as she would spend her nights laying a field, rearranging stars with her fingertips.
[much description of pain, and awful hurt;
a very long time
and some words about saving a pretty girl with scar and not feeling real.]
she abandoned the earth, the place she was. And descended into the most genuine depths of mysterious and dark water.
where, although she could not be loved, she could not be un-loved.
And in time, the nerves that once allotted memory and knowledge of time and experiences of tastes and sounds about rain, and the trickle of fingertips about her palm became dormant and inanimate.
And human rules faded off of her body.
She did not age and her hair grew out white over a mile in length; floating in silver tinsel up the ocean reaching towards the surface and the sun danced upon in.
And specs of light danced into glimmers on it, playing games “not to touch the shadow”.
The memory of amber darting through tree, sitting aside soccer morning sunrise drifted into the liquid and evaporated into the atmosphere; digested into shapes of stars and other lights that people look up to and wonder about.
it was a desperate reach into her acknowledgment, that the wind and the atmosphere would attempt to catch her eyes with a tsunami, a violent sky, or in aurora. And in its admirations, the sky would try and try its best to capture a rouge star for her. to burn and scar itself, just to plead its diligent devotion for her. and she was just as persevering in her unrequited interest.
as she would spend her nights laying a field, rearranging stars with her fingertips.
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