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and now i do this just for me.
a light that doesn't burn bright white-- yet steadily flickers a constant...
off of what?
off of my make-believe tightly woven little world where I have taken steps in order to assure my future. (ha!) off of my all-too-often smile that I offer to allow a simple flow of communication...
(no, I do it for you.)
off of my finger-tips where the placement of the notes still comes naturally but the feeling of the song has been lost in a sea of
the color of life
the color of jealousy
the color of sickness
the color of money
the color of his eyes.
the color of thick liquid pictures, they choke me and scratch at my eyes in a frantic struggle screaming "AWAKE or I will choke you dead. You can't win..." but this shade of torment, requested by my own hand-written invitation, so violently unrelenting doesn't even know
I am already dead.
So the joke is on you because I am not even breathing.
Haven't you notice the blood on your hands is cold and I stopped fighting long ago...
it was all shit he fed me.
right up to the very last meal. when i couldn't swallow anymore and i couldn't breath.
and when i coughed it all out, and spit it all back up, i watched a form take shape I barely recognized... squinting from the vantage point that I had shoved my ass into the day we met and wanted to impress you.
but the shape that formed, something beautiful and rare.
the shape of self-identity.
it winked at me and hummed a determined little tune... saying
it's alright... it's alright... wipe that shit from your eyes...
on an average day, my sleep is so deep i dream of waking up, my mouth is so dry, i dream of filling up with water from your torment... but the drought seems to be gone for now---- and i've had days where the night never comes, and nights where the day comes too quick. but i can close my eyes or turn on a light and follow a path to a greater release. i never found you waiting... and the drought seems to be gone for now--- yes, it's pouring down... follow my foot-prints
or watch them wash away
tip-toes through the daisy forest of my spring time.
not yet bloomed
the sun has continued to set.
and my hair is too short for me to smell it but i know it will remind me that i need to clean myself from the winter time tedious tendancy of objectifying myself for you.
up and down your arm until your shoulder
and the delicacy of your neck.
my only "only" pushed up against the things that help you react.... feeling tiny reminders that this is real.
like land marks
on a human map.
peeled off and left to rot.
the skin that holds us in
won't keep its beauty for long.
moral impurity is so over-rated.
i showed you a nasty girl... who loves a body too much
who loses inhibition.
an action like murder
or self-defense. the outcome is the same.
the skin's peeled off and left to rot.
some add it, sprinkled sympathy on what is typically discarded.
relish in it
face-value is the attention the press craves, the audience enjoys.
what creates and maintains never entertains the masses.
we never appreciate the creator, only the creation.
nothing will grow in crimson oceans of ghosts and histories. i have no plan for the words you spoke to me of those dancing whores with messes they leave... hopeful young minds who can't see to conclusion--- feel with a release, focus on the temporary. it's for the fame of the thrill when we show the world we are unable to become held down... the safety of solitude. the human condition we all experience, convince ourselves it's what we want. easier to face the demons when we dress them as angels--
embrace them like children who need us.
but i'm ready to drown myself in it, to bath endlessly in the heat and the dark explosions. when two bodies create a rhythm for the sake of the beat... and are blinded and lose memory of the previous.
nothing left of greater importance than the steady recurrence...
we all have our own drums that pulsate under the skin, let off iridescent glows of determination and fixation..... they follow us like our names, they mock us in times of doubt. the beating world controls us all... an explosion of the entity.... in the innocent realm... we all desire and shame eachother.
ten times your lust leaves me with five times the headache. but when the pleasure doesn't work out to be worth the pain and the little dancing elf tells me it's time to go i find something keeping me... and it's not an arrow through my heart or a box of chocolates on my pillow... it's more like a failing essay on who i am. a creature who believes the struggle means reality being realized, captivated by the fight, constantly vying for the attention that blurs her vision to the truth of the situation.
love multiplies from failures presence.
the frame is crooked. the tint a little off... you know it's not enough that the art is breath-taking. not if it isn't properly supported, it will all come crashing down. it could be so valuable, but the upkeep all these years hasn't been sufficient.
my walls need more than a pretty picture.. my eyes are filled to the brink when others admire the decoration, and i cannot even tell myself it is my own possession. when the light hits it a certain way, i cannot deny it's worth.
but in the dark i don't even know it's there.
the things they didn't know left footprints on their backs. but there are new guidelines now, and his yellow hat clashes with her pink dress.
so she turns away, and closes her eyes as he pulls her closer to him.
once again, she stops breathing
and he doesn't notice.
the brim of his hat hits her forehead
she removes the distraction
she removes the recognition...
he lowers his head... there is nothing left between them, except her pink dress. womanly ideals strapped to his lovers skin, it confuses him and he can't react.
it's been their barricade all along.
painting your portrait, i promise nothing.
it's an intricate picture with unique details.... my strongest memories can not be created on canvas or paper of even the highest quality. they echo intently between my ears, and swim in the deepest ends of my pulse.
they are the bravest and brightest of all i am. like something i scratched off on an impulse, i regretfully
at what i can not recreate.
with each new attempt,
more and more dies. terrified and raging
at the grave injustice.
burying your memory,
I promise nothing.
emotionally locked in. tight.
pinch my nose, hold my breath, and blow.
rub my eyebrows and forehead with feverish aggression... massage my eye lids with disappointment... reach for my hair, fist clenched tight...
let it slip through my knuckles, jerking my head back.
consistent steady up and down pace of my right leg.
nothing stands tall.
leaves us dull.
transform guardians from my mysterious pain.
censor it for my loved ones.
i have lost the drive that we all rely on to get us through our days.
gripping maddness enters me.
these tears, a libation of guilt... for all my sins.
the lies I've told, 10,000 more
the hearts I broke.
fuck pity or understanding,
but I would like to know how this is possible? how can these things be actions that I create from my own mind...
implication of some hidden self-hatred
I don't buy that shit...
i would think it only appropriate, that instead of doomed heart-break, a nice long life of numbness and neutrality... i will never feel anything fully or deeply... i don't deserve to feel anything at all.
so he's your essential little weakling... a puppet that fawns over the hands that control his heart-strings...
your authority is his perception's fallacy of love.
he keeps dancing because he has yet to realize the music stopped.....
our first taste of candy is
ohhhh soooo ohhhhh so oversweet,
isn't it? and we relish the taste of sugar on our mouths, our fingertips, and in our crotch,
and we forget
that it's bad for our teeth...
and for our minds late at night when we drift off to sleep....
his dreams, became nightmares, when you crept into his safe somnolence.
i am a vestige of his attempts at love and responsibility, like a keepsake of failure. the constant, shameful reminder i wear with a smile, like a wedding dress... carefully i come to his side, to present myself and all my glorious baggage......
won't you carry it for me, please?
oh no, it is not heavy...
for a teasing gesture, I leave him...
"goodnight, it has been divine"
he nearly laughs in relief....
but the joke is on him, for I run through his veins, and he would have to bleed me out of himself to forget his mistakes.
owwwww... the pain of a lazy lover.... it's dull... like a spoon.
idleness of the heart
loss for words.
your voice like an echo that is slowly fading into the distance a picture of you that repeats its image getting clearer and clearer like a river from night to morning when we wake in eachothers arms and silent prayers are rising from my lips before you lean over to kiss them in your quietly seductive and dismissive way of giving me attention just to get my attention long enough to distract me from the ways you fail me.
i'm not trying to find a cure for the everyday shit that runs through our minds, because it is this shit that keeps me from jumping off of a
bridge our lives together in a simple world, with lollipops and bubble gum, sweet sweet sweetness will carry our minds
away from the man I love I can not begin to explain why I sit and wait for something to happen to me when all i want is to believe
beginnings and endings are meant to go together.
and i hate this entry, because it's too honest...
honesty leaves me translucent.
it's the smell of the beer on the breath of the man who is digging in his palm sweaty dollar bills stick to her thighs she is here
for the smell of the dinner her mom will cook when she returns and presents herself as the proud college student she pretends to be
but as she smells the scent of the men that support her still on her skin she loses her appetite and is thrown back to that bar
and that smell...
her mother says "dear, why don't you eat something?" and she says, "i'm not hungry".
embezzled my trust with your feigned grace.
hasn't been easy to contain...
all those things I know but never speak of,
i stand witness to what has peeled the mask from your essence....
clutching your costume with both hands...
should I just end the charades? without a spoken word of truth, or should I break open the guise in front of your eyes and wait for a performance from you?
all I really crave is a release from silence. some sort of vindication from my range---
it's like I've been tempted by your virtue, and put in place by your former....
your vindiction, topped off with your constant hair-pulling vigor...
it's becoming too much for me to take... it's infectious and rampant, revenge like liquid is escaping you now, neon colors of your lovers who have scorned you
pour from your eyes, and your palms where you have dug your nails deep into your skin, to feel anything but...
and it's a wall of jealousy you keep running yourself into... full speed ahead...
and the colors become thicker, and you become harder and harder
i see the inner workings of a soul at ease while anything beyond you is blury, anything other than you is helplessly mute. --you are the epoch, the pinnacle, and the plot. i feel like an escapist, who indulges too deep into a moving masterpiece...
but better i stay here, naively absorbed, then cross the perception tight-rope and have a glimpse of my image from your eyes...
for i fear the history of your sight will drowned the figure of me all too swiftly...
it's a tragically ironic commonality of life,
our own great loves, never label us as such.
pass the ammunition
fire this one down
so i can pick up the pieces, and lock them in the back of my closet.
when i lay awake at night, i can hear the whispers of days gone by, muffled and mocking me, like the tip of a flame just below....
each box of yesterday, leaves tiny scars on my soul
none for you to see.
and if i'm lonely now, it was at my own appointment.
and i know somehow
i'll do it again.
because they're nice
for me to keep.
so pass the ammunition,
i need a lexicon to look that shit up because you're speaking in tongues again and i'm starting to spin in a cirlce of wishful thinking and broken lessons. cryptically you came forth with an insight of your own, clutching onto the belief that understanding comes naturally or doesn't come at all. digging into the idea that explanation conquers everything there is...
but try to clean that dirt from under your nails, and you'll find some of it just won't come out. because all the reasons in the world can't stitch together the ceramic pieces of a let-down heart.
infuse your sanctity into me.
the sandpiper sings a song of sand and salt
as we drift further from the shore... your love
like a saline solution on an open wound. the sweat of our days.
breath heavy until the stinging subsides.
the waters can't change their course or destiny, we are left to follow their charted territory. you squint in the sun's gaze, our flesh searing... our energy fading.
sweet relief of darkness... the coldness gives us a reason, to touch eachother again.
without light, what lurks is unseen... strange how vulnerability has increased our comfort.
salvage the small ounce of respect i have for you and rethink those words that are about to escape from your pretty little mouth. i haven't been honest, i hate people like you. it's a double-sided standard with a twist of sexism hidden under a thick blanket of progressive ideals. liberate your liberal tendancies and cut the crap- it's for show and for your perspective of what's worthy. you want to stand out in front of me, you want to be something else in front of the masses.
a well-hidden passion for acceptance or a well-faked passion for freedom?
so sour she clenches her jaw uncontrollably salavates... the self-inflicted punishment keeps coming back over and over again.
lessons learned after countless beatings in front of a mirror... being independent when there is nothing to stand on, she'll make an excuse for each passed up opportunity... but was she promised a partner through all this? of course not... she dreams of one..., in the same room... reliving the same wrongs... a soul of understanding... a soul with little needs... like hers has become after years of building a wall she had no right to hide behind.
nothing left me. it was like a dream. they found a plate full of pride, and swept the excess under the rug. it was served upon arrival, fresh blood for the guests. a line formed for the fad that was fashionably shoved down their throats... forming the latest trend.
expensive white lace turns red... men escort their woman to the feeding.
respect is the lie. throw your head back, laugh at the smell of vile human remains under your nose, surrounding your lips. lick yourself, smile with satisfaction, when you can't speak the truth, they will feed you a lie.
slink backwards into the life you want to lead,
you can't see.
like wind-chimes on a day still as death.
the porch boards creek, unaccustomed to the weight of company.
the paint chips, and not a soul that passes by doesn't notice, it's a relic, but you still think you know...
which way the sun shines in at 3 in the afternoon isn't up to you.
whether it's an addition or part of the original structure, it's only your best guess to decide,
but you wear it proudly regardless,
because you're for sale,
...just like the rest...
and if i don't have the photographs, i still have the negatives. the original mis-colored, mis-sized, rememberance of what it all is. a photograph that represents the prestine judgement i made too soon on the voyage of discovery. a keepsake for my inaccurate perception.... actions scream the truth. but i must have plugged my ears with wishes and false ideals... obsessed with the trophy, i regarded the prize as an obvious need, and not a delusion from the best of circumstances. juggling these objects that change in mid-air, i am bound to drop a few.
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