We never promise forever and always
but we're always planning for the future
because that's all we can do
to keep us sane
and I feel just a little bit crazy for
thinking about you
and us
and everything we're going to do
all the little moments
and the big ones too.
it's always
you
you
you.
With a warm glow
around my tired bones,
I feel the chemicals
slowly take effect.
It's ok with me, precious,
if you think I'm ugly.
I'll love you just the same.
My hands knew your skin
before we ever touched lips
because you are missing from me.
It's ok my dear,
if we never live
I'll love you just the same.
It's the honey on your lips
that keeps me on my knees.
I need to hear those words
Make me still believe
I don't care if it's a lie...
If its all lies
Just make me feel good..
twinkle birds and tessellates, bends my mind to outer space. lands me in infinity of never ending affinity to the universe.
but sweetest ideas were shortly lived at reality slowly sifts away to repeated visions that turn loved faces into panic that glitches me into unbreakable circles of walk away, walk away.
no awareness of a before from this feel the abyss of this helplessness suck me into no ending so I seice to begin.
but as the panic subsides my mind starts to ride the energy that resides in my being from the kingfisher floor to the fish strewn ceiling.
sentient beings suck at the seams, my dream of weightlessness pull the windows to break towards the secrets of simple existence.
invisible water sends the strands of fur swelling and glowing into talk of the polar bear whose hair weaves into the atoms that feed my jumbled dreams.
hands rip through the plaster as the sounds grow louder and faster, helicopters shake the boiler from the pipes but I still feel great.
the tables tremble as I soak up the bass and the treble. sensual overload through my eyes the magic multiplies, angels can hear my sighs as the roof opens to tunnel towards the skies.
geometric patterns that I could never have imagines circle and sweep, creeping my further from sleep.
I have breached something new, an extreme that dares its self to be seen only my the few who snatch it. I grab these new senses and attach it to my masses of emotions, that have been formed my these chemicals. neutrons and protons that explore the breadth oh Pantones schemes, weaving into the atoms that feed my jumbles dreams.
release my mind from the confines of rinse and repeat, out of easy street and onto the sunrise that surrounds me. revelations that never siese to confound me.
destruction was peace pulling my beliefs, daring the world to touch me as the floor tips the cabinets from the walls. I am small. here in this perfect world. my hands make the plants grow as they show me all it takes to break the confines of the human condition is to expand your mind and reposition your nervous system to reach a different supposition.
little lion
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http://trivialitesofabusymind.blogspot.co.uk/
one of those mornings
where I am thinking of you baby (scoffs)
where I want to lay on the floor with my legs in the air
where I want to smoke cigarettes as skinny as teenage legs
where I want to wear dark sunglasses that spell out
C-O-O-L C-A-T
and these shades would allow me to be callous
and my apathy and I could make snide remarks
about you,
you fucker
Boy, I hope you can smell my contempt over there.
You deserve it.
I don't dislike many people, but if I could do it,
I would tell you that I look upon your character
with the same adoration that I would hold for a
parasite-infested rotting mountain of rat feces.
Which is to say not a lot.
Which is to say I dislike you, immensely.
Still
I'm retaining some dignity here,
somewhat,
by not wasting my time caring about a little rat like you.
It's just one of those mornings,
where I want to stop knowing you, and wish you wouldn't know me
where I want to take Xanax until a stabbing wouldn't hurt me, physically.
where I want to cry or something, but you see, I can't feel a thing, for you.
You don't deserve my crocodile tears.
I have nothing for you, I am fresh out of fucks to give.
I don't regret anything since I learned a great deal.
I wouldn't say I was heartbroken, just exasperated
by your contrived and un-authentic dumbass-ery.
I am better than you, you stupid infantile rat,
I laugh when I remember that every morning.
I often ask myself the question, what would it take to be your queen?
To have a love so un-obscene
And if there really was a chance we might just fall,
I wouldn't have to worry,
No not at all.
Our stories could crumble,
Our lives could shake,
Our world could become an earthquake
But alas,
We would sit on our throne
We would sit up high
We'd feel full grown
With a strength to rule the sky
You and I might just fly
our unwavering frog chorus chirps sweet incense of these at last amorous summer nights with joyous voices that are surely singing songs of devotion to la Luna and her silver eyes that watch over this garden of the cosmos with cloud eyelids that cause her wondrous beam to flicker in and out of perception as if dappled by trees; eyes that are nothing but the reflection of all of infinity’s stars projecting themselves in every direction through the expanse of dark matter in a quest to witness (or be witnessed by) the infinitesimal percentage of atoms in the universe that have become conscience; atoms perhaps unfairly concentrated on this one marvelous rock that has been bestowed with the gift of that elixir of life that is the bonding of hydrogen and oxygen; a rock that flies along at a breakneck speed while its inhabitants are able to feel so incredibly still:
we assemblage of friends are so very perfectly still in time together collected on this backyard blanket where like the thicket our legs and arms entangle, and invisibly our minds entangle too until we are bonded chemically in some ineffably complex emotion it would be fitting to label love; and as faces turn silhouette in the night, it’s as if we have on this steadfast square decomposed back into the smallest building blocks of matter; splendid flesh broken into atoms, lips and hands, hearts and brains, all dissolved into this collective pool of consciousness where we each understand one another’s aches and ecstasies in this world, and in the frog’s chirpings we hear that the world understands too, and we think ‘thank our transcendental creator for the stars that watch over us, because how else would we know that we’re alive?’
the foolish men who went to the moon found not a glittering paradise but a grey desert, and when they found this to be true marveled not at the moon but at the heart breaking sight of Earth’s entirety; for here is the only place where the stars can truly appreciate life and where life can truly appreciate the stars.
Backward-man loves his dog.
Ties him up before and after
His walks, likes to goad his pet
Too, speaking as the weather wails
And howls then dog looks down,
Sad on his master dumbfounded.
A chain is worn as it scrapes
The ground connecting dog
To his master. They both love
The sound of it hissing as it strikes
The concrete pathways, sometimes
Man and dog feel free, not a part
Of each other, the chain may break,
And fear is for forks in the road,
The rusty pockmarked grip of his links
Have always been there on walks
Ahead and behind though it makes
Things confusing as if in a dance
And sometimes they wonder which way
They might end up after all—
And when the dark and golden
Rope, as always, is finally tied
To some old fruit tree, the man
Is happy his dog has both sun
And shade, but also has joy watching
Dog beg for ripe apples he cannot
Reach. Some people might come
To think that dog thinks those apples
Are not for eating. Everyone loves
Fruit, don't they?
Backward-man built his dog
A house as cold as a three-
Storied barn, out of things
He could not afford, things much
Too good for dog to not care
About, maybe man built dog's
House for himself, he cannot
Really impress his dog.
Backward-man likes to think
He knows what dog is saying.
Barks and whimpers have deep
Meanings, 'world is a good place,'
Dog says, but when pooch says,
'World is cruel,' crying, disobedient
Whines gets him a serious kick
Out of old anger from backward-
Man. And man can be a hell-
Hound on his own, the way
He twists and unravels the things
He needs, like truth and food
And love— that goes without
Saying for backward-man hates
His woman, but loves his dog.
I want to break down the walls of vanity it is the cause of my destitution I have the mindset of a man who has lost all sanity and self worth walking along the needles of self doubt the pain I feel upon my feet the unforgiving object piecing my reality creating an imperfect image in an inhumane existence is my life bound by the creeping feelings of isolating thoughts or is hope just above the horizon shining with a brilliance that man can only begin to comprehend
Don't give up on everything for someone who gave you nothing.
Don't run to someone who runs from you.
Don't be afraid to jump, when you wanna feel the wind in your hair.
Don't let something thats hurt you, give way to the devil.
