Fire starter, burning through the night
Like a torch symbolizing hope
I think it's more inclined to
Cause an arsonist kiss burns the throat
Kickstarting an endless numbing
You can try to stop
Or hope that more will make you sick
Underneath the cloudy shade
Resolute, essential little bitch.
Barely noticed, one can see why
I despise these glowing eyes
Cause mine are red, and it blew out my cry.
- There are days when he mentions your name. I take it like a sugar pill — a little too sweet; becomes a coating of whateveritis on my tongue not long after; on my teeth, the grinding; what am I saying — I am no longer able to taste anything; maybe it’s better this way.
- There are days he says it might make me happy to be with you instead, it being easier. He is 7,307 mi away, and there are a million and one places you and I could ‘accidentally’ meet in this city. Today, I agreed with him, that it might be easier, but not for that reason.
- There are days when I wish he would stop being in my conscious so that I can remember memories from before him more clearly. I want him too much, so my mind focuses on the memories I share with him more. I have no energy left for anything else. I can’t remember what came before him and I can’t picture life after him.
- I became too confident that I have mastered the few concepts on life we so arduously pored over together; I have forgotten how to state them in words.
- There used to be a time when I couldn’t picture life without you too. I make too many drafts now, and edit posts after publishing [kudos to Adam Jones].
- I wish you didn’t let me give you up so easily. Then again, maybe I shouldn’t have been honest and clear about my intentions so there would be room enough for you to guess.
- I still can’t picture life without you.
- But you leave too quickly, I don’t know if this means anything to you. If I mean anything to you.
- I am still waiting for you to come back.
- Come back.
Breaking water, diving in with my body, head first.
Rippling seams and leaving stitches unfinished. I dive in to let the purity envelop me. Cleanse me and my pores,
return me to where I started from.
Release me from wars, unopened doors I wished I turned. Forget wounds of battle on my skin.
Open me.cut me open and leave me bleeding. Let my blood sink into the earth until there is nothing left, let me walk this earth for miles and miles, let me feel the pain in my lungs and the hoarseness of my being escaping from my throat. Let me build a moat around my princess castle and then tear it down. Lightning strike me and rip my particles, rip the matter from me like guns on glass. Crack me and tear me. I will get up again.
I will rise.
And Let me sing,
sing until my prayers are whispers.
Forest water, reflecting green, serenity.
I have dreams of black claws like raven glass closing in, scratching me bare. Howling and deep long nails and witchy eyes cackling like the darkness overlapping. The demons within closing in. I hide from the light, unaware of how I’m blocking out love from my life. Is it just a dream what my heart has seen. Now I walk like wind or stones in snow. I trudge along trying to remain strong when the forces pull and tear the ramshackle down to the ground.
I’ve been breathing and living, these stones suspended, seeing so many things and this compilation of stories warms my belly and tears my flesh.The happiness is what breaks me. Suspending the never-ending. I am so close to the grave that I dug for myself but I must keep walking past that linear line that I set for myself. It is lines within circles. So many flows, I thought I chose the whole. Breathe. Pouring myself out into you. I wonder if I give and give it will fade into the soil and the bottle will empty. Melt like water. Feed you and leave me. Is it releasing or is it unhealthy for me to give myself away.
I gave myself away.
I have strewn pieces of myself into everything I have touched but I am afraid that one day there will be nothing left. Nothing left when finally I receive pieces of someone else. . Excuse me, it is not like me to be so dramatic and I am afraid to write things like this because it feels so cheesy except the process of seeking deeper is breaking that boundary and that un-comfortableness. Where did our love go? It existed between the skin and the bones. It was a facade or something else. I am not very sure. Not lust but colour, it was dewy green like steam from a coffee cup in the morning. Or the rain on the window pane while I slept in your arms and refrained from needing you too much, I cannot write about you without tears, write about your skin or your smile, and I am in a confined environment as I write this where such things are not very acceptable. I am hiding on the screen, escaping my heart. I cried this morning because it was all too perfect.
I am cut open I suppose. Like that song “And it was your heart on the line / I really fucked it up this time / Didn't I, my dear?” Mumford and Sons even feels too perfectly imperfect that I laugh at myself and this funny hole I am in. I don’t like the swear word though, sometimes I laugh because it works. The “f” word in that song it just kind of fits. It is like the pathetic-ness and the hilarity, when we slip in mud and are covered in filth when we have nothing left but to cry and to laugh because we are crying because nothing in this world really matters or it matters all too much. Because I don’t know where I’m going and I don’t think anybody does. We just muster our determination and passion and roll with it but still there is an element of unpredictability no matter how routine we have gotten. No matter how far we have fallen from our roots. Excuse me for crying this morning, don’t worry I laughed it off after. I laughed because of life and laughed because I cried, and I cried because I love you.
And now I walk like wind or stones in snow. I trudge on with all my strength. Wisping like whispers caught from the ears of children and passing through the world. Cold like ice on swing sets and little hands clasping them. Red fingers and red noses. Snot on mittens and sharp pain. Winter.
I Wisp like wind in water. I crack like stones of sand and rock. I break like waves on the shores of life. I cry like the trees at night. Howling to the moon. I open when you call me. I close when I’m falling. I hide like children at night. I am under the streetlight, orange, alley cats in shadow homes and grey cement, dead rats, broken bones. My eyes are bare, sunken in the light. I suppose I should muster my might. Find peace beyond my fight. Escape distress. I wish you saw something more. I wish that there was something else. Speeding on.
Sometimes I wonder if what I need
Are pills or priest?
Psychology says it's just the wiring,
The brain all jumbled up:
Too much serotonin and too little endorphins.
Just another mental disorder on that long checklist,
Wait to be diagnosed or prepare a room in the asylum.
But fret not, it can be fixed with a little pill or two.
It will place you up on cloud nine.
It will cast away all those little incessant worries.
It will cure you.
Theology says it's all those damned demons,
Just a night terror where those beasts come and
Haunt you day after day,
They attack your mind and believe me
Are they out to get your faith, to get your soul.
But fret not, it can be fixed with a little prayer or two.
The priest could just come in and do a little
Exorcism and you'd do just fine.
It will save you.
Sometimes I wonder if what I need
Are pills or priest?
Standing in the vast range of nothing. With the assurance of thinking your secure with her while you spin that thought on the tips of your fingers. She slowly creeps into your life. Embracing her crooked smile. The virus is dormant until you look a little closer inspecting her deceitful optical organs the skylight to her soul. The mutation starts to grow. She slices you open and tempers with the brain peeling a layer back at a time. Injecting tainted love into your system. The true Hannibal Lector. Her cunning looks and soft voice making you think Its okay. Holding your hand she leads you to the mirror what a fool you are. Her laugh starts to bleed through her teeth. Now the picture is painted of her wounded soul.
with a little bit of dust
under yer skin, you
sense something ancient
and dead-yet-still-living in
everything. The love tapestry
on the walls of your mind beg
to differ, complete- who was
that sunuvabitch and what
why did he stop the music?
is he waiting for a drivel?
or a smile?
It isn't a struggle
it isn't miserable
I love for a short while
to be out running about,
Working the muscles,
Checking life and nature out.
Fuels the center.
Enlivens the body, spirit, and brain.
From morning until sleeping
A constant pace throughout the day
In California we work out and embrace fitness
In the golden arms of sun and sand
Where the waves crash with a divine poignancy
Nature and beauty, centering
I used to fly the long coast line
Watching the dolphins in numbers
The surfers floating, talking, surfing
The seagulls alive on the vortices of my wings
And my heart in a palace of peaceful serenity
Move far away...
To the forests, lakes, and rivers
Where weather does rage in all natural forms
Still I embrace all the energy and peace
it is not cold, I'm awake and living
So at home in the elements, all a part of me
Happy in my soul, content...yes. that I am
Funny the perspectives
The mind-sets from Muscle Beach mentalities
To the wilds of Michigan
This is what makes being a traveller
What different worlds, different ways
None of them wrong,
some a little mix
From here and there
The world is a very small place
The world is really so big
The days are long and the nights are even longer, we’re beating this poor horse and I noticed it’s breathing stop a long time ago. Beating a dead horse, am I using that idiom right? You know I’m no good with those and no matter how many times you say one stone is better than a hundred, I’m never going to understand that either. You’re more likely to kill two birds with two stones than you are with only one, why do something the hard way when there’s always a more simple one? If we’re out killing birds with stones, I’ll carry four while you carry one and we’ll see who has more dead birds to bring home. Why are we killing birds and beating horses anyway, maybe I don’t understand them because jokes about dead animals make me sad? There’s a burning in my chest— it’s been decades since the last time we slept in that bed together, sometimes it felt as if I slept beside a stranger and it’s the first time in my life I wanted to hold someone I’d never met. That night you stood in front of me with tears like a hurricane, you were struggling to catch your breath, begging me to love you back and it was in that moment I knew this poor horse’s heart no longer beat in it’s chest. I could tell from the look on your face and I know during that brief moment of silence, you were hoping I’d have something to say. But there was nothing left to say, you weren’t able to hear a word I was trying to say and I had risen my white flag.
Can you draw me a road map of your moods, detailing where they lead and every possible detour? Because I’m lost, I’ve never traveled to a city like this before and the road turns too often for my car too keep up—didn’t you notice me fading in your rear view mirror? I’ve been a tourist in the town you grew up in but all I’ve ever wanted was for you to show me the shortcuts to all your heart’s favorite parking lots. Last night you said, “When I’m around you, I want to take a knife and carve at my fucking face.” and five minutes later you were sitting on the floor in a pile of self-pity, asking why it’d been years since I last kissed that face but before I had a chance to take a deep breath— you were telling me I made you want to kill yourself again. You need to add in these roads and sharp turns because I think my car’s breaking down.
And the night I sat with knees to my face while crying over messages which had revealed everything, you said things would change and you would be different. You said you’d make me happy but tell me baby, when was the last time you saw me smile or heard a laugh which wasn’t fake? You say things can’t get better because I won’t just let it go? The hole I broke my knuckles in for the third time that week still exists right above your side of the bed, how can I forget when every time I hold you I’m forced to stare at it? Horses are much different than the stethoscope we quickly replaced or bent syringes we toss aside like trash, this isn’t something we can buy from Walmart at four in the morning, plus you and I— well, we know more than most about the permanence of mortality. How many more times will we break each other’s hearts this week? Now our words are sharp and I don’t know about you but I mean very few of them these days. While you’re crying because of reasons you don’t understand, I’m just sitting miles away from you with my hand on my chest to be sure my heart keeps beating through this.
This has broken parts of me that I can’t afford to have repaired, so I’m stuck using super glue and strips of tape to piece myself back together but I can’t seem to get the tape to stick. I think I may have missed that day of kindergarten because I don’t remember ever being taught this. I was going to end this using an idiom but we already know I was never taught those either, maybe if my parents had sent me to public school I’d know the secret to killing birds with stones, I’d know why it’s preferable for our world to be an oyster even though I hate fish or why raining cats is used to explain something unpleasant. I’m constantly determined to know everything about anything and I’m convinced there’s very little which cannot be taught through Wikipedia, unexplainable mysteries. But I’ll never understand how to put together a fog and toggle for a pocket watch, I won’t ever understand the meaning behind idioms or how to use them, I’m never going to learn how to successfully tie a tie and I’ll never understand your mind and how it works despite previously thinking I might. It’s raining cats and dogs on this horse we’ve beaten dead, the world may or may not be our oyster I’m not sure how you feel about fish yet and I don’t want to say the fat lady is singing, just in case that’s in my head and in reality she’s sitting silent.
All of these Catholic girls
With their attitudes and high heels
They used to wear skirts
But since then, they've grown wheels
Making there way over to me
Smiling white and talking pretty
What is it that they can't see?
I was raised in whatever with a Christmas tree
I was born in a junkyard
Where the dogs come out to play
They were being taught by nuns
While I sidestepped Him in my own way
They don't teach you that Jesus can't save you
In a school where they take you for what you have
You're really sweet with your mouth
And the way you move your lips
I really want a piece of you
To put my hands on your hips
But I've seen the signs, baby
And they point the other way
But if I'm wrong, then maybe
I'll stay because my heart's made of clay
Now if you'd please give me a moment
Just stay there while I think about this
I have to clear my big head again
Because you've filled it with nonsense
So just excuse me, dear, excuse me, honey
Look the other way while I'm down on myself
Raised in a little house, never much money
And now that I'm older, I don't need no help
So please, please just be on your way
I can't help myself when I'm feeling this way
To some children.
Toys are everything.
If you never gave a singular gift of material meaning to a child.
Give them love.
It will last a life time to them.
Those without comprehends, what little that you have is very precious?
To those that spoil, they manipulate to continue to be love.
Give them love.
And watch the monster, you've created.
It's a feeling that they never imagine the worth.
We must learn that love is a adapted emotion.
You apply it smoothly like rubbing on lotion.
And watch it resolves into their heart.
The way lotion goes into blending of the skin.
Give a child love.
And enjoy the compensation.
The benefits will be worth it.