carl-hoekWhisper

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orangemy thoughts a swirling grave / orange tasting pavement / mint gum in my pocket
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32nd and 5thin-call only, 32nd and 5th / that's a brothel / NEW
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CowlicksI thought I had been cast out of the mud castle kingdom. Then one day it dawned on me, 28 miles per second would be enough to break through my own roaring and escape back into / over developed proxy and reach a small awareness. / enough, i thought, to overwhelm a wall of demons.
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broadwaywe see the dying die. i walk down the stairs and give them nothing everyday. as i was walking down 8th ave one afternoon, i was approached by a girl who was about my age. she was screaming indiscriminately / "please sir! can you help me?! i have no idea where i am and i don't have enough money for a bus ticket home." / i drudged a drunken look up at her
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Gearsi have never made love / i like to **** and watch the gears move / feeling your organs being pushed in and out
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Button SleeveYou are stealing from me / those winks can only yell so loudly / you are still a cold tint of buried
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not like thati lost my ******* keys like an ******* / then i found them on my bookshelf / haphazardly laid about in swoon style
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Not TonightWearying us morning, noon, and night. / Torturing us / We have to go now
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the particularas a human being shoved up the earth / there is value in being worthless / as i sit now i can see the beautiful life that i could've taken
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as if it countsThis one ripped a hole in space-time, and she took everyone she knew with her. they could watch her roll down a hill like a seven year old, and laugh. as if to say cognitive dissonance is natural. after a certain age, who can tell where hypnosis and knowing are different? the border wall between pain and joy is obliterated by the act of experience. this realization enacts itself as an addition to a conscious bias, in which we all take pride. / To say that you know beauty, is to say that you know the feelings of a brick wall. that is where the claws come in. they are ripping away at your loose lipped torso, and lusting over every solitary millisecond. like any good christian, muslim, jew, buddhist, agnostic, we wonder what these little fragments are. / Will this make me feel any better, any worse? if pouring your heart out was the name of the game, the suicides would be pope. so we must sit around. harness anger and use it to observe the things that oppose it. such as instant love, or hate. such as silhouetted and budding trees against a dark blue sky. such as died hair in the bright winter sun, the color of wine and crushed pills.
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