Could you call it an anti-massage? my back bunching up
of its own accord.
Stress sinking to the lines of a body. Going over a hill but there is no hill.
*** is...is supposed to be
about a kind of abandon
ive never felt.
An act of letting go.
Hold on so tight
my mental hands hurt.
Mental hands, i bite my nails.
The me inside my head does too. Both of me's need to get laid.
Ridden into the sunset.
Exhausting me.
No energy left
for the parasite pf anxeiety
to latch onto.
Let go.
Let go.
Lets go
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 2:49 AM UTC
Burning occult logic.
A secret sacred savored fire.
Burn so bright it'll eat you alive.
Bright like a 2 am booklight tired
eyes so hungry for knowledge they yawn like little mouths
like your mouth...yawning, man do you know what time it is?
Time to learn, and read and be and burn.
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 11:10 PM UTC
The world is a grey
buzzing vibration.
Pock marked with heartburn and old memories.
What winter is colder
Than vibrant communication gone silent.
Friends
Our loves, our various loves.
Are the spring and autumn
of the heart
Dec 18, 2016
Dec 18, 2016 at 11:06 PM UTC
giving up would be so easy.
to be a puddle, a porridge of emotions if you will
i try to tell myself the old guard: who will do those things you want to do, if not you.
but still. it is a yawning ache.
i guess coffee is still a thing that exists.
+1 to constitution
and alcohol
-1 to inhibitions.
so. another day i guess.
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 2:35 PM UTC
Once, Curiosity was a beast in me.
writ in deep lines and stark highlights
it carved itself upon my face. telling a story in the curves and hills and valleys
of expression.
the passion for life not so much extinguished as a half faded memory
this is writ large too, in the bruise colored tired eyes of fatigue.
but it is not dead - never that.
it howls for the great hunt of life
curiosity, passion, ambition and love. still a beast in me.
tired, weathered,
greyer than ever before,
but a tired wolf can still bite.
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 1:59 PM UTC
Time is just moments
seasons are so short,
May, June, July - into the stretching straining warm yawn of fall.
Then Detroit's long low hum of a winter.
Finances crashing into Needs and wants like waves, like the ocean.
Oceans of time, the gentle rhythm of regular mundanity
soon turns into later and we, weary traveler turn into causal observer.
"I miss you" turns into "what happened?"
life flies by in snapshots I don't see.
What shape my life might take if you, added like an ingredient in a stew not changing the exact nature of the recipe but enhancing the flavor.
but time. like seasons just...passes
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 12:23 AM UTC
trying to find myself, like a ghost in a snow storm.
every time i do this, its like waking up from a dream.
a dream in which im watching my life play out.
familiar motions keep the appearance of lucidity
but its really coordinated stumbling I'm a puppet
pulling my own strings, but then, there are days like today -
the wind blows just right and i am here.
i am here and i am me, and it gives me a headache - but i enjoy it.
10 out of 10, would headache again.
i wanted to say to you, all of you know know me and wonder where ive gone even if im right in front of you,
that for the moment, i am here
i am here now, and i see you, and i love you.
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 4:20 PM UTC
I have nicknames and designations for all my friends.
You, not a ghost but a phantom, not a ghost because you are my friend, always, and I will always love you.
But a phantom, an echoed impression of a old friend.
Foggy, misty, silhouetted figure with a familiar outline and unfamiliar details.
Looking for the person you wee in the ancient days of my youth like looking for rice in a snowstorm.
Not trying to rekindle an old flame you see,
but trying to find the fire-words to light a new one.
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 3:31 AM UTC
itch and twitch
tick and scratch
pace and stretch.
the prowling Need
Craving.
Hunger.
for *** sometimes comes along
not with a hot roiling growl, but with a blind groping.
at first you think you're hungry, then maybe, you think: i want coffee
but it's still there, that sensation that makes your lip curl
up over your teeth, baring your fangs like an animal.
your worst enemy then is an empty room.
a blank social calendar.
then only fantasies notice you.
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 3:41 AM UTC
I have such a dreadful sense of motivation.
and a strong desire to show you.
its beautiful, can you see it?
Can you hear it calling you? its calling me.
like a voice at the end of a very long hallway
i can see the time track in my head,
a particular life path
shining, humming, vibrant and insane
even if achieved it's no less crazy
i think the only crazier thing than believing in it would be
the Nihilism of believing in nothing.
its crazy and i cant. couldnt possibly but i cant stop
its not real, right?
its just magic,
promise me you wont believe a word
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 12:43 AM UTC