Our brains run on the
Same frequency, a precise
Pitch. Subconsciously stumbling
Into a cranium-themed cohabitation.
With Bics in hand
We catch inconsistent and
Rapid glimpses of a
Contemporary "real" world.
Shape-shifting from one
Ideology to the next.
Using time as a distraction; it's
Human nature to pause for countdowns.
They're all painted over. Oceans and
Gulfs covering lava and intrapersonal
Insides. Scrape it all off and you'll find that
Without all of the adhesives they bruise
Easier.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 1:50 AM UTC
I.
Never tell anyone anything.
Never remember anyone.
Never explain yourself to anyone.
Never cry in front of anyone.
Never imagine a happy future.
Never picture yourself with anyone.
Never miss anything.
Never care about anything too much.
Never be mean to anyone.
II.
It is dark and cobb-webby in here and I have got to
Shake it out.
Untouchable: my skin grows chilled and
Raw. Lack of interaction,
Severed from a collective
Norm.
Step aside the dark.
Don’t be naïve.
Believe in it.
Never believe in good.
Never believe in a savior.
III.
Never believe that you worthy of anything
Or anyone.
IV.
Light candles.
Read Vonnegut.
Never let anyone know.
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 12:43 AM UTC
He was there with
me, now he's there
with her. Or him,
them, maybe all alone.
He makes things better
by slipping endorphins and
stimulants of all different
shades down his little-boy throat.
He used to tickle my
sides and put kisses on
my shell, that held my
cerebellum in all nice and snug.
We would go no where;
Never get anything done.
We would make small
talk about growing up.
I would think about him and
think that he wasn't enough.
He was nice and gave
me all that he had got.
All of the lonesomeness, all of
the sad, all of the mad crept about.
Past my hazel irises and
began to erupt, mushing out.
Out of my ears, my pores, some right
out of my mouth. That day in March
my hypothalamus flip-flopped and
resigned from its job.
The boy who was there fell
right out of touch. An automatic
reflex kicked in quicker than
a frog catching a bug.
My legs lay criss-crossed and
bony, unshaven as I picture
him picturing his old best
friend, who he left and lost.
He day dreams of being aged and
playing Go Fish. Crackling at me
to draw, I grab his prune-textured
hand. In real life he starts to cry.
He sets down his room temperature can
of Mountain Dew. Grabs a couple of different
colored pills and goes out to party
in attempt to help him not remember.
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 1:21 AM UTC
Straight as a ruler
she skimmers the walls,
hissing, "Leave me alone
because I'm lonely." And so the
bugs, one by one, clunk and fall.
Tulips douse themselves with dew,
hiding from common sunlight.
To her, they're tearing up like third
graders in time out, so she moans
and groans and waits for the weary.
She wants to be friendly, make friends,
and maybe even cry. Yet she plots and
plans as if she were a master mind.
Constantly reminded that not one
person would know if she died.
Peek in the tree house,
the basement, the yard.
Check for blue stains that she
Dripped on the rug. Lurking and
craving to be smaller than dust.
She pokes and prods at all
of their blinds, as they slice
thin arms allowing veins to cry.
Glance up to see a girl in blue, they simply
explain that their eyes are too dry to.
In the laundry room past
mud-coated boots and holey socks,
she pulls off her blue garments.
As they soak in sud, she
proceeds to drown them in bleach.
While hanging on the line,
she fills up an abandoned sand
bucket with paint bluer than
her eyes. Placing one foot after
another, flinching inside.
It absorbs up her skin,
leaking into her pores, thinking
of how she can't affect anyone at
all. So she holds her head under
the paint a second too long.
Jul 9, 2012
Jul 9, 2012 at 12:03 PM UTC
He crinkled the daily
paper and thought out
loud, "You're my
best friend."
She scuffed her
kitten heels, prodding
for more. Far inside she
told herself to take it lightly.
He knew she knew
that he knew it was
temporary. Acting as if
she made him happy.
She sunk deep in
the velvet green
couch. Cons and pros
of being the leaver or the left.
He stared past Valentine
cards and the spot on
the carpet, where they
laughed and spilled tomato soup.
Their faces drooped and became
that soup. Sodium and protein
soaking into the ground
every which-way.
She resided and sat
up out of their yard-sale
bought couch. She set her
mind on staying by his side.
He toppled over on
the yard tools he never
touched. Now next to his
side was the Earth's crust.
She was left in the air
and he laid in muck.
His voice played over in her
head, "You're my best friend."
May 10, 2012
May 10, 2012 at 2:32 AM UTC
She brought cookies, in a
Ziploc bag, to my door.
I tugged on Mom’s
Carpet-textured sweater.
We swung on a swing
And she showed me
Her loose tooth. I pointed
At the Band-Aid on my knee.
The color of honey,
Inside a plastic
Bear, is what
Her hair looked like.
Red, black, neon yellow;
Caterpillars flooded
Our shared cigar box.
Then the tree-leaves fell.
We stomped our Sketchers
Behind her mom
And mine. They filled
Baskets with glue sticks.
Yellow buses opened
Their tall doors. They mouthed
At us to grow. The caterpillars
Laughed. So I grabbed her fingers.
Apr 1, 2012
Apr 1, 2012 at 10:46 PM UTC
Different voices whirl
Around brain mass.
Pang for a tone
That hasn’t gone mad.
Create a realm
Where memories,
Of November,
Are cut out and sold.
Tell the voices
To draw a tale.
Boxes popping about;
From dry air.
Screeching rhythms
As you fold
Onto men,
Like Saran Wrap.
Authority can’t resolve
Genetic stigmas.
Hidden formulas appear,
Toxicity enthralls.
Grasp her bony joints,
Bathe in unkempt hair,
Let marsh stricken irises
Put an anchor inside.
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 11:38 PM UTC
Creased felines crossing lines,
Pressing claws into dust.
Western hemisphere,
Reviving the pilgrimage.
Bubbles and logs
Satiate their under garments.
Enhancing hair follicles
Resembling shards and spurs.
At a woodsy bar,
A tabby liberated the fangs
He rented last holiday.
The bartender shook with perplexity.
Reacting simultaneously-
A minor character, Little Leon.
The dusty town called him
Leon, for he was alone.
Little Leon got taller
In a basement full
Of water. The dusty town
Was an adjustment.
The tabby and Little Leon
Faced off for recognition.
Leon wretchedly charged
The floor boards with sopping ends.
Crayon versus colored pencil;
They chose their weapons
Anxiously. It was
Bring your son to work day.
The bent bartender
Spared his child’s eyes.
“I’m not your little boy,”
The child shrilled at him.
“I don’t want trains,
Or fake guns meant for play.
I miss my mom,
And dresses on Sunday.”
Cats on a pilgrimage,
Rarely stop from
Slurping a drink. Pity refilled
Cups, as tails twitched in trial.
The tabby and Leon
Came to a halt, seeing as
Punishment was engraved atop
The bartender’s grungy mitts.
The clowder gathered,
As the Tabby scolded the man
Behind the bar. “Remember where
you leave your beverage.”
And that was that.
Leon’s internal complexity,
Being left with only himself,
Dissipated. There are others
Who feel more alone.
Tabby picked up his crayon.
His spurs clanked
And spun, as his guided
His feline friends out the front.
Tumbleweed skidded
Outside the bar.
The bartender finally saw
That his son was not a son.
Mar 18, 2012
Mar 18, 2012 at 5:10 PM UTC
A jump rope lisping
Through loose gravel and rhymes.
Resembling orchestras and rapidly
Scratched-out novels,
Evolution of an indifferent ******
Delicate lacework stitched
Beneath the youthful
And frail. Disintegrating
Like a bird’s nest, once
Air conditioning expires.
Scampering between markets,
Wavering while waiting
In redundant lines, as you
Carelessly caress outerwear that you
Waited in line for yesterday.
Placing yourself professionally
On seats, beside plainly colored
Briefcases. Quivering arms
Tingle, as the blood
Relinquishes.
Wordless entities fill
Empty rooms, as pressure
Builds from the exterior and in.
Tarnished sneakers sink and slip,
Amidst cunning quicksand.
Mangled and thrashed,
Fabrics that used to be
Accustom to merry-go-rounds, and dry
Eyes. Gently laced hemming,
Lacerated at the seams.
Stroll down whimpering sidewalks
That sting for vibrations, fixed
By a stranger’s oblivious feet.
Jerking outerwear closer
As no emotions pass.
Synthetic joy overcomes
You, when droning
Minds think alike.
Wriggling and skulking
To cease the crunching of time.
Jan 30, 2012
Jan 30, 2012 at 12:40 PM UTC
Slipping away from lips
Pushing syllables down devices
Listen now for repetition
Tires the sobbing minds that consume hope.
Ripping through Kleenex boxes
Craving for the transformation
Of the environment's filters
Stick out from the extroverts.
Relapsing into treasured and agonizing
Scenarios, collapsing to the ground
Buried beneath false pipes
And dripping water fountains.
Analysis of health states
That the only wellness left
Is spirituality, eroding
False beaches, pretending to be needed.
Pondering the journeys missed
How "life is so sad"
When gravity grasps you, as you clip
Your toenails, he watches strangers stare.
Indescribable malice captivates breath
From the inside, puncturing pitiful intestines
As you think about him
Thinking about anything but you.
Dec 3, 2011
Dec 3, 2011 at 10:06 PM UTC