Low self esteem is cute, when
you’re lonely. Hovering about,
in some boneless pose. My invariable stream,
of thoughts
has ceased,
I wait.
Higher functions diverted, until
You’ve arrived. Aloofness abounds, it thickens the air
Awkward,
in the skin of you
towards me, cuts progressing
our bodies shrink,
everything contracts
Towards the invisible,
Except your eyes.
Beautiful and deep,
A different sort of infinite
They only expand
Feb 20, 2011
Feb 20, 2011 at 10:14 PM UTC
It’s all a matter of time.
this whole time,
was a matter of time.
one after another,
then the next
Look at all the different kinds,
pretty in their way.
It’s almost interesting.
until it’s all the same
It’s all the same.
It’s all the same.
monotony takes hold
Hold it tightly.
it punctures through
My Beautiful Brain
as the sand falls listless
I stand and wonder,
what am I losing?
Nothing important I hope
just my time, apparently endless
Jun 30, 2010
Jun 30, 2010 at 7:03 PM UTC
Isn’t it
Wonderful,
The suffocating love of a hundred people
They want you, what’s best for you
What’s best for you, what is best for you?
Rejecting them means rejecting love,
but you are in short supply of you
As demand increases, so does price
the price of you
the price is you.
Sanity sets in, escape’s let out
every night let it out,
beats staying in
Some are in short supply of love
********
Not you
The suffocating love of a hundred people let you know
Across the room, across the country
a hundred people can’t help
shedding ‘bout one sixty does
only, you have to shed it
anchors only work when attached
love
it pulls your judgment, mind from its foundation
wants to make your choices
wants to make your coffee
you start to save you,
in a container with a seal
the shiny latch makes a pop noise
You can see through the otherside
No one can get in,
Not with the pop noise
Its where you keep you
in the house, Close the door
pressure mounts
let it out in
drops,
thoughts and blood
watch it heal, know you’re better
lets you know,
you are better, you are better
You are Better,
better isn’t with help, it doesn’t come with age
it’s a choice you make
the suffocating love of a hundred people
they pile on blankets, keeps you warm
but at a hundred blankets deep you aren’t moving
move.
Don’t think about me, don’t think about him
Just move and keep moving,
roots and anchors
Learn which is which
Remember which is which
Act on which is which
you grow roots, anchors are placed upon you
usually around the neck region.
Box up all the memories, store them if you like
But don’t stay attached, burn if necessary
Anchors only work if they’re attached
You can’t ‘be ready’ for something that’s already happened
It’s the past in those boxes,
the fond death of past nothings,
Life only exists in the future,
Not to be too dramatic but we’re dying, right now
in the present
we breath out life out as we speak
Only the future has life, stored as potential
just take the steps
cut out the cancer
if you want to be ready for something, be ready for what’s next
May 16, 2010
May 16, 2010 at 9:46 AM UTC
I had a dream of a woman
A dream of a tattoo
This woman with a tattoo
With a thin black line from her mouth
From her mouth to her throat, straight down
From her mouth to her thighs
Two halves carry the line
Separate her body
Down her ribs
Through her body
Thoughts and blood
Her heart is two
Her throat is two
She is two
One can
One can’t
She can’t, but wants to
She doesn’t want to, but will
Half a mind to
Marrow and melancholy
Bright eyes
Dark hair
Blue veins
Red lips
Beautiful like a dream
May 16, 2010
May 16, 2010 at 9:41 AM UTC