Onomatopoeia
Hello, my name's Rena
I built the walls if the seven seas
Just so I could meet ya

I destroyed the cavalcade
Of masses
Just so we could be
Together

Nevermore
Will I bore you with rhymes
And prose
And nothingness

Alive awaiting
Shepherds gaiting
Soft Un-physicality
Awaiting these old bones
Post mortem

Let's beat a dead horse on the news report
Let's beat a dead horse on the news report
After all this let's go to Chuck for sports
Let's beat a dead horse on the news report

A silence ringing Ever repeating
Symphony of
Discontentment
Reassessment
Where the heck am I now?

A lofty lonely absolute
With candy bars
Let's be astute
I've lost all of timbucktoo
In times of lonely and the blue

OH let's just get out of here
OH let's just get far away

Withe the ever screeching contamination of armpit's bleeding
Tumors the size of icicles with the everlasting gob-stopper hole
Rearrangement gentle spinings
Take away my Christmas tidings
And leave me here on this freaking porch
Listening to the Police Reports

OH let's just get far away
OH let's just lay here to stay

Let's beat a dead horse on the news report
Let's beat a dead horse on the news report
This evening there's a shooting near a local door
Let's beat a dead horse on the news report

I never said this would be easy
But I always expected it nonetheless
I never knew that it'd be so hard to
Listen
Just to
Listen

OH we can never get far enough away
OH somehow I've only managed to stay

Saturday night is the wrecking crew
I'd ask if you were here, but I think you've spewed
The intellect and nonetheless I'm making up for all my
misplaced tests
Taking time to make the rhymes and bring about the chiming of the tolls
The ringing of the chimes

The question I get once upon a never:
From where does your writing stem?

The answer is inside, with a clever, witty reply, and an honest tinge in the vocal happenings.

So another never ever asks:
Where are you, friend? How are the days? What has happened to your writings?

The answers are: somewhere. Not great.

And lastly,
I oft perceive my writings as weakness
And outer showings of a deeper flaw, so forgive me if I seem aloof.
I have not yet managed to find the proper skin to settle.

Narcoleptic sober *******
#Letmewatchyoudoyou
Too honest?
Just getting started
I listen to this music when everything goes to ****
Does it help?
Maybe,

Does it help that you weren't there?
Did it make you feel good when you accused me?
Put me on edge?

There's two different you's and too many for me to choose from.

Struggling against my own apathy
At what point does depression stop
And my own hamstringing begin?

I have nothing to show for today.
Some prayers, maybe
I spit in His face a couple of times

I'm lonely as ****
I'm ******* weird, right now.
And the sky is dark as ****.
The outside is dark as ****.
And I'm scared.
#pityparty
What if this **** was never meant to work out?


I see all the beauty in everyone,
And ****, you're all amazing.
I'll be here...
I could use that from time to time,
because I'll be ****** if I can do it for myself.

It's hard to write
When one lacks desire
Just as much as it's hard to go on
When one does not feel the need

So what's there to do?
Find distance
How?
That's up to you

I hate farmville
I don't understand why people put up with shovelware
Pay more money to play our game
Pay us more money to do something monotonous
You grew corn
Way to go.
You're a champion.
Thanks for the $1.99
Fertilizer's great right?
Wouldn't you rather create a fake farm
than make one in real life?
Why use blood, sweat, and tears
when you can pay more money
To play a ****** game for years?

You store, my friend,
All that I care about.
You and I are not too far from similar... brothers perhaps.
We seem to like the same music
You seem to dig my literature
My writings
My every file
My pics, My loves, hell, even my cookies.
I'm sorry they aren't of the baked variety.
Thanks pal,
I suppose you and I aren't so dissimilar after all.
Now if only I were to become a
disembodied storer of data...
*We'd practically be twins.

The galaxy,
the center
The life of the space that we occupy
The eye of the life of the space that we occupy
The center of the eye of the life of the space we occupy

Who's there?
What's there?
How's there?
When?

What lies at the center?
Who's the apple to the galaxy's eye?
Is it the Sun?
The son of the sun?
The Son?

What's at the center of the space that we occupy?
What's the life of the space that we occupy?
Where's the carrot?

What's the apple?

Fruits of the space vaccuum.

Cut
Incision
Sternum to groin

Let's do it
Real life
Show the ***** in my *****

Horror, telepathy
Let's ***** with the audience

New wave movies, man
Let's  film abhorrence

Drifting
Ever so slowly
Around You
Me
Drifting
Ever so slowly
Around Me
You
Drifting
Ever so slowly
Closer
Closer
Closer
You//Me
Me\You
Closer
Closer
Closer
Drifting
Ever so slowly
Coming
Ever so close
Until one of us collides
Creating a fiery inferno
That ingulfs
You//Me
Me\You
Flame

Ethereal
Pale wantings
Left lone save for slow movements
Even the mirrors lag their reflections
Even the world knows not of their presence
Yet listlessly they sit
Ghastly reflections
Awaiting something far less physical
Than you or I were ever meant
to understand.

I guess this is more procrastination than anything else,
But writing is writing, amiright?

it's funny, starting a line with no capitalization,
you know what else is funny? Misspellings.
But that's not really what I was going to say.

There's something about pieces of my past that drum up passionate writings.
Congrats to you, if you're reading, you're a muse of somesort.

I was reading 1 Corinthians today.
Workin' on dat daily struggle, that getting closer to Christ grind.
Grinding on the cross.
hashtag: blasphemy
Conjures up images of Jesus at a dance

Back to the point: Paul urged us to stay single.
I find that so weird, but in reality,
It's no weirder than desiring others to fill our hole(s)

There's a **** joke there somewhere...

I'm being crass for the sake of it
An ***, because that's what I make of it.
I write, I writ, I wrote
Am I right? This rite? Is it rote?
Wordplay

Really though, stay single, for the sake of your relationship.
That's what Paul said.
A married man or woman is tied down to this earth ever more than those unmarried.

Is that why I'm single?
I ain't even mad.
Even if I do miss the touches,
The hugs
The intimacy

I know that in it,
When I'm in the thick,
I miss my relationship with Christ more.

Where's the blood
Where's the body when I need it most?

I am the one locking myself away.

Eucharistic struggle
The Communion struggle.
That last line is a good summation of this piece
If this is a poem, indeed.

Maybe I need to make some lines that rhyme for the sake of the time you've spent reading this journalistic entry for the sake of my last century and maybe this one coming.
I'm bumming around for cigarettes that I don't smoke, for **** that I won't ****, for a joke that won't end in any punchline you find funny.
Baby, honey, I need to leave; you need to see the light of day, and I need some time to pray, because everytime I'm with you I'm suffocating. You're pulling, and there's no more rope; you're the trickery, and I'm the dope. And every time  my flesh was in yours and you were on me, I knew what we were doing couldn't be, and that what we were doing wasn't for me, but all for you. I'm all for you. I'm never not.

Except when I'm not.