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I fell asleep after "Good Morning, Vietnam": I can feel it all, in your hair. Under trees. Flying above the stratosphere. My arms extended. The skin burning off my torso- struggling to breathe, with a smile on my face. (Canned laughter) You're in a living room. You are me. I dug into my chest and petted my heart. Groaning, the blood swam around my hands and ate it's way up my forearm, to my elbow, to my neck, to my chin, to my lips. "I can taste my blood," an internal piece of dialogue. She whispers in your ear, "I know who you are." I am you. I cut my voice on the air, calling out for her. Why'd you abandon me? I love you so ******* much. Why'd you abandon me? I love you so ******* much. (Canned laughter) Why'd you abandon me? I love you so ******* You are in my room. I am you. We are everything, and we are nothing. That's my mirror. It's shattered. Hey, there I am on the ground. There's a brunette, mediocre poet. It's shattered. And on my hand are specs of heated sand, sleeping in my skin- a glass garden. How can one find schizophrenic kisses in a reflection. (Canned laughter) I said, "How can one find-"
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Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 4:51 PM UTC
3. Glass Garden-80's Films in the Dark with You
I fell asleep after "Good Morning, Vietnam": I can feel it all, in your hair. Under trees. Flying above the stratosphere. My arms extended. The skin burning off my torso- struggling to breathe, with a smile on my face. (Canned laughter) You're in a living room. You are me. I dug into my chest and petted my heart. Groaning, the blood swam around my hands and ate it's way up my forearm, to my elbow, to my neck, to my chin, to my lips. "I can taste my blood," an internal piece of dialogue. She whispers in your ear, "I know who you are." I am you. I cut my voice on the air, calling out for her. Why'd you abandon me? I love you so ******* much. Why'd you abandon me? I love you so ******* much. (Canned laughter) Why'd you abandon me? I love you so ******* You are in my room. I am you. We are everything, and we are nothing. That's my mirror. It's shattered. Hey, there I am on the ground. There's a brunette, mediocre poet. It's shattered. And on my hand are specs of heated sand, sleeping in my skin- a glass garden. How can one find schizophrenic kisses in a reflection. (Canned laughter) I said, "How can one find-"
joshua-haines
Written by
joshua-haines
26/M/American
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 4:51 PM UTC
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