Mar 2011
Foreword: I wish the notes were at the beginning. This poem is very long and tiring. I wrote it 'in an altered state' and posted it in case I wanted to read it while 'altered' again to see if I could follow it. Have fun if you do wish to read it, though. It makes zero to no sense.
I thought about writing this out,
Or seeing it on a film.
I did, I did wonder about you,
And screens and things to look out of,
Then suddenly, ****!
I always wanted to exclaim in a poem.
Rhymes stop me at the kees, though.
Cut off I go back to writing about you...
Or why the connection is so off.
How I only have an hour to fix it,
But not an hour to tell her that I meant to get in touch.
I'm sorry to sail on hypocrisy.
With no wind, I can only watch the flow.
Streaming her words as she flies,
With her silhouette somewhat like a bird's.
Pause, and reconnect?
Under the bed of my nails... A cave.
Where my punctuation looses the track in my mind.
Or path.
Down, I'm less taken when you're gone
I'm less far gone.
I come back.
Your collar itches and I need to scratch.
Though, it rings my neck.
Another disconnect, rooted words,
Trunk of thought,
Branches grow from letters that spell.
Pull the words and gone my thoughts.
Now long are the days of a good segway.
Do you get it?.. or hit.
A drift that blows or spreads,
And burns our throats,
Like a rug, a ring, an indian.
This is crap,
I see it, I follow, and I say crap.
Taking the road less taken wouldn't work.
Everyone has done everything in the suburbs...
In my mind.
A disconnect.
Did I mention the disconnect?
A cancer generating until I run out,
Of the cells, pumping,
My mind, throbbbing.
And my fingers click,
Click, click, click, click.
I could right that all day.
For whom the bells toll!
Us!
No, a food fight won't work.
Yet, naked we came on horses.
I bought your album. It fried my hair.
I need a cream.
Smooth down my throat,
Wet like a slide...
Slip into the smoke,
And dance with me in the headlights,
Our shadows fall in line.
We've been to that party,
With tea and 3D.
Whoo, but back to class,
Where the tank is full.
And how many times must I say...
The tank is full.
Twice isn't enough.
Though it is round, but we exist in corners.
I'll never remember the sparks that lit each line.
Or why, which is,
Like that and this.
Or why can't ladies dance for me...
Why can't I yelp from rooftops?
I am woman.
Make me moan.
Any man that can and will,
Let him ***.
A mirror? No, I don't need that.
You'll judge me as I am, and I'll go from there.
It's never a ten, but I'm not a two,
And I don't stop at twice.
The speakers won't stop either, no matter how many lights we run out of for our porch.
My phone screamed again and I know that their food is important...
But so is this connection,
To me.
And paper, but we don't really need that anymore.
We don't really need me.
A green glow in your pocket.
But as long as you think you do, it'll be there. I'm always here.
Until I love you, but not in that kind of way.
Because I don't want to sound like an alarm or have the desk be written on anymore.
No, these are not metaphors or nuances,
And this couldn't be found in a mold, because no one would eat it.
...
Up until then, it was reflections.
That keep losing or failing like the kids,
Who look at the stairs to 100, but only climb til 60, because **** it.
Why should you care?
'It all comes full circle...' she said looking orange,
and like a new born millennium...
'But not like death.'
Or maybe like death,
If we're here and not there.
So build a bridge, because it's always about connections.
Or math, and numbers...
Or sweat, and long legs, or black bangs...
Or just bangs.
Or loud bangs,
That produce a black milk.
Bleed it deep, stir it seaside.
We serve with cream and call it economy,
or the hair that shines and makes us a star.
Right there.
Where I'm coming back to, always.
Because of type.
The type.
The smoke.
The grades.
The eyelid cartoons,
Or mental notes taken about them.
I almost lost it there.
But boom!
A scale tips.
Feeling worse than 9.0 points on a bulleted list,
print on my chest.
Connections may have fell down,
Where I'm putting down my head now.
I thought about writing this out,
Or seeing it on a film.
I did, I did wonder about you,
And screens and things to look out of,
Then suddenly, ****!
I always wanted to exclaim in a poem.
Rhymes stop me at the kees, though.
Cut off I go back to writing about you...
Or why the connection is so off.
How I only have an hour to fix it,
But not an hour to tell her that I meant to get in touch.
I'm sorry to sail on hypocrisy.
With no wind, I can only watch the flow.
Streaming her words as she flies,
With her silhouette somewhat like a bird's.
Pause, and reconnect?
Under the bed of my nails... A cave.
Where my punctuation looses the track in my mind.
Or path.
Down, I'm less taken when you're gone
I'm less far gone.
I come back.
Your collar itches and I need to scratch.
Though, it rings my neck.
Another disconnect, rooted words,
Trunk of thought,
Branches grow from letters that spell.
Pull the words and gone my thoughts.
Now long are the days of a good segway.
Do you get it?.. or hit.
A drift that blows or spreads,
And burns our throats,
Like a rug, a ring, an indian.
This is crap,
I see it, I follow, and I say crap.
Taking the road less taken wouldn't work.
Everyone has done everything in the suburbs...
In my mind.
A disconnect.
Did I mention the disconnect?
A cancer generating until I run out,
Of the cells, pumping,
My mind, throbbbing.
And my fingers click,
Click, click, click, click.
I could right that all day.
For whom the bells toll!
Us!
No, a food fight won't work.
Yet, naked we came on horses.
I bought your album. It fried my hair.
I need a cream.
Smooth down my throat,
Wet like a slide...
Slip into the smoke,
And dance with me in the headlights,
Our shadows fall in line.
We've been to that party,
With tea and 3D.
Whoo, but back to class,
Where the tank is full.
And how many times must I say...
The tank is full.
Twice isn't enough.
Though it is round, but we exist in corners.
I'll never remember the sparks that lit each line.
Or why, which is,
Like that and this.
Or why can't ladies dance for me...
Why can't I yelp from rooftops?
I am woman.
Make me moan.
Any man that can and will,
Let him ***.
A mirror? No, I don't need that.
You'll judge me as I am, and I'll go from there.
It's never a ten, but I'm not a two,
And I don't stop at twice.
The speakers won't stop either, no matter how many lights we run out of for our porch.
My phone screamed again and I know that their food is important...
But so is this connection,
To me.
And paper, but we don't really need that anymore.
We don't really need me.
A green glow in your pocket.
But as long as you think you do, it'll be there. I'm always here.
Until I love you, but not in that kind of way.
Because I don't want to sound like an alarm or have the desk be written on anymore.
No, these are not metaphors or nuances,
And this couldn't be found in a mold, because no one would eat it.
...
Up until then, it was reflections.
That keep losing or failing like the kids,
Who look at the stairs to 100, but only climb til 60, because **** it.
Why should you care?
'It all comes full circle...' she said looking orange,
and like a new born millennium...
'But not like death.'
Or maybe like death,
If we're here and not there.
So build a bridge, because it's always about connections.
Or math, and numbers...
Or sweat, and long legs, or black bangs...
Or just bangs.
Or loud bangs,
That produce a black milk.
Bleed it deep, stir it seaside.
We serve with cream and call it economy,
or the hair that shines and makes us a star.
Right there.
Where I'm coming back to, always.
Because of type.
The type.
The smoke.
The grades.
The eyelid cartoons,
Or mental notes taken about them.
I almost lost it there.
But boom!
A scale tips.
Feeling worse than 9.0 points on a bulleted list,
print on my chest.
Connections may have fell down,
Where I'm putting down my head now.
Like I said... I wrote this during a deep, deep trip into my psyche. Reading it sober really makes me question why I 'alter my state' in the first place. haha
