Contagion you have made some ill, some die Some weak, some weaker still but I Have found in you an unexpected Alibi. Confined I find like mind apt to remind Of a former time. Yet, your spiky crown First afflicting then affecting did come down.
Let the babble stop Let the brain farts cease Let pleasure be your guide And the poet slip into their persona, Like a performance uniform, A slip dress An existential throw up of thoughts like Bad Chinese food. The kind that climbs out of Tupperware, slippers ready
Of Tupperware and ready slippers ***** out takeaway rice. Performance uniforms sit up in bed, Babbling about existential poets. The bad Chinese food Waltzes with its guide, Brain dribbles out of nostrils. Dear night-shoes, This babble has ceased, Pleasurely.
From my Poetry Collection: 'PERFORMANCE ARTIST POETRY AND BRAIN FARTS FOR UNSOLICITED MICROWAVE HEADS' (yes, all caps)
i wish i had no face. that way i could always have an excuse.
hey do you want to come out with us? were going to get some drinks.
"no i cant, sorry" ill say, gesturing knowingly towards the ether where my eyes, nose and mouth should be.
its the perfect alibi. ill stand out so much i might actually fit in. sure it may take awhile but people always adjust to things even the abnormal even if what they have to adjust to is technically nothing. just skin over bone, no expression or words.
instead i just feel like an actor like another life form. like everyone can see it but me.
im too afraid to admit that i have no one else to blame.
It's almost funny how things change. How surprised I am that no matter how stuck in the past I tend to be life around me still moves on, it's like my heart beats backwards while time ticks forward. My heart beats rapidly, knowing where I was going before I recognized the turns I was taking. I'm a sucker for memories and I came here to try and breathe like I used to be able to do but it's different. The snow has melted much like who I used to be and there are no deep conversations just a half moon and a lit up skyline. I want to lean against the rails and remember the ghost of somebody who pressed me up against them but much like him they're gone. They were thrown away like our time together. I remember walking along the edge to overlook the chunks of ice thinking maybe if I fell onto one of them they'd take me somewhere better, now I'm too scared to climb up. How many calories would I burn falling into the lapping waves and fighting to not drown in them? Not enough. Never enough. And I want to say that's not the point but it is. I can't see a forward so I walk backwards and retrace the steps to who I used to be and it brings me back to sickness and I don't want to fight it because pills have to be taken with food and I don't eat enough to fit them into my life. This is what I've become, or its who I've always been. All I can think about is how alone I am and will be and I'm over the moon that soon I'll have everyone I love with me again, it tears me apart to think of when they leave, leave me to figure out if I'm more than any alibi I've ever shown. I'm trapped and I chose this for myself but that doesn't make it hurt any less. It was a self fulfilling prophecy, I wanted to escape who I've been but she catches up with me every time I cry in the parking lot I used to feel so alive in, every time I hear about self inflicted wounds I remember the feeling of my own and I wish they were there again to remind me I'm human and I should treat myself as such. But I'm empty, as empty as the railing that doesn't recognize me as empty as the ice less water and as empty as a plate of food. I'm not sick I'm stuck and I don't want help my Astoria will claim me and when it does I'll claw my way out because I'm a fighter and no matter what I've been through I've always proved that. My mother told me I always play the victim when I try to tell her how I feel and I let her have that. The only victim I've ever been is a victim of myself, of my mind and my heart and I'd dare say my soul if I thought I had one. There's no philosopher in the world who can save me now and no person who thinks to. I don't want to be saved, I just want to feel alive. And some days I do but today I don't. Right now I just want to close my eyes and remember things my brain has let disappear, I want to make something out of nothing and tell someone how I feel without thinking I'm being too much trouble or drawing attention to myself. I want to be alive again but I let such little things **** me slowly and its up to me. Always up to me.
The pines whisper in the wake of your fury Shaking from the earth in chords C o s m i c Winds whip at my royal fur Grinding my night skin with frost and rime I swear to you my sold soul is no place to sleep. Love isn't accepted by these fangs of misguidedpride It's in my burning hours you'll see my core made of silver And my eyes bursting with gold Shoot me dead, but I refuse to back down Light me anew purpose And I'll still fall back on my instincts Dragons have run their claws in my side But I care not. I'll bleed a conceded trail My paw prints left in the deep of space to the cedar forests I run on for someone I swore an oath to protect My poet is my blood in my veins She is the words in my voice She is my beating heart, *.::.The only thing that keeps me going.::.