My body makes weird noises
It bubbles and snarls and snares
Its like its trying to tell me something
I have no idea what any of it means. I imagine beakers in my belly and tubes running up my chest. To my nose, my mouth, i expel what i can. But i have no idea what goes on underneath. And so
i cant help.
As efficient as id like.
Yeah this probably isnt a good thing.
This probably isnt good for me.
You can read them if you open them up. But if you dont take a look then youll never know.
Was i on one when i thought of this title?
The fish have died,
Theres mud everywhere,
And ive scratched up your curtains.
Welcome back home.
Lol just kidding, HE was actually a sweetheart. ^-^
Robots and gods.
Is this madness?
It must be.
On one hand, the robot feels.
The robot knows what it wants, takes it.
But has difficulty feeling what other people are feeling.
On the other hand, the god watches.
The god orchestrates and plans things to go its way.
But feels as though it doesnt have control over itself.
It manipulates and prods.
It is calculated.
It is watching.
It is observant.
It is careful, caring and emotionless.
Yet full of it. And still yet unexpressive. Full of life. Trapped in their vessels; their roles.
What am i?
I have to remember. I have to remember
this. for as long as I can. for forever.
I have to. I cant let this go. I cant let this feeling
They didn't want to know me.
They just wanted me to be okay.
And I was not okay.
Ah, to be a little frog.
Allow me to hide amongst 'your' belongings.
Under the cushions of your swing set, upon your screen door, mayhaps even in your outside rainboots.
You may shoo me away at once, if you must. I will be back.
Ah, to be a little frog.
I think i shall hop away now.
Until next time.
Observances and thoughts.
This life we're living, this place we're at, this thing we're feeling. Its amazingly surreal. Like a waking dream that is our reality. Almost too good to be true. And while every rose has gotta have its thorns, even our thorns are, oh, so sweet. Maybe they remind us of how frail we are. How quick a ***** could draw blood. And even the blood is sweet. In a way. In a dark twisted beautifully morbid way.
Email is the most intimate form of communication. It is also the most frustrating. The proof is in the persistence.
I wanted so badly for it to feel like home. But it just didnt to me. Not at the time. And you cant force those things. I dont think so. Its like wanting to be in love with someone so bad. Its like loving the situation and how they treat you but just not being able to bring yourself to love them in the way that they love you. And it ******* *****. And it makes you feel terrible. Like a terrible person that doesnt deserve this goodness. That doesnt deserve for it to make sense and so it doesnt. But i guess thats just the way it goes some times. Thats life. And sometimes, it doesnt make any sense. But thats okay. Thats just the way it is.
Bah. Its too late for all this "notes" business.
Ive been writing poetry all night long
Every waking moment
Which has come to me quite often recently.
I lay awake for no other reason seemingly
But to just be awake
And then i write.
"Might as well"
And maybe it keeps me up
And so i write more
I figure i
'might as well'
Maybe theres a lot of that going on in my life right now.
Maybe its not a good thing
But then again
Its all about confidence, baby.