Laughing kids,
Each smile painted on their face,
In whitening toothpaste,
Beautiful girls and,
Athletic boys,
And you,
And me,
The two from fucked up families,
Talking about our shared anxiety,
A party,
I will find the one most broken,
And talk to them,
Because everything they say is just,
So damn relateble,
You tell me you've broken fingers,
Punching things,
And everyone laughs and says:
"He totally has!"
And I tell you that my fingers never broke,
But my wall did,
On several occasions,
You tell me your dad,
Is always drunk as shit,
And I tell you mine didn't need alcohol to hit,
You tell me you never go to school because of your anxiety disorder,
And anger issues,
And depressive episodes,
I tell you: "oh my god me too!"
Because you're just,
So damn relateble.

The cluster of ice in my glass
  looks like a milky fist.
I shake my cup and ask
  about the weather.
He says, 'Hasn't rained in
  one thousand or so years.'
I say how that's unfortunate;
  he says how shit happens.

This party transitions into
  something out of an art-house film;
the Cali-tens are dancing to some
  80's song you would vaguely recognize.
They bump into one another
  like bees in an electric hive.
A Russian drinking a Russian
  asks about drugs.
I say into my drink that I
  don't have that many friends.

Looking for a bathroom,
  I am bumped by hips and lips
into the former eggshell/cigarette stain wall,
where I find my partial reflection
  looking back at me in that familiar
transparent parent way.

I find myself apologizing.

Every week they gather around in a dark room
Where sounds are the rulers of body movement
Music becomes the puppeteer that aims to abolish silence
Prophecies of love and lust spread across the floor
The veins of the room are shaken by harmonies
Sight is overworked to the point where it no longer works
Light beams run wild, and spotlights bring shadows to centerstage
This busy room is where the dead are born again

But when we want to talk about the dead
Who said anything about coffins and carcasses
Anyone becomes dead when they have lived too much
Like this lady in the corner sipping on her drink
She wears her lips like blood on a battlefield
Her body is raised like she's tipping over the edge
Her skirt hugs her like an old lover
She laughs loudly like she’s ready to cry
Her tears fall directly from the cracks of her broken heart

Another is a boy drinking his youth away
And drinking away all his clean shirts and pants
His eyes wander and surf through the sea of people
Around him are others who drink like him
Others who want to forget
He gulps down each red cup he can get his hands on
He waits for the alcohol to go straight into his brain
Like polish remover, erases the traces of heavy hands
And sharp words that hurt him every time he breathes

For some, this busy room can be home for a few hours
Because home is where life is not allowed
Life does not interfere with our safe space
We come to this room with our dead hearts
Hoping a drink or a song would jumpstart it back to life
We hope the beats bring back the beats in our chests
We hope it brings back the warmth in our skin
For this is the room where the dead are born again

"You're the girl that lives in the house by the sun flowers!"
Yes that's me,
You're saying phrases I wish you wouldn't repeat.

If you know where I live you know I exist.
You know that I'm not just a ghost.

I make an effort to avoid your eyes.
"Don't even try, she's a dyke"
"Do you go to sleep at night? With thoughts of a girl? With thoughts of her?!" He points to you standing next to me. We laugh.
"Honey, I don't have to think about her, she usually sleeps with me"
I wink and you laugh,
He's taken aback.
"So, have you guys done anything?"

On the count of three,
Turn, run.
Leave as much mystery,
As possible. That'll shut him up.

Later he texts me
"You sure that you're gay?"
"I'm positive why? I made out with a girl just last night."
"I could be a dyke"
"Have fun chopping your dick off"

Haven't heard another word from him.

The music played, the crowd danced
but one of the trumpeters gave up.
Didn't feel well, he needed a break,
they asked me to stand in for the tired chap.

I said No, I apologised
I can't play trumpet - I explained.
But they said that it doesn't matter,
what matter is to blow the trumpet
and - pretend to play.

Well, I said no, for I won't blow
someone's trumpet. I won't pretend.
I'd rather leave for home and blow
my own trumpet instead.

dinner
tonight
guest list
hmmm
I will be wearing combat boots
oh and the pearl drop earrings
topics of conversation
awe don’t worry about me
I’ll be fine
filter
not sure where that is
that ok with you

@journeyofdays

Birthday's.
They start out as a celebration,
'Congratulations!'

Parties and presents galore.

But as the years go by,
And time takes it's toil,
Age begins to coil,

And rear it's ugly head.

The death that follows,
Can come quietly, swiftly,
Or it can come cruelly, fiercely,

And ruin the lives around it.

Dial-A-Party USA!
What more do I need to say?
One person shows at your place alone
And after they use your telephone
It happens quicker than you can say.
“Dial-A-Party USA!”

You get a household full
Of old and new friends
Who stick around with you
Until the party ends.
Night and day, the happy throng
Will sing and dance and shout.
Until you’ve had enough of all that
And stand up and throw them out.

Dial-A-Party USA!
It can happen any day.
All it takes is for you to be home
So, if you don’t want this, GO ROAM!
Go see a movie, and stay away
From Dial-A-Party USA!

But if you think it’s great fun
To welcome and feed everyone;
All they drink and eat and smoke
They’ll tell everybody you’re great fun.
They’re extremely dependable, but
If you have any desire to miss it
And enjoy a peaceful time at home
Keep that plan a deep dark secret!

Dial-A-Party USA!
What more do I need to say?
One person shows at your place alone
And after they use your telephone
It happens quicker than you can say.
“Dial-A-Party USA!”