JAC 2d

Your room has seen your secrets:
Your dangerous apathy
Your restless midnights
Your inviting sheets
Your missed mornings
Your tireless love
Your tired admiration
Your sore beauty
Your tentative bravery
Your half-awake kiss
Your sober frustration
Your wasted excitement
Your naked safety
Your thoughtless stresses
Your mind being torn apart
Your soft intakes of beautiful breath
And it will never, ever not want you.

Time ticks on my bedroom wall clock,
and my weary head needs sleep.

              It's much too cold inside my room,
               why won’t my discontentedness ever stop?

I toss and I turn every which way,
and I can't seem to feel right at all.

               It's much too cold inside my room,
                so beside me won't you lay?

Each hour that passes takes a toll,
and there's a simple solution to my problem.

               It's much too cold inside my room,
                so won't you warm my body and soul?

originally written 12/30/16

Suppose you aren’t living, yet you aren’t dead. You have a conscience, and you don’t understand what you are. You are not a physical form, but are closer to an empty spirit. Although you do not have a physical form, you can still feel things. You can’t move, and are isolated in an area with walls covered in silhouettes and splattered in color. This, is a representation of your imagination.
You know that there is something outside of your imagination, but you have not the slightest idea what it’s like or what to expect. The things outside of this isolated world are what you spend your time thinking about. You wonder about these such things for quite a while, trying to simulate what the world would be like- at least what you think It’d be like.
You often doubt whether your simulations are accurate or not, and if there even is a world outside of these walls, but that doesn’t stop you from thinking. You enjoy being alone, yet at find it extremely unsettling. You like the silence of being solitary, yet you wish something, just something was there to comfort you, meaning you are afraid of your own conscience. You’ve been afraid of your own self ever since you realized that there’s no way out of your mind. Wait, is there? Are you more than an empty spirit? Can you leave this room? No, you think to yourself, but as time goes by, you think of it as possible, that there’s something other than this room.
The silhouettes on your wall change regularly, according to your thoughts, and what goes on in your mind. You’ve been thinking of escaping this cube lately, therefore the silhouettes on the wall look more populated than usual, and seem to be tearing at the walls. They look like they’re trying to set themselves free, and are covering the walls more and more as you think about them. That’s it! You think for one moment that you can use the silhouettes to break down the walls, and you’ll be able to leave this room. But how? They are just silhouettes. They can’t do anything, can they? In that moment you think to yourself that if you try hard enough, you can do it, just a little bit of effort, and you’ll be free.
You know that the silhouettes don’t have any weight, and wonder how you’ll tear down the walls, but you remember the colors. Yes, that’s it. You can use your imagination more and more and produce colors! But, how to you get your mind flowing? Just keep thinking? Think really hard? Think of escaping? Or maybe, if you didn’t think at all, the walls would be splattered in white. Yes, you could think as hard as you could, splatter the walls in color, then stop the thoughts, and cover the walls in white. Keep this up, and the weight of the colors will eventually pull down the walls.
All of the sudden, the cube starts to dissolve. You feel yourself falling, and can move. It’s a nice feeling, a bit frightening, but nice. You see lights, everywhere, different colors. Blue, black, violet, dark colors, with white stars. “Quite beautiful,” you say aloud. You’re falling from the room, and watch it grow smaller as you keep falling. Suddenly, you stop falling, you just float. You look around to see a galaxy extending in all directions, never-ending colors and stars.
Quite fascinating to look at, space. Although it’s cold, very cold. You feel as if you’d die; freeze to death, but can you die? You sit in shocking realization. You’d never thought about death before, and now you were seriously considering that you might die. Why hadn’t you ever thought about death? You’d always been protected by the cube, it gave you warmth, and let you live. It didn’t offer much, you couldn’t do anything, couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, nothing, but it had been protecting you from this world the whole time. You’d taken everything for granted, and had just thrown your life away.
“I’m not meant to be here. What have I done. I’m going to die. No no no no no.” You start to get agitated, and furious. What is this? Some kind of trick? Why were you meant to be in a cube your entire life? Who created this? Why? Your mind overflows with questions, about the universe, about your existence. Still freezing, you wonder whether or not you are the only one here. All of this, the never-ending sky, the colors, the lights, the stars, they had to be meant for something! Of course, that something wasn’t you.
Your vision starts to blur, and you’re beginning to feel lightheaded. Maybe you really can die. Maybe you shouldn’t have been so curious. Maybe you should have just stayed where you were. No, it wasn’t maybe, it was definite. You can die. You shouldn’t have been curious. You should’ve stayed in the cube, where you would’ve been protected forever.
What happens when you die? You sit with a feeling of uneasiness, mortified. Do you reincarnate? Or… Do you never get to live again, ever. You start to tense up, almost stop moving altogether. Think about it, Death. Terrifying, the way you live your life as a spec, just to have it taken away in the end. Death, really the only thing to be scared of in life. Death, does it come with pain? Or, maybe you just, float way, peacefully. Does your life flash before you…? You had lived so long, but you feel as if it’d just started. No matter what happens when you die, you were not ready for it at all. You were terrified, to the point where you could probably die of fright.
You desperately try to get back to the room, even though it’s in pieces. You struggle and eventually make your way back to the section of space where your room had been. You grab on to a piece from one of the walls, screaming, sobbing. You hug the piece, and shrivel up, feeling the colorful wall on your fingertips. Crying hysterically, you plead for another chance to live, for the cube’s protection and care, but you can’t. It was over.
Your emotions start to dull, and the cold isn’t affecting you as much. Your anger and sadness turns in to acceptance and understanding, and you’re no longer blaming your creator for giving you an uneventful life, but blaming yourself because it was your fault. You are the one who broke through the walls. You were the one who left the room. You are the reason that you’re dying. No one is at fault but you. You did this all by your self, and no one helped or encouraged you.
Your vision changes from a blur, to almost nothing but smudged colors and white speckles. Your tears dry up, and as this happens, the image of space is burned into your mind. It was beautiful. The colors. The galaxy. The stars. They were faint, but beautiful. You just needed to remember this sight, it’s important to you. This one moment that you aren’t isolated. This moment you can move. This moment you can see things other than paint and silhouettes. As you stare into the blurry scenery, you start to go numb, lose consciousness, fade away. You yourself is gone, but your light will remain there forever, as a star.

unnamed 4d

I can’t say there is a word for what we are
I know I was looking through your pictures yesterday
Laughing at how cute you look
Wanting to tell you which ones you look bad in,
And how others do not make you justice.
Kissing you and the non-stop laughs
Make fun of the fact that we are fatties.
Driving to McDonalds at 1 am.
I have a feeling it is going to hurt.
But when I am in your room, on your bed
Not being able to keep our hands off each other.
It is complete bliss.
We have amazing sex, you know it’s true
We take a break and go at it again.
And then you open up about the things you love
Like those nerdy topics of things I do not understand
But, your whole face lights up while you talk.
And you apologize for speaking so much.
Don’t ever apologize again
Don’t ever shut up.
Please keep talking,
Until we meet our end.

Once  and for all
I am getting.
Rid of my
Before I have a nervous

Yeah I done it in 3 hours flat
Just the drawers  to sort
But my mussels  are all sore
Hard work .

The bottom room is a complete  nightmare  upheaval. .if i dont take the first postive step ..take respknabity  for the junk ..
I will never get around to  get it sorted..Any ideas on how to organize  it all.
Please.. I have bank letter statements.
Ninah Dau Apr 5

i declare myself innocent
of whatever sin brought you with me
the reasons why we are here
are then no longer needed
so kiss, sweat and scream
she can't hear you

i can

she can't hear you
because you're not with her
and it burns like a wildfire
to declare yourself guilty
of whatever reasons you had to made me a secret
because now you need it
so kiss, sweat and scream
i can't hear you

she can

i can't hear you because i'm the voice of the jury
and i declare us innocents
free of all charges
unless you jury yourself
for what we are young
and she might hear.

Timothy hill Mar 31

Day of sheets you muse my memory, running threw my head.

180 naps and interesting facts left unknow.

Our pe class was fited with classical clothes.

Mythology, history math and English are your favorites.

Seriously, you are so nice many would find your style as hippy.

Picked at last for volley ball, as other's strick poses so deliciously.

Joking as planets are always figuring and plotting.

The graph is made of tiny boxes as a pyramid is a corner of it.

Retention, is irony of a elegant mirage, likely a dizzy superstition, of snow.

School of visions calculator of success

School days.
Timothy hill Mar 25

The blanket of space, where never rased so "placees after hours" you listen the blank taste settles there hate.

Conflate, the reams of the varibles.

Disagree, with the hammer of dawn.

Dust mist the area.

Immunity, was parched the thrist it needed a pass to enter with grain on hands you go to your converters.

The build began, its safety features include "secrete safe" house concepts.

So don't be silly or nodding because the scale use there own grips.

The yard puzzles most as Un seen.

Cars pass by yet no one sees the area.

How was this able to occur none will know.

Many men and women, praise there skills made in full detail.

Don't look away as the sun will change its pace more than just metaphorically.

Day after day the music, was played to the person of high grade, sheilds.

As shadow's came we light his path or aura enegy.

Disburst there attempts with tricky special ops.

Codes were recited, to open the plasma coil and the power was as is.

Above* the words read Care Is To Be Used!

Misinformation, spell to Earth, as Kings and Knight, change there views and faces.

Here as rain starts pain grew and Plains redone.

Illicit, there plains where yet with grim details Un masked.

Poker hands faces look easy.

Oh, dear lord it is that of pity.

Black ships and twister of reality.

Shade there (Egos) and stain there display.

Decate, as we go to the other room he begins his home made craft.

Shoulder, heavy as made precession, was resized for the purpose of matter displacement.

This is of course a novel.
Genevieve Mar 23

wake me up when i die
and yell at me for wasting time
i'd sell my soul for all it's worth
but it still wouldn't make it right
i'd say i'd sort it out
i'd write a thousand words
but i'd waste my time
i'd waste my time
because of my mind
it traps me in a room

3 - 22 - 2017
Zan Balmore Mar 20

One. Two.

Is this thing turned on?

One. Two.

I can't see even a few feet in front of me.



There's nothing said back from the void.
Disapproval. Deification.

What difference does it make,
Whether withheld or spoken?

Shadows show well on the walls
Before Netflix in my home at night,

The futon

Eyes overflowing with lust

They're waiting for facial on tongue.
Next page