#bluh
kids these days look like notebook paper
and those lines on their skin they never taper
kids these days don't seem to talk
and when they do people seem shocked
kids these days are treated like ****
and all they do is chew on their bubblegum
adults these days, they say they've worked so hard
but they didn't become what they said in the schoolyard
adults these days, they say that kids don't care
but they were the ones who taught us to swear
adults these days, they say we're snotty
but they're the ones who designed our technology
society these days is so backwards
we might have more mutual respect if we checked the records
kids these days may look like paper
but adults these days will just say you're a faker
kids these days may not talk
but adults these days criticise around the clock
kids these days may be treated like ****
but adults these days expect us to be someone
nothing about the world is ******* right
but I guess it's not left either.
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 8:55 PM UTC
i am lost in the wisp of your faltering
the fluttering of concrete entrenched
into stoic rigmarole
to reach out layer by layer
peeling unearthing
a catatonic subdivision of disjoint subdivisions
a limit ordinal
between touch and feeling
where we kiss on the cusp of that silent ocean on the edge of sound
drowned in the nebulous familiarity of
a distant melody
a tired resolve
re solve the old puzzle muscle memory's misted amnesia
half the pieces falling out the warn tinderbox
inarticulate drowned severed isomorphisms over
brea(d)thless infinities
self adjoint matted topologies
nestled snugly in the amniotic absolution
of form before being
hands of matted ice
contorted into perfection
by the sculpting propensities
of undulations of estrangement,
where we touch in the cusp of self reflections thousand mirrors inverted propensities
infinite infinitesimals
nestled meromorphic partitions
hidden corners in the brevity of dusk
multiplicities fragmenting behind empty veils
( to be seen is to be made discrete
to be discrete is to flicker
and disappear
(inevitably invariable
inevitable invariability))
we
stand in a waterfall of gravel
and drown our voices in the choke of our cellophane hearts
caked
into fillets of aphasic tundra
where we whisper our nothings in the desert on the boundary of silence
our words
escape us
like rats from shipwreck
we are
disembowelled catharsis
intentional and fatuous
retching upon itself
severed
and free
and dead
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 8:53 AM UTC
someone is sitting on the train laughing
and i think it’s probably me
and someone is sitting across from you on a crowded bus laughing
and i think it’s probably also me
and when you ask your lover why it took him so long to get here he won’t meet your eyes
there’s a voice in my head telling me to leave it alone
and it sounds an awful lot like you
i’m not a slaughterhouse. i’m not all-powerful, i’m not a god
there are dead bodies at my feet and i don’t know
how they got there
this isn’t like last time
you’re the one who wanted romance
it’s not my fault that i can’t feel anything
and there is someone in the back of your mind laughing at you
and this time it isn’t me
my name feels ***** at 2am when you’re tired
my name tastes like the end of the world, bottled up
a lit match at 2am when you’re tired
the bags under your eyes look like bruises,i wonder how you got them
and someone is sitting in your bedroom laughing
and this time it’s you
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 3:00 PM UTC