#cam
chatting faces lit by lens glare,
a sentence ending prompts a takeaway.
flare of the IF isn't seen there,
no knowledge of the observer's pay.
people laughing at sitcoms in the evening
often act out in front of the camera.
when there's none they start modeling,
pretending they know James Cameron.
we've become the same Pamela's as Andersons.
silence in the living room, we still act out.
fire in the kitchen, no change in a person;
food's smoking, sending signals that pout.
called security but they knew already,
that the front lawn didn't mow itself.
and the missus told'im don't be petty,
but he's gonna talk to an Elf on the Shelf.
the elf says, "everyone glances my way
and although my eye is quite bright
they don't see the glint in my eyesight
now ask me what have we caught today"
so the man pulls out his SD card,
ready to make his decision,
and realizes we all look at the camera,
even when we don't know it's there.
and we're all born in a land of televisions
televisions, televisions.
we're all born in televisions,
televisions.
Dec 8, 2025
Dec 8, 2025 at 3:02 AM UTC
three husbands
three wifes
don't try to find 'em as
they will have found you
long before nighttime
somewhen in-between-time
yeah baby i know it's fighttime
but don't try to opppose your
destiny as you've been watched
by satellites / surveillance cams /
your friends and your aunts
they're not against you
yet none of 'em is gonna thank you
for nothin' you feel me?
believe it or don't: by the end of the
year YOU gonna say: thank you
welcome to the
you-place
Nov 30, 2019
Nov 30, 2019 at 11:50 AM UTC
Color in my dull palette,
light in my dark abyss,
eyes to my unseeing soul.
You who has conquered this heart,
knows nothing of a battle.
Sitting as still as a metal pole.
Hold my fate
gingerly I plead.
As the storm's waters
in my heart secede.
I've given everything,
anything and all.
Please, I beg you,
quit trying to stall.
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 7:33 AM UTC
A circle is round.
It has no ends.
Thats how long I've been living with Mesothelioma.
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 6:43 PM UTC
He touches
My hair
All the time,
Plays with the
Edges and
Fragments,
And sometimes reminds me that
"I can braid,
You know."
Sometimes he does.
Sometimes he mimics me
In History class
From across the room,
And he laughs at all my jokes,
Even when they aren't funny,
Just
Stupid.
And occasionally,
When I'm sitting in my little niche
Between his desk
And Ellie's,
Right on the cold tile,
He'll attach his forehead to mine
And just look at me.
Sometimes he'll whisper,
"Nose,"
And point to it,
And I just giggle
And break the stare.
I don't even think he feels it,
The wishing to always be near him,
To have his fingers in my hair
All the time,
And for his laugh to be
My soundtrack.
I don't think
That when he stares into my eyes
He wants to kiss me
As bad
As I want
To kiss
Him.
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 10:11 PM UTC