my friend asked me what i'm going to do in LA when i get to california. i told her how i am going to wander around aimlessly until i die. she hung the phone up on me. i didn't have the guts to tell her how i plan on doing nothing at all. i plan to sleep outside. i plan to get strung out. i plan to be in a place where i will never have to look at the same face twice in the same day ever again unless i want to. and i don't want to.

i have a ******
in my wallet(why do i even carry a wallet)
that i'll never use
i cant talk to women
i can only look
and become bitter.

Some days I think I need nothing
more in life than a spoon.
With a spoon I can eat oatmeal
Or take the medicine doctors prescribe
I can swat a fly sleeping on the sill
or pound the table to get attention.
I can point accusingly at God
or stab the empty air repeatedly.
Looking into the spoon’s mirror,
I can study my face in its shiny bowl,
or cover one eye to make half the world
disappear. With a spoon
I can dig a tunnel to freedom
spoonful by spoonful of dirt,
or waste life catching moonlight
and flinging it into the blackest night.

i saw you first
you watch me burst

a moment ago i was holding her hand and telling her that her hand was soft and beautiful and she said to me that my face was soft and beautiful and now i am thinking back on that...
if thats the case, i believe my face is a liar.
a misleader of sorts.
it leads people to believe that i myself am soft and beautiful.
i've been told i have very kind eyes.
that may be but i know the truth about myself and it really does boil down to fact that no one knows me.
except me.
not my mom.
not my best friend.
not my other best friend.
not my girlfriend.
not my sisters.
not my brothers.
people only know about me what i have chose to reveal to them.
( in that sense, i guess you can be whatever you want in this world.)
whether what i have revealed is true or not doesn't matter.
( and i guess some people are better liars than others. some people would try to lead you to believe certain things but they're bad at lying ((which i think means they are unintelligent because you have to be pretty intelligent to successfully mislead someone/everyone)) and you realize the truth about them that they are trying to hide)
my face is a liar.
it'd lead you to believe that i am kind, soft and beautiful.
there is a fraction of me i suppose that is.
say 9%.
but the rest is not.
i am in truth, a master manipulator.
i am a sociopath.

i want to thank you for letting your guard down.
i wont let you regret it.
i know your still letting some wounds heal.
i wont ever forget it.
the tremble in your voice, i know
will not compromise.
don't ever not
speak to me.
i am hoping
to stay cornered by
your truth.
i am hoping
to stay cornered by
your beauty.
our love is an architect,
carefully making plans,
drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes in the day
and drinking by himself at night
trying to separate the world from you and me.
baby, i've noticed the way
the sun reflects on your hair as
your hand runs through it.
i love your hair when it's messy
and you fuss about it.
i love to see pieces of your neck
when you look up at me,
right before your eyes trap me
giving away exactly how you feel.

my words, i know, are not enough.
as profound as i may think they are.
maybe if i could sing...
because i would sing to you.
then my thoughts and words would
defy gravity.
they would
be heavier and more stark
when they reached you.
outside the window of this bus,
the weather reflects my state of mind
the sun struggles to be seen through
the mess of clouds that swirl and
toil about.
am i the sun or the clouds.