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tread May 2012
I work

Faster than I work

So I trip

on

e

v

e

r

y

little



w

     o

          r

               d

(period.)



I see

                    s

       i

                         g

              h

                              t



itself.



Little floaters and

M o v e e ee  ee e e ee e me n ts

Like the pixels

on a

television screen.



1080p looks better than what I’ve really ever seen

Sometimes I feel

it’s only real

if it’s

a



p

   h

       o

           t

               o

     graph.
tread Feb 2013
universal ****!
**** me so I can give birth to your beautiful slumdog millionare
you know what I mean?
the man wearing pants so tattered it doesn't matter why he's dancing?
I meant that when I said it and I said it when it meant so much to the
king of all castles running in circles around melancholy as if it were
a dog to be chased so catch your own tail, too big to fail, too big to
fail, ah, cleanliness has its way of speech and I will never be rid of
it's cancellation fees, but does that matter oh so much if clouds
understand me better than sand sees chord progressions in winter hymnals
sung by early risen bird from dust and snow?
I didn't think so either.
tread Aug 2013
strand of hair floats thru
image-view
of church-steeple and
second-hand
Edifier speakers in distance
and far - - -
landing as a tilted smile on
the pitch of
my HP- - - Setec laments
an unfastened
heart and it's 12 minutes
to the bus

truths really do
come
dream
tread Jul 2013
little bits of cheese stain couch-top

                        as if that kind of thing


                    ever mattered.
tread Feb 2013
Timid as a leaf, crackling under foot as if broken spines didn't believe you.
didn't believe you? didn't believe me, but I believe myself when I state love is question
breath is answer, cornered in a universe so full the ego can't speak Latin, it doesn't matter
it never mattered, you mattered as much as matter, lost in words, lost in lungs giving expression to eternity
kings don't last, kings don't last, you last but king's don't last, I loved it, if you believe in me
It belonged to the corner that manifested as mist.
tread Apr 2013
'Next station is Bromley
South.' Cancel all my
appointments, Doris, I've
got the runs and my fault
doesn't get the joke. In a
sugar induced nose-dive
I wished you were on the
train with me, gasping at
every sight my Easter
essence was too tired
to diamond jubilee.
tread Jun 2013
sweet skin, sweet
taste September,
tomato-stained
pallet boiling to
an icecream froth,
eyes blue-moon
blue-cheese blue-
sea blue-teaful,
planets in arraign
of Pluto, far out
years before back
-hand kiss to back
-hand slap to my
metallic tears first
come first serve
arriving home drunker
than Charles Bukowski
on the average day, I
hope to be the barfly
of her heart.
tread Apr 2013
and I still like to imagine
you're sitting across from me
as I swallow my lamb
cutlets.
6 days, 14 hrs
tread Jan 2013
There is no world,
There is only the mind.

There is no mind,
There is only the world.
tread Jan 2013
ever had those moments
of artistic remorse
where you want to burn
your imagination?

I want to burn this poem
I want to burn my poems.

I'm no poet,
I'm a ******* narcissist,
I'm a ******* farce.

*******.
tread Nov 2012
Water falls the seashore
Like the ocean hugs the land
And land starts blushing.
tread May 2011
Dice the dead mans diligence like a Dillinger or Challenger,

He gained a Dodge Wrangler like a sad handler of emotions;

Perhaps all of this is more potent than potions or consumer hand lotions plus alcoholic haphazard;

Yet I consider the price of anything to be lice on everything,

Like a fat woman’s sullen song,

The sounds still ring in the lingering enclave of my eardrums,

Which breath waves like air into my lungs.

It’s sundown,

And therefore, I’ll see you soon;

Yes, I’ll see you soon, moon.

So very soon.
tread Sep 2013
I love you. I will always love you. What we had was so incredible, and so beautiful. Sadly, everything in this world is transient, and so here we are, coming to an end as well. Perhaps there's a chance it isn't the end.. perhaps one day I'll run into you years from now in Powell River, and something may spark again.

Perhaps a few months down the road we'll meet again in Victoria and who knows? You need your freedom right now, though. You aren't ready for a relationship. As much as you love me (and I can tell you love me), you're fidgeting uncomfortably because you don't want to watch life trail on by and see all the could-still-be's turn into the could-have-been's. We're young. We loved each other enough to stick it out for life, but sadly youth is something that still keeps the boat rocking with uncertainty in all regards. I'm afraid to be single again.. I'm afraid of the moments when I sleep with another woman, and I hear your voice in the back of my head. Or when I kiss another woman and forget it isn't you.

I'm going to wake up crying at 3 in the morning remembering some adorable little quirk of yours, and cry and cry and cry until I can hardly breath and come close to choking on air.

There's the saying that I told you the other day.. about how sometimes, 2 people are meant to fall in love with one another, but not be with one another. Perhaps that's us, but it could also be that we just met at 2 different points in life, so I was on a different track than you, and you're still in the mode of a younger mind, unready for any substantial commitment. Which is totally okay! None of this is my trying to insult you.

I hope neither of us get too sick to the stomach seeing one another throughout the city, perhaps holding hands with other people.
We can't be friends for now. Perhaps in a few months we can, but at this point, any attempt at friendship would either still be a relationship.. or it would be a friendship with resentment, where we went to a party together and potentially had to spectate a kiss with someone else and feel like killing ourselves on the spot. So no. Maybe in a few months.. maybe in a few years.. we can be friends.

Maybe we can even be competent lovers once again someday with a little more of the world under our belts and that aching insecurity of 'I didn't have a chance to try this because I was committed' eating away at us from inside. But seriously.. who knows. We'll have to see what happens. Like in the Murakami story, 'The 100% Perfect Girl for Me,' we can trust our future re-encounter to fate. If it's meant to be, we'll meet and love again. If it's not.. well then, it's over. And that's okay. We'll find happiness elsewhere.

Goodbye, Amanda. I love you. Just in case fate doesn't bring us back around anytime in the near or distant future.. I wish you a fantastic and beautiful life full of love and excitement and joy and really great friends, and hopefully, someday, a guy who can treat you like you deserve to be treated.

Have a great life, kittycat.
tread Feb 2012
The sunrise swept me right under the mat
As the night kept me sleeping with thoughts of 'all that.'

I understood questions like I understood answers,
And the denser the wording, the darker the mountain of thought and elation
I kept still and patient
As all I could think of was what was adjacent to the fire inside me
Don't you confine me!
You may stand beside me if what it is that you want

Is a question to answer your question and answer;
It always did take an attempt to transfix the great trance of condition;
Fill me with emissions
Of your concept pollution and speak to coalitions
Of dying musicians, wrought with inhibitions
As they realize they're just a bit late for auditions.

So cry me a river!
Life's an Indian giver
And don't shiver with the thought that in mind you will quiver with fright,
And consignment
What kind of words could be used to
Prove
It's not all
Just a dream.

And the gleam in your eyes, I will always remember.
They glowed in the bright misplaced sun of September,
Which carried on well into the month of November.
To live, you must sign your unconditional surrender,
To 'all this' and the rest of our world in this cloud;

The bliss of a kiss and a fist that speaks loud,
We understood what we could as we held hands with the crowd
Of the distant, indifferent, aware, and unsaid;
It's strange when you consider 'all this' while in bed.

So rip me the bits and tape me back together,
Like I'm an arts craft you work on in bad weather.
Forget the instructions and make me whoever;
Use your imagination; be bold, and be clever!

Because the sunrise swept me right under the mat
As the night kept me sleeping with thoughts of 'all that.'

I understood answers like I understood questions,

And discovered 'existence' is just a suggestion.
tread Mar 2013
she's one of those Scandinavian girls all your friends at the barbecue would say,
"dude, how the **** did you manage to get with THAT?"
because they're all entranced in her painted and unintentional glow, she's a diamond,
and it's not the diamonds fault it's a diamond.

it's a mix of luck, probability, and perspectives on beauty derived from
thousands of years of embedded consciousness on what defines the aesthetics of a souls harmonic glances

I'm luckiest because she's not just a diamond on the outside.
the rest of her diamonds still reside underneath. speaking through her body yet still deep to discover
and I'll keep looking.

I'll keep looking and I'll discover how rich she is.

But she doesn't know it yet.
she may never know it.

diamonds are easy to see,
but hard to find.
tread Mar 2013
you're on
my mind
as often
as I am

everything.
tread Dec 2012
the shape of a body in a photograph can be slanted
like a monk on acid laughing at the fact that he already knows
and this feels no different to his everyday happy glance.

he was worried
until he realized
your birth

was his birth
and your birth
tread Apr 2013
it's strange to enter
the world and realize
you're not quite who
you thought you were.
I thought I was a traveller
of vast spaces in all times
but life poked me in sleep to
say, "it's not that easy and
you have to wake yourself
up to do it, you beautiful,
******-up fool."
tread Apr 2013
Etymology,

                  Spanish.

  First appeared  

      on a gravestone

             in Warwickshire, England.

       Means:  

         'loveable,'
                      
                      'have to be loved,'

                                         'deserving of love.'

All technicalities aside,
I'm not with you for your
name. That'd be like saying,

'I'm here for the free cheesecake,*
but make sure it calls itself a cheesecake,
because I trust cheesecake, but not the
moon when it questions my insanity.
Frightens me with the prospect of a
normal life.'

I haven't found the answer yet.
I haven't been looking. I've been
too busy loving you, until one day
I woke up and realized 'its always
in the last place you look.' I'd been
nuzzled in your chest for hours
before I noticed I'd found the
most important meaning
in life.


Amanda.

Etymology,

             Spanish.

        First appeared on a gravestone

                  in Warwickshire, England.

Means:

                'loveable,'

                             'have to be loved,'

                                              'deserving of love.'
tread May 2013
surreptitiously managed
like an underground
casino.
tread Sep 2010
It frightens me,
To sit in thought,
To think before men have been shot,
To keep alive,
A lie so huge,
It blinds this world in dark deluge.

In advocation,
Of a thought,
That's left this world in shock,
Distraught;
On their knees to say and pray,
Every night,
And every day,
To a Lord they think so far away,
A code of ethics;
"Hate the gays!"

To sit alone in blinding trance,
Let slip all ideas of chance,
"This world did not come to be,
Millions of years ago, no, listen to me,
Your lies of science,
Can't you see?
The governments conspiracy."

It frightens me to know there are,
Men who don't look very far,
They keep it down, so low, the bar,
Of humanity.

"Can't you see,
We're meant to be,
Conformed in happy unity?
Can't you see,
God is meant to be,
The path of the ones who are truly free?
No, because you're ignorant;
You're a disbelieving infant."

"Someday you will,
Be judged in Hell,
To live eternity,
In pain and yell,
'I'm wrong and sorry,
Can't you tell?
Save me from the grace I fell.'"
tread Feb 2013
Let me warn you, my love, that when I fall, I fall very hard.
The first few months there are absolutely zero moments you are not on my mind, voice a soft whispering phantasm in your absence, drunk on whatever I sipped in your soul.
For awhile I become obsessed whether I like it or not.. and let me tell you, I like it as often as not.. but it's not a weird, psychotic obsession. It's an obsession in the sense that an absence of contact for as little as 2 days can feel like 3 weeks all warped together in a slow reality drifting sadly down a stream of redundant repeats of my least favourite New Years Eve paid programming.

I woke up last night at 3 AM imagining that I may not talk to you at all until you're back next Monday, and I'll be completely honest and admit that I cried a little. I shut myself up like a dog yelping for its owner to come home from work, but my heart still ached, and that, I'll admit, embarrassed me. I'm not sure if I can see you doing the same.

Let me warn you, my love, that I am afraid of commitment just as much as I am afraid not to commit. You really do seem worth the time and effort, but whether I like it or not there will be times when I cry into your shoulder and say my love for you is too comfortable. To be honest, my greatest fear at this point is hurting you. I trust myself enough to avoid it, but if I ever become distant or strange, please tell me. Please ask me. We will fix it. I promise.

Now let me tell you that I will never cheat on you. Not even drunk out of my mind could I bring myself to do it. I know how it feels and it's destruction. Eventually I will be so in love with you every other face will glaze over. I will be able to recognize beautiful faces and beautiful minds, but yours will be my dream come true.

I don't doubt you miss me less than I miss you. You're engaged in a brand new world down south, one filled with sky-blue water like dreams and tropic posters, horses on majestic beaches of gold grain.
I'm still carrying out the same motions on the same streets under the same rainy weather. It makes sense that I miss you more.

Let me warn you, my love, that writing pages as honest as these make me wonder if I terrify you in intention. Of course I'm not sure, who could be? All I know is I love you very much and that entails much in the way of future togetherness. Sorry if I am scaring you out of your emotional wits. All of this isn't easy to admit, but it's how I really truly honestly feel.

They say distance makes the heart grow fonder. I think distance makes the heart aware of what it hadn't had time to articulate. Hadn't had time to admit.

Most of the time I philosophize on life. Although love is a part of life, I find this distance has me philosophizing less and loving you more.

You'll be back soon.
Soon just isn't soon enough for the heart that wants to hold your hand.
7 days by the end of today.
tread Feb 2013
it was exactly a week ago but it feels like
Waters have paused to ask directions from air and lava
And lava, in it's lost hots, slinking its way down Mount St. Helens
Couldn't hear water

yellin'.

It's still as if
there were no Mexico
and as if
you ceased to swallow the clanks
of arachnid 'where'd-ya-go's'
in favour of
where the wild river flows

This oval prose is not a rose
It's cheaper
and I'm tellin ya
Count the rocks connected on the second front of sidewalk and that's how you might forget
how much
it costs
to miss you.
4 days.
tread Dec 2012
"Man is a crushed being. Floats like logs on an empty river in a wild with no predators,
because, Man knows, a predatory wild is immoral."
no regrets.

and water once said to the wall
"Can I speak? And if I speak why do I speak this particular language? Beyond my reflective frailties and your broken back, there really isn't much to be said for the anglo-saxon remembrance of loss, now, is there?"

and the sleep in the corner of her bedroom was like a feminist strike for equal wages
there was a resentful bitterness to the way she spat her measured love.

often, she would say nothing as a means to everything,
and everything as a means to nothing,
but either way the only one listening was every one of us, so we couldn't really hear a word she was saying.

some mornings, I awoke to the curious wondering of subject versus object, and sad endings versus no endings, and you know what?
not once did an answer appear and if it did, no way was there a syllable empty enough to describe our lack of a point
so I stopped calling I, I
and started calling I, we
so we slept until 1 in the afternoon with the only shame being that of novelized continuity with its great big book on the cons of finitism we tried to return for store credit only to realize it wasn't Chapters selling, nor the writ of the holy ghost, but instead that particular angle of our face that can only be witnessed if one mirror is placed in front of another with a third to the left

and suddenly, 'I' made more sense,
what a shame?

and water once said to the wall
"all things are all things," and the wall listlessly agreed to nothing.

so we walked to the water and agreed on behalf of the wall
and the water swooshed kindly as we lay out a towel
sleep on the beach.

and the sleep in the corner of her bedroom was like a feminist strike for equal wages
there was a resentful bitterness to the way she spat her measured love
so my nervous flinch began to wonder why the real world teases with stillness, distant mountains, open roads, warm kisses, sunrises, and cold rain
when I still have to get up for work in the morning.
tread Nov 2012
sitting in the laptop cubicle aboard the Queen of Surrey
a duo of older women scuttle past as I open a new document.
"blank page," the first one says.
I laugh. "Well, you've gotta start somewhere."
"Totally blank page," the second chimes in.
I chuckle again.
As they scuttle on forwards, the second, with a bruised right-eye purple and black from God-knows-what, says, "she's mean. Dont talk to her."
I laugh again and nod,
"Okay."
tread Jul 2013
"Millions long for immortality who don't
know what to do on a rainy afternoon."
If I could live forever, I wouldn't. I will live
forever. Whether this is a gift or a curse is
nothing to decide; seeing as I will draw a
blank when the blank is fired. Once I was
a fish, and once I was pollen. Once I was a
tree and once I was a logger. Once I was
Once I was Once I was Now I am.

I Am.

"Millions long for immortality who don't
know what to do on a rainy afternoon."
tread Feb 2012
So sleep doesn't come to me
But perhaps it has found you fine,
And that's fine.

I hope that you're fine
But my thoughts now unwind in confusion intertwined with illusion can I find what intrusion made you draw the line to place a sign and say to my face,
"This is over. Good luck in college, good luck in life, *** I will not be there tomorrow or tonight, corazon."

And you loved me yesterday,
And today is just yesterday with a different name
Does that mean your love was labelled
And now the label has been changed?

*** yesterday we spoke of what our futures held in store
For the both of us together, holding hands amidst the roar
And the dark of the unknown glazed with ice across the floor;
It was that; "Goodnight, kittycat;" what strange coincidence as my heart sang the night before
And now it's sore.

What a difference 24 hours makes;
Was it my mistakes? Or just the lake of tears and sorrow and how often your heart breaks?
*** I knew I really loved you when my first concern became,
"I hope that she's ******* alright!"
That thought drove me insane.

And there was no response,
The receiver remained on the hook.
Her cell-phone thumbed with call display,
But 'decline' is all it took.

She broke my heart with 1, 2, 3
and now questions seep my bones.
Making sleep impossible,
She could have picked up the phone
And said, "I'm sorry. I really am, you understand this is just as hard
For me as well, I really do love you,
I'm simply more than marred."

But silence was the answer that I got
With my shocked glance.
In my mind stirs feelings that perhaps there is a chance
In fact, a truth that there's no way I could have lost you yet.

Not like this,
Not this abyss
With such finality.

This was so much more than that
In my reality.

I hope you turn around and regain your sanity
Because I miss you and although I've made mistakes, I've realized

Real eyes realize real lies

And what we had was honest truth.

So before you give up on me and you
On both of us;
Please consider what you're giving up,
Because I trust
You'll figure all this out in time
And if space is what you want;
I understand,
But please don't forget of what we were,
I can wait, I just wish it weren't all such a blur.

I love you, and I'm still your waffle
I hope that you know that
And I can be your patient
Silent
Waiting kittycat.
tread Jan 2013
Flashing numbers; this isn't a binary
sequence but the universe has got me
wondering. 01001011010101011
combinations of 2 create infinitesimally
complicated creatures, craters, croutons,
castrations, cancers, colons, concretes,
convulsions, corn-cobs. 'Where is my
mind' by the Pixies; wish I'd never heard
it before. No simile metaphor for what's
next, swooping ultraviolent. Almost like
skin being ripped off so I'm nothing but
bone and muscle. 'With your feet in the
air and your head on the ground,' the
dam snaps and floods my Amsterdam
cheeks like New Orleans; scrambling for
roof I drown. Scrambling for roof I drown.
'Try to trick and spin it, yeah,' polka-dots
and floaters; bacteria in my eye dives into
the ocean and makes me wonder which
flew bottom and rounded-dust to eat *****
on sea-floor. 'Your head will collapse, but
there's nothing in it, and you'll ask yourself,'
mashing cellphone numbers now; mashing
cellphone needed now dad pick up please pick
up worlds end pick up mom pick up I need
to know I'm real I need to know there's truth,
'where is my mind? Where is my mind? Whee
erre is my mind?' the world fades into itself and
what crosses mind is death but no, why? No,
need. Dad picks up to my heaving sobs. Rational,
collected. Collect call. World freezes.
I've been suffering with severe anxiety for the past year and a half. I recently had to request less hours at work as a result. It brings me a measure of peace if I know I can half-explain myself through poetry because otherwise, the panic attack is probably the most profoundly lonely experience known to man. It feels like you're the only person in the universe and the world is a figment of a solipsistic dream you're about to awake from. So I hope if you feel the same you can know that I do to, and we can be mutual in our realization of this-has-happened-before.
tread Dec 2010
Like the back of a cart during the bubonic plague,
I’d have to say a dead mans story is long,
But very vague,
As we learn little from the lessons of history,
We treat is as an obsolete and unsaid sort of mystery.


The difference between black and white,
A bird in seat or flight,
A tense and dangerous human right,
As if as much as we can see,
Is the boundary of our site;


If we treat each other as we would like to be treated;
Why does a teacher tell us to remain seated?
They don’t say sit back and relax in any context,
Instead they emphasize not to use bad words or obscene text.

Am I not allowed to tell you to sit down?
Tell you I owe you nothing but a respectable frown?
I owe you nothing but decency,
Not a mind filled with verbs in which I hope others translate boundlessly.

To say I sleep with a pillow,
Is like saying I steep tea like I reap benefits from the luxuries,
Of today’s modern cars and inventions.

To assume I immorally influence a young child in growth,
Is like assuming I don’t walk the sidewalk to remain safe,
From the wind of wild traffic to my left and to my right,
Or to say we don’t disobey ancient conventions,
In which mankind is barred from flight.

Between SpaceX and NASDAQ,
And the jealous old man named NASA,
“Good Wall Street” ain’t looked at,
As the media keeps its mind where its eyes remain fixed;
On the flaws and the findings,
The wars and the signings,
The fear of dead children whose pics we find blinding.

The new Rules of Engagement,
Angers militaristics in danger,
Of bullets and shrapnel they volunteered to go face;
They are angry at the awareness created by J. Assange,
When ****** was collateral damage, to which they are fond;
It’s strange, as truth is now treason,
And a man needs a reason,
To liberate information we deserved in the first place,
Yet our apathy, indifference, and anger at ourselves,
Commits us to a stage of denial within book-shelves,
Inside which we fear ‘it,’
We fear ‘them,’
And ‘their’ ****,
Yet we hallow the ground in our mind in which we hide action;
For we fear that we’ll be charged for our thinking’s infractions.

Please reassure me that I’m free,
And that I am my own faction.
tread Mar 2013
When we go travelling together one day
and one of us has a window seat
can we just sit on eachother's laps?
tread Feb 2013
Society is a case of forward smiles and back logged tears. Most of us are crying most of the time. Look at that middle aged grimace, the Starbucks smile of I'm-here-because-I-have-to-be.

I'm sorry you were born a human being.

Our greatest tragedy is the fact that it could be better. Life could be a breeze. But we won't let it be, we must keep on pushing gravity back into space.

We demand the air march into our lungs; we order the water to our bellies. We do all this as if it wouldn't happen of itself.

That is our greatest tragedy.
Life as beyond is a miracle. Life in the circle is death in constant progress.

The end.
tread Mar 2013
hangover anxieties where the world melds
waiting for insanity all I need to do is sleep
cuddle my lover, be with the angel of my soul
and stop working off prior expectation as to what and where and why and who.

I'm gonna be completely fine.

next combination won't include MDMA, beer, and coffee in the morning.
tread Jan 2013
writing poems about
odes about
codes about
nothing

sitting still
except the feel
of fingers typing
something

oh
give it up.
arc
tread Apr 2013
arc
your festivities left me marked
in bleeding

slumber.


I didn't
want to dance anymore.
I
didn't want to

dance
anymore.
tread Apr 2013
Called in sick because
the lesser of two evils
was a blatant lie. A
sequinned radiator
full of consent and
practice versus
pseudo control,
pseudo amends.
tread Sep 2010
There was once a world,
That did see no death.
It was so pure,
No one dared take a breath.

It was so perfect,
So bright and serene,
It was never depressing,
And it was never once seen.

The obvious truth is,
That it may have been pure,
And it may have been smooth,
Of that, I'm sure,
But nothing existed,
No life,
And no love.

No bullets and rifles,
Or pretty white dove.

No ******,
No Stalin,
No pistols,
No pollen.

No Jewish,
Or German,
No you,
And no vermin.

No mean men,
Or ******,
Just the ground,
And a twisted, old girder.

There was also no conflict,
No disagreement or strife.

No good men lay dying,
Yet sadly, no fife.

The truth is,
That as long as mankind exists,
There will always be anger,
And ignorance will always mean bliss.

As long as men walk the Earth,
Men will continue to hate.
At the same time they'll love,
And they'll count on that trait.
tread Feb 2013
daft as the last 3 things you said, I don't
question much aside from life. in how many
sentences could I make a reference to an old
French poet to illustrate to you how little
sense Albert Camus makes seeing as I have yet
to go to university? You'd think the sand clocked
in his socks from all those summers spent in
Algier's would have consumed much more than
background or 'home is where the heart is.'
the right mind is the right heart is the home
is the everywhere you go. in a world where
'I-Ching' and 'cha-ching' are context insofar
as bookstores, I doubt much and question little,
money is dharma too. dharma I wish to burn because
my hate for money is dharma. back-flip. slightly
arrested in development is the faculty of spirit
in GDP, at least the lion still roams the Savannah
and at least I can explore the lion. My New Years
resolution is 1080p. what's yours?
tread Mar 2013
Angelic in stature, you're not a master,
You're not my master.
You're my equality spread like butter and jalapeño jam on a toast made to years of success.
Don't forget. It's not what you wished for,
It's not that you wished.

The fact remains that wherever the current decides to line itself and hang wet clothing is a decision made by beautiful coincidence,
So the legless can swim and the legged can spin in parking lot circles, it's the middle of the night and this is how you met her.

Can I pull a fast one? Well you cant pull a slow one, you can only carry it.
So yes, pull a fast one so the decision to put it behind you won't haunt me for the rest of life,
Because I don't want to say I almost did it,
I wanna say I did. I wanna say we loved each other madly in the corner of our parents lives so everyone left that part of the room undecorated, because the posters are ours.

The fact remains that wherever you decided to footstep the Earth is a decision made by beautiful coincidence and the world is friendlier then it seems, there is no need to impose.

Leave yourself to dry along the line set by the current,
We can wait because eternity enjoys itself in fooling us,
Shepherding the cants and wonts into oops I dids,
we believe, we believe, we believe.
written March 16th, 2013
back home.
tread Sep 2013
life is an autistic boy's
shining blue eyes
of childlike innocence

incoherently slapping
the bongos

like God saying,

"and?"
he's beautiful. bombastic.

immortal.
tread Sep 2013
Today: I feel emotionally
numb with a twinge of
omnipotent anxiety
which keeps whispering,
'you don't really love her,
kid.'

somehow I know I love
you, but what the feeling
begs to ask is.. 'do you
love her like you think
you do?'

I hope so.
I really hope so.
I'm sorry I feel this way.
B
tread Oct 2013
B
I died once

in the hallow mechanics of an elevator set to silent

I died once
tread Sep 2013
between the cushions, there's
nothing but a black hole.

smoke another bowl and
contemplate the facet.

underneath that world map
lies a part of the world- - -
unmapped.
unmarked.

left to the brave pioneers
who remove the push tacks
and gallantly name the space
after themselves- - - soon you
will find my wall next to
Vancouver
in the atlas

and my head will be a city
long forgotten to history.
tread Nov 2012
head
brain specific
feels heavy

a little too much slouch factor
day in
day out

I marvel at the very weirdness of existence
to the point that I will wonder
if it's so weird, I am sick in existing

likelier,
I am sick in thinking existence so strange.

in the bliss phase of a hangover
I can march like a sage
no, I am a true sage
ready to let the bottom of the pale collapse from the weight
of the water

nueronal reflection
each atom in my head attempts to stare at itself
thus freaking its essence
right the **** out.

calm the **** down.

you can't bite your teeth,
with your teeth.
tread Jan 2013
it's like my mind is on fire
disintegrating into a nothing
sport of scorched earth
where maybe in control
was too far and I believed
myself when I said it was
okay to kick my innards
with a book in my hand.

I believed in magic but
it was a little too slim
chanced to grim reaper
the smile off my face and
bathroom slips only got
me rest when I was already
half-dead. Where did I go
when I left me, where did
the highway end? cut like
a tack with Achilles smirk
the fable ended in last  
period, 12th grade.
tread May 2013
share with me a life full of apple seeds
and plants. a life bounded only by

--?--

old used bookshops - - - bookships.
set sail with me, won't you? set sail
with me to the ends of this mighty
earth and dirt spurs my moments
to perfect oblivion- full, so full. empty,
with such fullness. you are --?-- and I
am in love with you. you are in love
with me. we are in love. like sour
diamonds and tents full of naked adventure,
riversides, mountainview ride into lopsided
beauty- I am yours to keep, darling, if you'll
have me.
and we wondered?

together.

and we wandered?

together.
tread Sep 2013
I'm beginning to
hate your guts
And how you've
decided to
abandon me
For many lips
And many *****
To test, and taste
new hues of
*****.
I know this poem offended you when I put it up the first time. I believed you when you said it wasn't for these reasons, and I still do. but I have to admit that, in light of what you actually did, this is part of my vindictiveness towards it spiking outwards. you did what you did, and I will continue to tell people the truth of the matter. I will not gather forces against you.. I will not organize 'unfriendings' or try to force the morals of the occurrence down anyones throat.

But whoever asks why we didn't last will get the honest answer. They will get the other factors.. the fights, the lack of compromise, the different points in life.. but they will also hear about what you did and how it prevented us from moving past it. How it added that last toxic dose to what we had.
Whatever impression they get about you from the truth is your fault, and your fault only.

Goodbye, Amanda.

Perhaps, in a month, we'll make amends.
tread Sep 2013
blocks of fluid motion
unlike ice.

moves and carries the package deal like FedEx 24/7,
ivy grabs the Empress in a flat embrace
waits like a dead red coat for the British to reinforce its garrison.

if happiness were sold as madness
how many of us would be architects?
tread Nov 2012
I think we all forget
Our poor old immortality.

a beginning and end have never made sense.

nothing has never made sense.

and I mean nothing.
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