here i am showing up in black and white. the only laguage i know electrified back at me and all who eventually skim with the eyes, feathers touch down in water. with no character other than simple lines and times. even the smallest of streets. thinnest of knees, a blanket of lights so we can be covered and still see. i see your lids spread im breaking nknout, just a rush closer to jumping out, the window is open. it is cold.
if you couldnt handle it, it wouldnt be happening to you, around you.
if you find yourself suffereing you nay also be desiring in equal amounts.
ive never sat on such a green limb, on this tree ive grown. and decorated and died and ripped and bruised with those allowed with shoes untied. someone made it to the top once. i felt his weight from the bottom of me.
it is november 23, 2013
created by one with no skin that made your own. something fell off the wall last night its that painting you hate that i made. couldnt have done today without me, but being here makes me someone i hate to be. its all for you. i desire a hard kiss that doesnt hurt my pierced lips. a light that isnt bald or branded by a lightlife default. this anxienty i’ve humiliated even the word its’self by bring out. im falling for the fruit thats always fallen just as much as the oranges and grapes. ive dug for spices to season your ageing flavor. to chose a different kind. the first thing you taste. do someone new for thirty days, your twenty and your words arent for anybody not even you.
we’re late. for nothing. periwinkle sky, blue and green on the other side, they bond unnaturally in natural day stinking light. Justic again. in my ears more than sweat and tears.
she burst through the door her adrenaline and rain drops dropped to the floor. contemplation walked downthealley and found a real answer. one must stop hoping and saying sorry. wishing is a waste of time and hoping is mildly plastering expectation on the ground in front of you. under the blonde dust of well elaborated fingers, ONLY HOPE resided in every pore, we spoke of dance and ritaline and i realized she was a delicate whore. the answer undisguised and under a wig she really shouldnt have scored. for her own self seemingly a bore.
Dream: delicate deer unvoluntarily surrendered, a dead man lay just before. a woman with senses cut abruptly at her shoulders. her intuitision extiguished that the deer would have to leave itself for the sake of the man, life passes through our vessels like water through shells in the sea, shells now left with sand and the bones they are, you get yourself back and more. cresent half moon flower, blue upturned skirt or stringy fence of petals the center a whitish yellowish and pinkish tinge. letting go of the wild insides that make us restless for daily life, that, in a physical bosy we have to enjoy or destroy; interepreted throughout an entire week of distress and dissassociation.
eyes parallel locked by the nectar we’ve brewed in boiling to see you nude and a true seed from the fruit, our chemicals so busy getting to know the stream. those seen in passing are those in dreams, we choose who they are so we can be who all we can be. these people being transported by a silver gyrating machine. constrained with only lack of considerable comfortable time. we’ll get you to where your life begins again but until then hold on to your patience the roads are never thin for long.
more lines from the ever ending night, stereo has a new way of projecting its cheapened voices and the perks of the ride is far and all material encrusted sights to be experienced. i find myself in more parking lots than woods these days, little to be known of what i’d really be doing with my time these days, maybe with different friends who are maybe female, and I, not feeling sexually confused but a neutral womanhood powership carried with the phrase,’ with less i have more, moderation is key and i as always the best things in life for free. awoken by a motivation to flee, didn't leave without three sessions of too hot tea, he takes forever and i don't have the strength of emotional fabric on my sleeve. cant hold it in. cant quite leave. gettin down to now, with the same tunes of then. when we’d lay so deep in cemetery’s grass, tripping our twisted selves thin. the radio dept and your pedals, giving up your favorite shirts and most prized pins,
to let go, to kiss her then and there, desire neither here nor in a girl with long hair. and im no longer sorry for leaving you with leftovers, while I'm still here. haven't left yet and if i did you’d be bingeing on the freshest parts of old leaves, the pollen filled corners of hexagons and bees who think they are red and not yellow. i don't speak i listen and wonder and wait, im not rude and im surely not sorry, mister, you get me all wrong.
cracking lips pained face out of place head up shoulders straight, you’ll always belong with the tricks of this palace entranced queen. she wakes up with no need, not even water from dusted rocks.
toxic exhaust, will power lost. fuse snapping its so loud, indianous sunloving hands clapping and fire tossed.why do you have to know, your not from anywhere.