Friday, February 22, 2013

His lips are Strangers.

Does it kill you inside
To know I'm not
Like it kills me inside
To know you're not
To know we like to hug
And kiss
And hold hands
But deep inside
There's nothing else.
Just emptiness
Ignorance is bliss,
But what do you do
When the bliss runs out
Because ignorance
Is no longer an



Do my eyes light up
When I talk to
With that evanescent glow,
Ignorance is bliss
Can you see
My soul
Filled with hope
Which I never believed in
Pour through my motions
The drippings of a waterfall
And joyous.
To be so full of hate
You Love.
To be so full of love
You Hate.
And once the waterfall runs dry
Do you see
The light start to

From my eyes?

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Day two.

starting to feel like I'm stuck here.

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Monday, February 4, 2013

I Know This Place.

It remembers me.

The lonliness. the darkness. The despair.

It remembers me. Oh yes. It remembers.

The thoughts
Tinkering their games on bold roses.
Beautiful thoughts being bled to death, Suffocated by weak human motives, mammalian instincts and disgusting chemical bondage and release. Driven mad as a drill bit into a brick sidewalk that mesmerizes everyone who looks out of the window eating their lunch. Staring staring, always staring. Entranced by the sink and release of such a powerful machine. You know lonely? I know this place. Like the back of my hand I made a map but If you took a picture would I be able to tell my hand from the rest? Think you know lonely? This is crazy. I know that place too. The land of over think and over thought and too much thought and not enough thought to think. I know crazy. But this place I know too. It is the land of empty. And sometimes it's good because you think you know where you're going though you can't feel it, but like Apple Maps you look up all of a sudden to fall into a sewage hole and down down you fall like Alice in Wonderland, not knowing where you're going, just knowing you're spinning out of control. And it's not objects flying around you, it's memories. Lost and long forgotten beautiful and ugly and horrible memories that are like acid to your soul and when you're falling you fall through every single one and once you hit the bottom there's no rabbit but there is poison on the table in a dark empty room. And all you do is stare at it and wonder if it's worth it, to get to what's on the other side of the door. Because you have no clue at all what's over there, beyond the door. You try to escape from the hole you're in, but it's slick walls. Slick walls that seem to grow tighter and tighter until you feel there's no choice but poison.

Until one good thought falls down, from where, you don't know. And this one ray of light suddenly becomes a balloon. And as that good thought fills you up and heals some of that burn, some of that hurt, it lets room in for just one more good thought. And soon the balloon is full enough to get you floating. Floating straight up through the hole, away from the poison, which is media, which is family, which is anyone or anything that brings you down and inwardly kills you but mostly which is yourself, and it brings you up, past all the bad, past all the horrible thoughts and memories, right back into empty, past it into a shining place called happy. Just for a little while. And it's good, because it feels like you know where you're going.

Think you know crazy? I know crazy.

And this,

is getting out of it.

It remembers me.

I hate lying alone here with these bad feelings. About missing kissing when it actually meant something. Or how no one wants to hug me because hugs always mean something more or even if they don't mean something more they're not meaningful. The feeling you get where you've Lost everyone you love to death, and you didn't cherish them how you should have. Their hugs and their kisses are the ones you miss the most. You long to hug people you know but know when the time comes it's not as satisfying as you imagined because they don't want the hug like you do, or need it like you do. And they squeeze too tight or let go too soon or hardly hug you at all. Immediately you feel ashamed, or embarrassed, but mostly you just feel empty. But always you go home and as you lie there, just wishing, for once, for someone to be nice to you, you imagine hugging them again. And even though you know it will be disappointing you still imagine it because the thought of everything being okay for just one second, just one whole second, and the thought that you could bring that second to yourself just by hugging another person, is too good to resist. So you imagine, you expect, you try, and ultimately, are let down by your own longing.

And the only pair of hands left to hug are that of your own loneliness and despair, to which now, the heart has grown so accustomed, it wouldn't recognize anything else as satisfactorily from there on out.

The one thing that never disappoints.


Saturday, February 2, 2013

Moments that Don't Matter.

And laying there he asked "What do you like about me?"
"What if I said I didn't like anything at all? She responded, monotone, staring of into space blankly, as if it were really the answer.
"Then I would ask what were even doing here in the first place" he'd said, slightly taken aback. Cold as well.
"And what if I said I didn't know?"
Silence pursued. And in that moment they both knew. Both knew there was no time for silly games, reasons for why they liked eachother or why they didn't. The answer was that it didn't matter. In hearts made of stone, and so cold no life exists-moments, such as these-never mattered, and were soon forgotten after a time. Making no mark upon the hollow stone, the moment itself never seemed to take even a grain of sand from the ever falling time clock. Slipping between the cracks, lost and forgotten forever, they both knew.

And in that, the time clock continued, and the sand continued to run it's course. Telling us we had more time, yet laughing quietly to itself, knowing it didn't matter if it gave us all the time in the world. For rocks do not live. They simply, carry on. For they have no other purpose in life, and as much as they try to move, they know they are only part of the mountain for which they're trying to climb. And so time laughs, as time carries on, and the rocks serve as steady placemats for those who need rest, but are soon left behind, trying to soak up the warmth of the sun, and growing ever more colder, as the dead of night continues to entrap them.


I remember how he touched my knee, with one or two fingers, stroking it, as we sat in the hallway. Even though I had hairy legs and told him not to.
And I remember walking down the hall and holding his arm as we went to class. Looking forward to seeing someone after class. How many times had I walked alone in that hallway, not really caring, not really minding or noticing. But oh how I missed it when it had stopped, faded away like the ghost of a memory from years past. I walked the halls no more but suddenly they felt empty. Suddenly I felt alone. Surrounded by people I felt alone. He was my best friend. I had never had one of those before. I had never needed one.

But oh how I missed it when it went away.
Oh how I missed it, spending my days looking at a sunset, trying to catch shadows as solid figures to piece back together what was gone forever. Who would touch my hairy knee as he had? Love me like he had?

And who was I, to love them back?