02.06.2009

Get ready for the ramble:

Understandable sometimes just translates to unacceptable. I work and work but still end standing, waiting for scraps to tumble from this table. Worthlessness. Thats the name of this feeling creeping up my crumbling throat. My stomach turns. Lonely but not alone. We've all been there, I know. I fill books and pages and napkins with the things that live inside of me. I draw ugly and you call it cute. Such a social butterfly these days. Who knew you could just slap wings on a slug and pass it off? I thought they were only useful for wasting salt, but it seems that the salt, when strategically placed, makes like medicine and kicks coffins out of graves. Yet still I'm here, rotting in secret like a serial victim. I guess we technically all die in the end, right? I've carved my name on cavern walls. I've left my mark, no matter how wobbly the writing. I'm not done by any means, but I feel that if I had to be, I could be. Call me old fashioned, but back in my day actions spoke louder than the things we say. My hands shake for something to keep them busy. My mind, oh, I don't even know where to start with that bastard. Swaying back and forth between creative metaphor and blatant truth. I can't focus. This will tell you everything or nothing. I guess what it really boils down to is that I'm feeling lonely and uninspired. 24 going on 60. I wish I could just live my life, but it always seems like its living me.

I was never good with cypher

I never understood how paper could defeat rock.
You can't budge stone when you're the open book.
A faulty line of communication.
The problem found at the source.
No one connected your wires...or someone came and tore them out.
I don't feel like I'm asking too much when I want to know where I stand, but I suppose if I'd just take a look I'd see I'm being swallowed up by sand.
I reached my hand out and you just stood there shaking your head.
I reached my hand out.
I reached my hand.
I reached.
I reached.
I reached and all I could grab was fucking air.
I should be used to this failure.
Trying too hard for something that was never even there.
I thought I saw something breaking in your mortar.
I could have sworn light was coming through.
Now I'm falling into that old river because you don't want anything to prove.
I reached my hand out and you just stood there.
I guess you thought I'd drag you down.
You could have waited for me to swim but you'd rather stay protected and watch me drown.
I reached my hand out and you just stood there.
I reached out my hand.
I reached my hand out and you just stood there.
I had no idea that I'd already planted my feet on solid land.

Well that was fucking pointless

If I had ever gone to college I would have become a doctor so I could cut myself open to examine the workings of my bleeding guts. I'd lay them out, one by one, and finally see everything that makes me feel so fucked up. As I bled to death I'd wonder if it was one girl or some other that turned me into the bloody mess that I've become. Everyone's had a broken heart, but I never calculated that, somehow, my small intestine would have become caught up in such things. My stomach, spleen, gallbladder, and liver all scream the name of someone who's made them so damaged that I can't even look some people in the face without feeling them all lurch forward and try the escape my skin. Its pathetic, I guess. Some people have the ability to not care. This has become painfully obvious to me lately now that I spend my nights either alone or awkwardly staring at a wall because, out of the two people sitting there, I'm the only one speaking. I wish I could break myself that badly. Maybe I'd be better off spending all that college money on a trade school so I know how to build walls as strong as yours.

1/2/09

Another late night drive keeping bloodshot eyes out for the Dallas skyline. I love this city, but I hate its heart. I love this feeling, but I loathe what makes it start. So many endings have come and gone now. I wasted all my words. Grandiose thought patters spread thin like the lips of stupid girls. I'll be 25 in 2009. Another era in wasted time.

12/20/08

The problem with a liquid is that it evaporates.
The problem with solids is that they'll erode away.

I'm Made of Particles

I've been calling in sick since the day that I left you. I lay in bed until 3pm. Its been something like two months, I need to get out of this house. I don't know this place without you here. So I'm taking a trip south to the beach. Its an 8 hours drive, I hope this piece makes it there. I hear its its warm now this time of year. I've been cold (and every other cliche) without you here. I guess I'm trying to say that I miss you, I'm sorry, please come back.

12/4/08

Ugh, Bro, You're Really Harshing My Mellow

Well, yeah, we know you look so great staring down from your high horse, standing on your glowing cloud, etc, etc …etc. You made your point. You really need that label. Yeah. You really need everyone to know. You’re not a drunk, just a loud mouth. You’re not high, just stupid. We all get it. We ALL get it. You’re so pure and you’re so good, yeah, you’re so much better. Well I’m out of here, and you’re just talking to hear yourself now. The only pressure I’ve ever gotten is from your side (probably because you’re so right). I just want you to know that it’s okay just to live your life. No need to sleeve your morals. No need to force your opinions. You’re almost as bad as Christians. Just as much of a hypocrite. Don’t drink, don’t smoke, don’t fuck and be sure to let everyone know you really need that label.

I Consider This Proof That Doctors Are Gay

We made out and I got whatever you’ve got. My throat wakes me up I’ve got that constant cough. Fuck this stuffy nose, I just want Theraflu and cold nights next to you. It’s been two weeks and I’ve just been toughing it out. An apple a day, that’s what they say, but I’m downing cherry syrup and making my life a haze. I painted monsters and some airplanes dropping bombs because I really have no idea what the fuck is going on. You keep me up until 7. I swear I’ll never get better. I’m coughing my lungs up. My nose won’t stop running. It’s fucking pathetic, I can’t help but sweat it because I’ve got this fever and I hope it lasts all year. Bring me cough drops and Chap Stick and soup and some movies. Bring me your legs across mine. Bring me anything as long as you’re here. You keep me up until 7, I swear I’ve never felt better, I’ve got this fever that I hope will last all year.

11/4/08

Lost my grip. Now I’m floating aimless in an ocean of skin that’s faltering. Too rocky an endeavor to not affect my withering bones, the way the ice storm froze your water colder than I could believe. This atlas is old and these islands are mapped incorrectly. I found myself in the uncharted latitudes and longitudes’ meeting place and stranded off the coast of anything that should mean anything to me. I carved this grid into the skin between my teeth so I could come back and drown myself when I get tired of losing sleep.

This IS A Love Song

Fuck this fucking planet, fuck the fucking world. I’m tired of being great, its getting fucking old. Darkness screams my name and begs me to stay asleep. I grip my jaw so fucking tight I crack my fucking teeth. I want to punch a hole through the entire fucking world. I want to fight a speeding bus and end up in fucking hell. I want to blow your fucking head off with a shotgun through my brain. I want to fucking kill myself when I just see your face. FUCK.

9/19/08

Make your millions, flattened city, cover your culture. Stretched your skin too thin, you crushed your beauty under the weight of golden arms. Now this is a worthless ship sailing on the naked tides of an empty ocean. I can see the snakes from up high slithering through your grid work. Congratulations lovely, you’ve killed one thing I adored, but I’ll decorate this city with the names of what you lost.

9/17/08

Crying on my doorstep, filthy with instigation. Weave your web someplace else, little spider. I need some time to grieve. Wishing without hoping because I know your day will come. Sorrow spread so fucking thin that my lips can’t feel it rushing down. Brick-faced indignation, chest-piercing stares. We settled for so little but you cried until you got what was theirs. Make molehills out of thin-air, and mountain-size your world. I’ve got shoulders fit for weighted means, but nothing like your words. Dusty resolutions made clean with little effort became the revolution you yearned to cling to. Forget your own four seasons and make weather all yours. We can live in a sea of regrets as long as the water’s warm.

9/16/08 #2

Meander somewhere between distance and dissonance. Scar the tissue of the wasted words. Scatter smiles. Place the fault on the shoulders of reason. Make an effort to scour it clean. Waste these letters on burning paper. Write your name on all the ashes. This is the following message. The recorded voice right after the siren. This is worse than living. This is the feeling of waiting in the wings.

9/16/08

This world is folding over. You looked but you leapt anyway. How does it feel falling? How does it feel falling toward yourself? Repetitions of repetitions. Scratch your way out of the mud. You can feel your lungs getting smaller. You can feel yourself giving up. Moving like slow-motion, gears grinding you to dust. You swear you found the answer to everything. You scream that you’re not lost. I watch you splinter. I watch your lips shake. I can see the way the ocean swallows things that it’s never even seen.

8/19/08

My eyes perceive nothing but black skies outside these dusty walls. They crave the sun, but little do they know...its out there waiting. Its out there waiting to attack and bounce off them blinding. Send me away, tell me “Oh, boy, don’t you dare come back.” Well, I won’t. No, but not because you said those words to me. No, I won’t be back, but not because you told me anything. My eyes can’t see anything but black skies past your shining face. They know me. They know how I’m going to change. Yeah, they see me. They see walking away like I won’t come back, but I will be. Little do they know...

8/4/08

I have absolutely no one that I can talk to about everything that is making me feel like I'm being crushed. It all effects anyone I could talk to in some way or the people are having equally as trying times.

As of now I am financially fucked, which is making me emotionally fucked. Work is definitely not helping. I'm in over my head, with my hands tied, and everyone is asking me why I can't swim over and over and over. Its almost to the point where I can't take it. I fight panic attacks all day long and thats wearing on me too. I need to see someone, but seeing as I have no money ever, I'm not sure how.

For the next two months or so I will be living in forced poverty so I can try and get back on my feet, but even then the well can only hold so much water before all of the thirsty people have drained it dry. What then?

Late:
Rent
Gas
Electric
Cell phone
Car insurance
Loans from my mom to take care of previous late rent/gas/electric/cell phone/insurance.

I just don't know what to do at all. I feel like an utter failure.

Manhattan

The air swims around me, thick. Thick like the blood chugging on through my veins. Thick like thieves. Basically the same thing. Time is running out for us. The clock-piece cogs are falling all over Brooklyn while my father tells me all my dreams are drowning, which is ironic, this being a dream and all. A life wasted for the want of some sort of reaction. Nuclear, to be clear here. Platonic always sounded like something that glows green anyway, right? Something cancer-causing. This doesn’t mean a thing. Hospitalize me for the way I think, suffocate me in medicine and bleach white sheets. This isn’t me. Will someone tell everyone this just isn’t me, please? Glass shatters strong when it hits the streets. Silver timepiece broken, stopping everything. Wake me up. I need the secrecy of her smoky bedroom. I need the sweet smell of her skin. I need to shake myself awake to those bright brown eyes and curly blonde hair. Someone pinch me please.

6/19/08

Riding the train is so good for getting focused in the morning. I just stare at the city around me, the barbed wire climbing out of the darkness, the fences, the buildings covered in layers of paint to cover up things that they consider ugly. I think its beautiful, but that’s just me, I guess. Someone had something important enough to say that they put it on the side of a building, five feet tall, for everyone to see. The city decides that it is inappropriate. Cover up the art. Disguise the character. Lie to yourselves that this will stop all of the crime. There are no homeless if we cover up these lesions with mismatched paint. Pick up your trash. Litter hurts the environment. That’s what they say while trimming trees and covering the earth in concrete. What will we do when there's no oxygen? You can buy water in a spray can for your face. You can buy compressed air (with a bitterant now because so many kids were just having fun). The downfall of society is reflected in every violent video game, every cuss word on television, every bare breast in a movie. Lift the weight from the shoulders of every parent too busy to take the time out to raise their kids. Bus to school to bus to work to bus to home to the microwave and Saved by the Bell reruns that you set the Tivo to record. Repeat until you think that this is how life is supposed to be. When you were a kid did you dream of growing up to be protected from everything? To be told what’s best for you? To not think or feel for yourself? This is right, this is wrong. Black and white, literally. The world is crumbling and we're caught up with the fact that gay people can or cannot be married. The tomatoes are killing people, or is it the spinach? Gluttony and sloth breed fame and fortune. Do nothing and expect everything. Close your eyes. Go to sleep, and let me do all the thinking for you. I'll change the world. I promise. I'll shape the world from the second train of a light rail car moving at unknown speeds through a city while I fight sleep and make a list of everything I have to do in a day.

Incoherency in the key of E

I spend my days so angry lately.
I guess maybe frustration’s a better word, I just get so grumpy when I’m sleepy.
My eyes are burning as the world moves too fast beneath me.
You and I lay, barely breathing, in the shallow water of the evening,
“I want you to love me”
So I pull you closer to me and I kiss your lips so deeply,
“I’m not going anywhere, sweetie.”
It’s my honesty that always seems to get the best of me.
I’m an open book with transparent pages, everyone seeing through me, it’s so spooky.
I can’t make a move in this town with out feeling a little loopy.
The medication running through me is making the world a little blurry.
Sunlight keeps me blinded as it slowly heats the concrete and I sing:
“Never gain, never again, never again…”,
And I hum a little melody to accompany the broken chorus of my dry-throat.
With my voice cracking I sing:
“…never again.”
A year full of first Christmases and birthdays and Halloween parties I wasn’t dressed for.
I kicked the bucket like a summer storm.
I kicked the bucket like was what I lived for.
I can hear the rain pitter-pat outside and I hope for soaked bones under wet clothes.
Really I just want to be lying next to you, falling asleep in the humidity of the afternoon.
I’m leaving fingerprints on every inch of skin that I can get my hands on and filling my lungs with every scent that will make you linger long after I’ve gone.
I love you like a summer storm.
I love you like it is what I live for.
Waking up the world to the prettiest girl I know.
Her lips like a gulp of water to my own parched, unworthy mouth.
A smile like every sunrise or sunset that I missed when I was too busy trying to catch up on sleep.
She is beauty and I will do my best to love her as such.
She is beauty and I will do my best to love her as such.