Step Four: Bile Burns

I'm physically ill tonight with fears and thoughts of wonders lost. Opportunity at the loss of ones happiness is the farthest thing from fair. The world doesn't have to be so cruel. We need not be so pessimistic in our ways and makes others suffer, like pawns that we may use and abuse to make our own way in life. Which brings another searing question into my mind, why is there no love for self expression? As children we are encouraged, (forced on occasions!) to be different, to stand out as an individual. Wear these clothes and do this to your hair or what have you, just be yourself. At this age, being an individual is synonymous with "attention-seeker". What harm is it to go against the grain every now and again? How many cashiers do you see with rainbow hair or maybe even just a pin on their shirt because they like it? "Dare to be different," was the motto when we were young. Now it's a threat to your future. God forbid you should come to work wearing anything even remotely against the dress code. You'll be sent home to change, or worse, to not come back. Like a rebellious teenager wearing menacing attire to match the expression on their face. It's degrading and judgmental and above all, unnecessary. We put on this face for the outside world hiding who we are and then we do the unthinkable: wonder why we can't find genuine friendships. Maybe if you hadn't hidden yourself from everyone you might've found someone just like you, or unlike you, or whatever you look for in a person. We cannot continue to lie to ourselves and everyone else and expect to find companions. We do a huge disservice to ourselves by following the rules. I will continue to be who I am until is kills me, and it never really will, will it? Can it, even? Is it possible that one's self-identity is self destructive? What it all boils down to is this: You can let rules tie you down or make them yourself and be free.

Chasing Embers

Again I find myself in the icy sting of upcoming winter
I am reminded of the time spent and sacrificed last year
Reflecting in the dark, looking at the stars with envy
Infinite worlds in the distance, infinite chances to be more than this
And I was planted in this dull soil
Of all the worlds that could be out there, that we don't know about
I was put here

Step Three: Blister Tongue

"No one should ever tell me I don't have a right to complain. Our problems may differ but all issues of this nature are severe. Are you worried yet?"

Yet again I sit here contemplating my existence. Just now it has dawned upon me that my life is so small, so insignificant, that simply being is no reason to suffer. To the ants, we are Gods. To the Gods, we are ants. To the universe, the Gods are nothing but fictitious energies created by our collective insanity as a way of coping with what we cannot comprehend. The placement of all these things is too convenient. Every moment in history has led up to one teenage girl having an existential crisis on the floor of her room while her drunk mother sobs in her sleep. Somewhere across the world it is entirely possible that someone is doing or thinking the same thing I am. It is entirely plausible that out of the millions of bedrooms in this country, one of them could be exactly like mine. We could have parallel lives. She could be working retail for the Devil's spawn and loathing every second she has to waste on putting other's pleasure above her own. She could be dreaming of finding a true family that wont fall victim to vices. She could be exactly, undeniably identical to me. And I will never meet her.

The world is fading. There are no colors. Every scent you once knew now smells like plain paper and black ink. You're just a child with a blank coloring book and a box of broken crayons. You could swear you tasted tears but your tongue has been missing since you could remember. Restricted senses have molded your mind into an expression of fear and apathy. God forbid you should ever feel. It would be chaos. Anarchy, even.

A can of spray paint rolls across the floor and bumps your foot. It's time you took your art to the streets. Prove you have a voice regardless of what the authority thinks. And maybe you'll find that person who thinks exactly like you. You'll find your reason to truly live. You are the product of natural selection. This is the way of nature and no one can stop you.

Step two: Belladonna and the Working Man

"My entire body is screaming in a language I don't understand. The vessel doesn't think but knows to survive. My mind has given up countless times, and yet, my arms refuse to move. My fingers protest and my throat tightens."

It's unfair. I see your eyes on every sunny day. I can't escape the color behind the clouds. What exactly do I have here? Plastic shackles, visual poetry. Little bits and pieces I've collected over these past few months. They add up to nothing. I can't make you out of tiny beads and bruises. I can only try to remember what your lips feel like on my skin and how your voice makes every inch of my body sigh. 

With all the time I've spent bettering myself, you've seen no progress. I can't say I have either. I don't blame you for what you do or think. I blame myself for all the things I didn't change when I had time. It's too late. Someone better is waiting for you. 

In a haze between what is and isn't, I find myself skipping stones and singing songs of longing. This could be a dream. In fact, I'm fairly certain it is. In a vain attempt to recollect all the times I've failed myself for the sake of someone else the ground opens beneath me and I am pulled to the center of the Earth by arms of sand and sea shells and skipping stones. Breath in the dust from shelves long forgotten and collapsed from the weight of damaged memories. It smells like heart break and abandonment. Miles down a hallway I see an old friend. His razor sharp fingers beckon me with their brilliant shine and red varnish. He never was all that kind, but he never judged me either. He was simply a vice that I ultimately controlled. And I never truly abused him. He never had to leave. More than I can say for most people. I can understand now what makes him so appealing. 

My footsteps are so quiet I can hear every creak in this house. What was once a castle of sand became a mountain of broken glass from a picture frame left neglected for generations, knocked down so carelessly by someone who couldn't appreciate your flaws and wonderful features. Millions of tiny reflections remind me that I'm running towards something. Someone, even. Another friend. Her wisdom is unsurpassed by my greatest elder. She stands with great pride written in her posture. The curves of her witch-like figure look to me like satin feels. I want to see her face.

It's 6:30 AM. Dressing for failure has become the last hobby I'll ever keep.

Cicatrix

Six feet is only skin deep
To be buried
So shallow beneath the grounds you stand
Shaking
I ask you
Why now?

I gave you everything and you dared to reciprocate in a way from which I would not recover
Returned my feelings like a gift
They were
But not to be returned
To be given back
Unwanted
Was the company you chose to keep and I repeat it to myself
From this day forward
I will lock the doors
The windows you wanted me to climb through
It's a sickness
Yes
And I cannot cure you
And I will not be a victim

A Gate Unlocked

You are
the perfect mix
of everything I want
and couldn't have
b e f o r e .

Twice the fool and still none the wiser

I miss when you used to miss me
You called me pet names
I felt wanted
Why did you give up?

Nervos pudding

If I had your arms to replace these sheets
And your chest as my pillow
I'd be fast asleep
Is this what writers thrive on?
Lovers maybe?
My brain is racing
My sleepy heart

I'm so fucking high right meow

My skull is a fishbowl
I feel them swimming circles around my brain
and jumping out of my ears
My body is a waterfall
in Brazil
My laughter is the thunder
before my rain tears of joy
I am a world
A planet
A Universe
in which thoughts reside as people
Veins are highways
for blood cell cars
I forgot where this was going
This won't be as inspiring when I'm sober

Process Assesment

God, you feel so good to me
Light in your eyes and on your tongue
Your firm grasp on my hand
is second to none
Except for, maybe, your hold on my heart
For once I'm scared to speak
in fear of your eyes meeting mine
and making me fall even faster
Like an increase in gravity
my body plummets toward the ground
that is your lips
in form of a desperate kiss

No. 26

What a mess I've made
Just to spend a day
With you
A perfect twist of fate
Will leave karma in shape
Of a hand
On my face

I want to feel beautiful
without you.
She's just another prize
you won with your charm.
And though I promised
never again,
I fell into your arms
and got lost in your lies.
Just once I'd like to feel
the same love I give
to everyone else.
From what I've learned,
from how everyone else has
treated me,
I can only assume
that I'd brush myself away.

Muddy Soles: A Conversation Piece

Step One: Contact

  "And in that internal explanation
the only answer I have
is that she was the moon"

 My senses are assaulted as I snap back and forth between reality and dreamscapes. Standing on a beach, I look around me and all I see is muted darkness. The water is black, the sand is grey. I am still in color. A familiar voice is shouting in the distance, "Let go!" This is a person I know. This is a person I haven't seen or heard from in years. This is a person I know doesn't like me. I'm dreaming. A flash of white behind me. I turn around to see the sky in a calendar. The number three stands out to me. a circle forms around the date I've been staring and a word appears, "her". The sky returns to an almost black shade with this circle staring me in the face. "3 her", it says.  I open my eyes to the sun shining. This is real. The first words I can think of fall from my lips and crash as wet spots on my blankets. "She is the moon."
 Four times today I have slept. This is unnatural.

Dancing Smoke

My stream of conscious lately
has been nothing but you.
Your touch, your kiss.
There has to be more
than just this.
There has to be
a future.

Industrial Playground

"I love you"
was washing the mud
off of your back.
"I love you"
was in every deep kiss
that we shared
under the warm rinse
of your shower.
"I love you"
was written on your body
in both scratches
and silent finger traces.
"I need you"
was the way I looked at you
when I woke up in your bed again
despite the danger.

Skipping Stones

With lowered expectations,

you'll either be right every time

or pleasantly surprised.

Daisy Chain Smoker

This album will always
remind me of you,
so don't ever leave.
The music is too good
and the memories
are better.

Her Daughter's Rosary

59 little golden pearls.
How silly, giving gold
to a child.
Painting her without
understanding,
her innocence
is fleeting.

Dirty Filter

What if your habits
weren't only yours?
What if your choices
influenced others?
What if you realized
how common you are?

1:46 AM

I'm empty.
I'm unbearably empty.
I just want to hear my angel.
Show her to me, and let me be at peace.
All I've ever wanted
was to be at peace.

Six Week Syndrome

Too long after,
I start to see the damage

1 for the Weekend

Technology has cut me off
from society
for the better,
with dying batteries.

Clipped

My sweet relief was
cut short
by Winter's icy sting.
Maybe she's trying to tell me
something.

Wretched.

Sometimes when I think of you,
and all the things we used to do,
I smile.
And that hurts more
that any rotten thing
you've ever done to me.

Fix me.

I see things in silhouettes.
White on black on white.
If I could harness all of these thoughts,
I paint for you each night.

Imagination

The thought of you
pulling my hair
spanking me
all the things I know you want to do to me
is greater than any
hardcore pornography.

What the fuck am I doing

Out with my friends
I'm all smiles.
And then I come home,
I'm sad and alone.
Leave me be,
all by myself.
When I think I'll need it,
I'll ask for help.

C'est Impossible

I am impossibly in love with you
As much as I love these songs
As much as I love these lyrics
As much as I long for the satisfaction
of strumming a tune to you
on a guitar,
I long for your kisses
late at night.

The Young Witches Gospel

Singing "War Pigs" to myself

Thinking where to go from here

Let the machine take me somewhere

far far away.

I need a Dream.

I need a dream.
I need not a dream
to be dreamt for me.
I need a dream that
I can dream alone.
That I can chase.
I need the effort,
the time,
the patience.
The passion.
But to begin me,
I need
a dream.

Mayhaps, my Dear.

Was it you?
Did you do the thing
you told me not to do?
I haven't fallen quite that far, but yes
you hold a place
in my heart.

False Perspective

There I stood, watching her break down. When it started, it was slow. I felt it long before I saw her in the street, clutching at her chest. We were just walking. Having a chat. Then she lit her cigarette, took a drag, stopped walking. She just stared down the road. Exhale. It was raining and all the shops were closed. I figure it had to be about 4 AM. Both of our phones were dead. We were completely isolated. Time started creeping again. At first I thought she was whispering. I then realized she had walked a few feet ahead of me. She was crying just above a whimper. And then she dropped. Dropped right to her knees, straight into a puddle. She's screaming now, non-English. Her cigarette fell into the water. I unglued my feet from the ground to go help her up. It'd be a long time before I saw her smile again.

Puncture

Green like my envy.

Green like your money. 

One and one makes a pair

but two seems kinda funny.

Notice how they separate,

how they stay apart.

That's all I really wanted

and I told you from the start.

Bubblegum+Pussy

What a rush,
your voice sends this venom
through my veins.
It's warm and nearly unbearable.
The animal in me says
that I should leave.
But like all my habits,
I'm hooked.

Sugar Spit

Love is a dagger
that we all readily thrust into our chests
and hope it doesn't kill us.

Kalimba

In every image I see
of sand and sun
of snow covered pine
of ice or flame
leaves a mark in me.
Another want, another need.

Split Lip

Tricky trickle,
let me find you.
Chase you with my
clever tongue.
Claws drawn and
prissily painted.
I'll give you what
you really want.

Virgin Chaos

It is the passionate violence,
the flame you only feel once
but never crave after.
Above all, it is
satisfaction.