ifyoucanreadthisgofuckyourself

nopunctuationnogrammarnospacesforyoutohideinplayspotthetyponowfuckerthespacebecomessointimatethatthereisnospaceanymoreyoushaveatomsoffmyskintogetcloseritislessvulnerabletobenakedbecausethenyoucantjudgemyclothes

5:35 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Incorporeal Incorporeality.

Your heart is a ghost town for ghosts. Spirits don't linger to haunt, no matter the ties that bind. The phantoms of regret and remembrance can't find even an afterimage of what you were to project against the backs of your eyes. The earth at your feet is so hungry that any drop of pride is quickly wicked away and absorbed deep into the surface and out of reach. You hope for nothing and pray for nothing and want for nothing and dream of nothing. The vacuum of space shivers at the thought of your icy numbness.

2:00 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Nameless Faceless.

I once let a girl listen to "99 Ways to Die" by Megadeth. She said it scared her. She didn't understand that that was the only way I could communicate. Through the words of others. Like magnetic poetry. She scared me by being scared when I hadn't truly opened my head to her. I knew I would terrify her beyond comprehension. We are no longer together.

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I once let a girl read lyrics that I wrote. She asked me if that was the way I really felt. She didn't understand that I am incapable of writing lyrics about anything other than the way I really feel. We are no longer together.

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I once let a girl read some lyrics that I wrote. She got very mad that some girl once made me feel that way. She didn't understand that the lyrics were about how I felt at that current moment, not some time in the past. We are no longer together.

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I once wrote and recorded a song for a girl. She didn't seem much impressed with it. But that's okay. I know in my heart that the expression was true: she doesn't need to validate that for me. Her not understanding that expression doesn't make it less true. It's only a song. I hope we stay together.

2:10 AM - 2 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

Past.

The fire in my gut
extinguishes on my tongue
and becomes a puff of sulphur smoke in your face.

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The bad thing about being unhappy is that you write bad poetry.

The bad thing about being happy is that you write bad poetry.

The bad thing about writing is that you write bad poetry.

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As follows:

You shone so bright you blinded me but I can't love what I can't see
(scatter-shot and lost at sea)
I reached inside to touch your heart but I can't make love where there is none
(there is no blame, we gave it a shot)

It takes a little bit more substance than I may be capable of

I wring this neck like it was yours, where's the right note? Where's the right chord?
(buried deep in dissonance, hidden in the casual word)

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Unfinished, like me and you and us forever.

Except we are.

1:04 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Cyclopamine.

Polydactyl
tactile
malleable
ductile

six fingers pull troughs through my brain
but I'm still too square for the (w)hole.

Currently listening : Home Is a Strange Place By Paw Release date: 22 August, 2000

11:41 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Plans.

I had them.

For posting here everyday.

That worked really well.

7:21 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment