The music fades in.
I feel my heart sink, plummeting to nowhere inside me.
It begins to pulse and pound, following each drum beat perfectly.
Blood flows in and swirls, gains its corruption to the sound of every guitar cord.
My fleeting heart forces the vile, infected red serum out into my body.
It fills my veins, and as the lyrics scream my blood vessels tingle and pop.
The viral blood rushes faster and faster inside me as he sings my damnation.
The bass strings pound in my mind, and with every strum salvation is lost.
This sound, this music which bonded itself to my soul long ago floods me.
And as my nerve endings drown in the verses, the lack of melody bridges the synapses in my brain.
Memories infiltrate my mind, and the constantly cumulating emotion in his voice becomes too heavy and crushes me.
I let go, and indulge.
I revel in the pain, the happiness, and the tears this musical poison has brought me.
You win again, Sir.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Pavement and Surprises
I wish I could say that the road life takes never surprises me. I wish that perhaps I could say that the fact that life surprises us no longer surprises me. The real truth of the matter is that life takes us every which way. Some people describe this as a roller coaster ride. I suppose I'd have to agree with this considering I feel that amusement park rides are death traps. On a side note, I do not find the thought of plummeting to my death while thrill seeking on some man made monstrosity of steel amusing. People easily walk in and out of our lives. It is hard to find a way to make them stay; or a way to make yourself stay for that matter. Time is sculpted by the people that fill its great void, and we find ourselves interwoven in the rough canvas drop cloth covering our masterpiece. Somethings are redundant in life. I'd love to say one door closing to another one opening is not true; but the damn reality of it is that it is proven to us every single day that the phrase reflects the way of life.
Across the ocean of pavement, the boat rises and falls with the waves.
Inside the boat built of relationships, the people are tumbled on their heads.
Across the ocean of pavement, the boat rises and falls with the waves.
Inside the boat built of relationships, the people are tumbled on their heads.
When you sleep
You sound so vulnerable and fragile, and the impulse to slither my arms around you is completely irresistable.
The desire and need to lie with you while listening to that soothing, steady beat is enough to make everything melt away.
"Come here" is often the first thing I whisper once your breathing slows.
The typical mumbled response and rustle of you moving makes my heart swell, and a content smile spread across my face.
I delicately speak your name, and hold my breath.
Once I am certain no response will come, I close my eyes for a bit and just listen to the wonderful stability you provide.
In your celestial slumber, you become my priest.
With every inhalation you make, I spill confessions from my tongue.
You are aware of my every heartache, every apology needed, every tear.
I have told you everything, and your heart cleanses mine.
With every exhalation you make, I pour desires from my tongue.
You are aware of my every dream, every want, every need.
Your sleeping heart is my dream box, and I constantly crave to hold it each morning when I wake and each night before I sleep.
As I settle in to the blissful, restful trance that is sleeping with you, I lightly speak the words " I love you" and kiss you.
No matter how deep your slumber, you always return the love mid-doze.
I sleep, and my heart holds yours as if it's in prayer.
Wishes ignite.
You're the perfect dream.
I sleep, and my heart kneels before you to heal.
Bless me, Demetri, for I have sinned.
Your forgiveness is painfully miraculous.
The desire and need to lie with you while listening to that soothing, steady beat is enough to make everything melt away.
"Come here" is often the first thing I whisper once your breathing slows.
The typical mumbled response and rustle of you moving makes my heart swell, and a content smile spread across my face.
I delicately speak your name, and hold my breath.
Once I am certain no response will come, I close my eyes for a bit and just listen to the wonderful stability you provide.
In your celestial slumber, you become my priest.
With every inhalation you make, I spill confessions from my tongue.
You are aware of my every heartache, every apology needed, every tear.
I have told you everything, and your heart cleanses mine.
With every exhalation you make, I pour desires from my tongue.
You are aware of my every dream, every want, every need.
Your sleeping heart is my dream box, and I constantly crave to hold it each morning when I wake and each night before I sleep.
As I settle in to the blissful, restful trance that is sleeping with you, I lightly speak the words " I love you" and kiss you.
No matter how deep your slumber, you always return the love mid-doze.
I sleep, and my heart holds yours as if it's in prayer.
Wishes ignite.
You're the perfect dream.
I sleep, and my heart kneels before you to heal.
Bless me, Demetri, for I have sinned.
Your forgiveness is painfully miraculous.
Irrational
The whole situation is completely irrational.
It's just as frenzied and moonstruck as you make me.
The feeling is so overwhelming at times, and I would never modify it.
All the things I wish I could say would never properly leave my lips.
The desire to repeat myself until it flows out correctly is maddening.
The frustration of thinking "I love you" isn't enough to portray how I feel is all consuming.
There is no account of why or how it happened, and I do not even wish for an explanation if there could be one found.
I am painstakingly and entirely intoxicated.
I have never known a love-drunk quite like this before.
I despise feeling like a flighty, foolhardy girl.
I have made zero attempts to ever cease it.
I lap it up elatedly, and roll it over my tongue like a rare, expensive wine.
I wish I didn't feel so chagrined in admitting it all to you, but even the soft, bashful blushes you induce aren't enough to stop me from things like this.
I'm left to ponder what exactly is so distinctive and exceptional about you.
The answer is Everything it seems.
My tolerance of it all is infinite.
You provide a comfort and gratification found no place else.
Despite all the fear and doubt, I just closed my eyes, held my breath, and dove head first.
The water feels fine.
I wanted to describe you as the water surrounding me, keeping me afloat.
I find it much more appropriate to refer to you as the necaterous breath of air inhaled when breaking the surface after having been held under far too long.
I think absolutely too much, and I consistently pray you do also.
I'd love to beg you to say what I'm thinking and feeling, and you own it.
I like to hope there is no need for you to do so because I already know.
It's just as frenzied and moonstruck as you make me.
The feeling is so overwhelming at times, and I would never modify it.
All the things I wish I could say would never properly leave my lips.
The desire to repeat myself until it flows out correctly is maddening.
The frustration of thinking "I love you" isn't enough to portray how I feel is all consuming.
There is no account of why or how it happened, and I do not even wish for an explanation if there could be one found.
I am painstakingly and entirely intoxicated.
I have never known a love-drunk quite like this before.
I despise feeling like a flighty, foolhardy girl.
I have made zero attempts to ever cease it.
I lap it up elatedly, and roll it over my tongue like a rare, expensive wine.
I wish I didn't feel so chagrined in admitting it all to you, but even the soft, bashful blushes you induce aren't enough to stop me from things like this.
I'm left to ponder what exactly is so distinctive and exceptional about you.
The answer is Everything it seems.
My tolerance of it all is infinite.
You provide a comfort and gratification found no place else.
Despite all the fear and doubt, I just closed my eyes, held my breath, and dove head first.
The water feels fine.
I wanted to describe you as the water surrounding me, keeping me afloat.
I find it much more appropriate to refer to you as the necaterous breath of air inhaled when breaking the surface after having been held under far too long.
I think absolutely too much, and I consistently pray you do also.
I'd love to beg you to say what I'm thinking and feeling, and you own it.
I like to hope there is no need for you to do so because I already know.
Words
I can't hide.
Giggle.
Laugh.
Tear.
Blush.
Everyone notices the smile that occurs when it's your number on the display.
Sex.
Lust.
Tension.
Fire.
Sometimes, when we are done with that I feel like everyone knows my dirty little secret.
Silly.
Brilliant.
Thought-provoking.
Caring.
I can't deny loving you exactly the way you are.
Distance.
Jealousy.
Differences.
Types.
Nothing seems to shake how I feel, and I am pretty confident nothing will ever change it.
Pong.
Everquest.
Green.
Growls.
Phones.
Songs.
Wolves.
Whispers.
Smirks.
Blankets.
Red.
Spongebob.
Teddy Bears.
Pillows.
Pictures.
cartoons.
Secrets.
Moans.
Noises.
Phrases.
Socks.
Couch.
Frebreeze.
lol.
love.
kissys.
right-side.
voices.
heart.
affection.
gyros.
potatoes.
hoodies.
bands.
car-dings.
cherry pepsi.
doritos (yuck).
rock.
Wicked.
bagels.
pirates.
It's amazing how incredibly long this list could be if I didn't stop myself right now.....
Do random, everyday, silly things cause you to think of me and smile?
Oh, I so love you far too much.
Giggle.
Laugh.
Tear.
Blush.
Everyone notices the smile that occurs when it's your number on the display.
Sex.
Lust.
Tension.
Fire.
Sometimes, when we are done with that I feel like everyone knows my dirty little secret.
Silly.
Brilliant.
Thought-provoking.
Caring.
I can't deny loving you exactly the way you are.
Distance.
Jealousy.
Differences.
Types.
Nothing seems to shake how I feel, and I am pretty confident nothing will ever change it.
Pong.
Everquest.
Green.
Growls.
Phones.
Songs.
Wolves.
Whispers.
Smirks.
Blankets.
Red.
Spongebob.
Teddy Bears.
Pillows.
Pictures.
cartoons.
Secrets.
Moans.
Noises.
Phrases.
Socks.
Couch.
Frebreeze.
lol.
love.
kissys.
right-side.
voices.
heart.
affection.
gyros.
potatoes.
hoodies.
bands.
car-dings.
cherry pepsi.
doritos (yuck).
rock.
Wicked.
bagels.
pirates.
It's amazing how incredibly long this list could be if I didn't stop myself right now.....
Do random, everyday, silly things cause you to think of me and smile?
Oh, I so love you far too much.
Smells like Home
The smell of domestic beer and coffee drafts around everything.
So odd and sinful the way it seems to match.
Hometown and Heavenly mixed perfectly.
Chalkboard signs and local paintings wrap themselves around the rooms.
Some of the paintings hauntingly resemble teenagers from my childhood.
It's a warm heartache found in the wood warping of an over used building.
No other place to go; Here I am 8 years later in the same place, even changed as it has.
The music invading my mind is so blue and indie.
The brass ashtray is some flea market prize much like the rest of the mismatched garage sale furnishings scattered around me.
The strangers in the table down from me drink their kids away.
The mystery out of town man wandering the room finally takes a seat with the couple.
Maybe I should've executed some southern hospitality to the guy instead of ignoring the way he circled my table waiting for an invite.
I'd much rather just watch everyone be fake and introduce each other to their representitives than put my mask on.
How odd that a few of these folks manage to ruin their karma in a place with a setting to promote soundness.
Upon closer inspection of the walls, these paintings are not haunting at all, but truth.
A candy kid I knew back in the day has his named signed in the corner.
There is no need for me to read the sales tag, I know most every face he has painted here.
The celebrities that defined our teenage years, and the teenagers themselves are captured forever with spray paint on canvas or wood.
This entire place embraces the culture and convictions we thought we were fighting for in a small town of nothing but religion.
It's almost amusing how at home this feels.
I thought I had outgrown this feeling.
No one should ever be too old to feel at home and at peace.
Before it changed repeatedly over the years, it was almost this.
We use to sit every weekend ten feet to my left.
We drank far too much coffee and lounged in large leather or wicker furniture.
Now I watch guys the age I wish I could be again play chess.
I have every intention of finishing this beer, my house blend in this cup, and beating them at a game before the band starts.
The place quickly fills up, possibly because there are six tables and a coffee table to fill the space provided.
Outside might be nice to escape the small crowd of people that I do not care for, but the loss off my Bob Dylan serenade would be depressing.
Some things about a "bar", no matter what you try to call it, remain the same.
I can't help but snicker at the familiar beer arguement already taking place.
Domestic is so tasteless.
American might as well be water.
European is so colorful.
Imports are so flavorful and sophisticated.
Everyone drinks for the same reason, therefore the arguement quickly becomes pointless.
It should not matter what it taste like when you swallow your fun and sorrow.
Perhaps that is my problem, maybe I should care what my laughter taste like as it sloshes in my mouth.
Even more so, maybe I should be concerned if my bitterness tastes properly going down my throat.
I'm sorry I lack the ability to give a fuck about such things.
Damn, this place smells like home...
So odd and sinful the way it seems to match.
Hometown and Heavenly mixed perfectly.
Chalkboard signs and local paintings wrap themselves around the rooms.
Some of the paintings hauntingly resemble teenagers from my childhood.
It's a warm heartache found in the wood warping of an over used building.
No other place to go; Here I am 8 years later in the same place, even changed as it has.
The music invading my mind is so blue and indie.
The brass ashtray is some flea market prize much like the rest of the mismatched garage sale furnishings scattered around me.
The strangers in the table down from me drink their kids away.
The mystery out of town man wandering the room finally takes a seat with the couple.
Maybe I should've executed some southern hospitality to the guy instead of ignoring the way he circled my table waiting for an invite.
I'd much rather just watch everyone be fake and introduce each other to their representitives than put my mask on.
How odd that a few of these folks manage to ruin their karma in a place with a setting to promote soundness.
Upon closer inspection of the walls, these paintings are not haunting at all, but truth.
A candy kid I knew back in the day has his named signed in the corner.
There is no need for me to read the sales tag, I know most every face he has painted here.
The celebrities that defined our teenage years, and the teenagers themselves are captured forever with spray paint on canvas or wood.
This entire place embraces the culture and convictions we thought we were fighting for in a small town of nothing but religion.
It's almost amusing how at home this feels.
I thought I had outgrown this feeling.
No one should ever be too old to feel at home and at peace.
Before it changed repeatedly over the years, it was almost this.
We use to sit every weekend ten feet to my left.
We drank far too much coffee and lounged in large leather or wicker furniture.
Now I watch guys the age I wish I could be again play chess.
I have every intention of finishing this beer, my house blend in this cup, and beating them at a game before the band starts.
The place quickly fills up, possibly because there are six tables and a coffee table to fill the space provided.
Outside might be nice to escape the small crowd of people that I do not care for, but the loss off my Bob Dylan serenade would be depressing.
Some things about a "bar", no matter what you try to call it, remain the same.
I can't help but snicker at the familiar beer arguement already taking place.
Domestic is so tasteless.
American might as well be water.
European is so colorful.
Imports are so flavorful and sophisticated.
Everyone drinks for the same reason, therefore the arguement quickly becomes pointless.
It should not matter what it taste like when you swallow your fun and sorrow.
Perhaps that is my problem, maybe I should care what my laughter taste like as it sloshes in my mouth.
Even more so, maybe I should be concerned if my bitterness tastes properly going down my throat.
I'm sorry I lack the ability to give a fuck about such things.
Damn, this place smells like home...
Damned
I realise I confuse everything and fuck it up.
I would say I'm sorry, but I have had to say it so much in my life that at this point it might just be an empty habitual promise.
I never meant to ruin your life...or my own for that matter.
I fail at life, and that is funny because it really is true.
Self worth is pretty non-existant at this point.
Don't do what you normally do.
I promise to fix it or just disappear, pick one.
Sorry.
I would say I'm sorry, but I have had to say it so much in my life that at this point it might just be an empty habitual promise.
I never meant to ruin your life...or my own for that matter.
I fail at life, and that is funny because it really is true.
Self worth is pretty non-existant at this point.
Don't do what you normally do.
I promise to fix it or just disappear, pick one.
Sorry.
Blankets
So. Here I sit. I can't get back to sleep. The sound of your voice is still echoing in my ears. Infact on night's like this, everything you have said echos and vibrates inside my head. Back and forth, like an extensive game of pong. What the fuck. I can't even think of pong without thinking of you. Oh, how you make me smile. I should take comfort in the fact that as I sat on the edge of tears the thought of you making that pong noise made me smile. Oh, how you make me smile. Sometimes it is so much more simple to wish you did not. I am ashamed to admit that while you make me so happy, there are times I wish you did not. I can't even look at the large painting on my bedroom wall without thinking of you. The blanket I pull around me most times is worse. It does absolutely nothing BUT remind me of you. It's not that I don't love you, or that I don't want you to make me happy. It's just that things are so confusing and difficult on both ends. Oh, what twisted webs we weave. I see my spinnings crystal clear, and now I just wish I could see yours. So many questions. I wish I could ask..but I just can't. I don't want to make you angry or upset, yet there is nothing I want more than the answers.I am finding myself so concerned with trivial things that maybe should not matter at all. They fucking matter to me. I'm in over my head, and you can keep me from drowning. I'm just too afraid to ask for help. I'm afraid you won't say what I need to hear. I'm afraid it's all a game, and I'm a pawn. I am fed up with being afraid. I'm fed up with alot lately. My wires are overheating, my springs are wound too tightly. Poutbot 3000 is going to be broken and emo for good if she doesn't get it all straight. No, it's not the same conversation we have had a hundred times. I promise. I have this sinking feeling that suddenly you have turned in to every other guy I have ever known. It is making me sick inside. Don't get angry. Don't yell. It's not what you think. I've always had you on this pedastal. I am sitting here, watching it wobble, praying you will not fall. I am so terrified one whisper of the wrong question, and it will all crash to the floor. The breeze from my soft voice trembling and requesting an answer, along with the familiar deep comfort of yours answering me "incorrectly" will turn it all to dust. I don't know what I am. I am not even sure what I want to be to you anymore if I could pick anything I desired. I'm rambling. Do you hate it yet? Am I just here to stroke your ego? God I hate this. I forgot what it's like to be heartbroken, even if maybe it's crumbling prematurely this time.
I feel sick. I'm going to go smoke, and force myself asleep. Yes, thats right, I'm going to smoke. I'm going to watch the gray liquid air rise into nothing and pretend I have a clue.You should love the girl - not the game, lover. Eh, I still love you. Why do you love me?
I feel sick. I'm going to go smoke, and force myself asleep. Yes, thats right, I'm going to smoke. I'm going to watch the gray liquid air rise into nothing and pretend I have a clue.You should love the girl - not the game, lover. Eh, I still love you. Why do you love me?
1928
Old worn pages.
I love feeling swallowed by this pile of books around me.
I love the way this one feels in my hands.
I adore the way that one smells when I hold it close to me.
I like to gaze at the cover of those.
The binding is beaten, and the green long faded.
There is no title.
The pleasure of running my fingers over the cover before flipping it open makes me smile.
In 1928, Someone's heart was broken.
The old, faded pencil out lines "Love Infinite".
I read it now, and understand their pain.
The longer you flip through, the more prose you see marked.
All of it about love, heartache, loss.
Against my better judgement, I opened his composition book.
I flip through some pages of teenage, angst-filled poetry.
I have read alot of this before just as I have written my own share of it way back when.
Somewhere in the center of the notebook, something catches my eye.
"Dear Shannon....this was meant to be a poem....".
I know perhaps I shouldn't finish reading it.
I know I should set his book back in its place, and leave it be.
At the end of the letter meant to be a poem, I sit here crying.
What happened? It is so obvious he no longer feels that way.
Even if he still believed every word he had written five years ago, I am afraid finding this is too little, too late.
Just as in 1928, here..now..., someone's heart is broken.
The small, white cover is comforting.
I remember when I was done reading this book, I knew that it was okay to be my crazy, broken self.
The character made no sense, and he barely knew right from wrong.
He was the demon lying inside us all.
The man who doesn't care, and is free.
So much time has passed since I first cracked it open.
I have two copies; the reason why is a long story.
The brown leather makes me smile.
So many secrets inside it.
So much stuff written about you, actually.
It's my new confidente, aside from my heart holder ofcourse.
It is what I use when you are not around.
It is the thing that hears me first, before I even think of typing it out here.
I started using it not long before all this craziness started.
It is quite a gift.
I tuck it away, hiding it.
Now I just hide the book, not my emotions.
Thanks.
I love feeling swallowed by this pile of books around me.
I love the way this one feels in my hands.
I adore the way that one smells when I hold it close to me.
I like to gaze at the cover of those.
The binding is beaten, and the green long faded.
There is no title.
The pleasure of running my fingers over the cover before flipping it open makes me smile.
In 1928, Someone's heart was broken.
The old, faded pencil out lines "Love Infinite".
I read it now, and understand their pain.
The longer you flip through, the more prose you see marked.
All of it about love, heartache, loss.
Against my better judgement, I opened his composition book.
I flip through some pages of teenage, angst-filled poetry.
I have read alot of this before just as I have written my own share of it way back when.
Somewhere in the center of the notebook, something catches my eye.
"Dear Shannon....this was meant to be a poem....".
I know perhaps I shouldn't finish reading it.
I know I should set his book back in its place, and leave it be.
At the end of the letter meant to be a poem, I sit here crying.
What happened? It is so obvious he no longer feels that way.
Even if he still believed every word he had written five years ago, I am afraid finding this is too little, too late.
Just as in 1928, here..now..., someone's heart is broken.
The small, white cover is comforting.
I remember when I was done reading this book, I knew that it was okay to be my crazy, broken self.
The character made no sense, and he barely knew right from wrong.
He was the demon lying inside us all.
The man who doesn't care, and is free.
So much time has passed since I first cracked it open.
I have two copies; the reason why is a long story.
The brown leather makes me smile.
So many secrets inside it.
So much stuff written about you, actually.
It's my new confidente, aside from my heart holder ofcourse.
It is what I use when you are not around.
It is the thing that hears me first, before I even think of typing it out here.
I started using it not long before all this craziness started.
It is quite a gift.
I tuck it away, hiding it.
Now I just hide the book, not my emotions.
Thanks.
Clocks
Don't hurt me.
Thanks for pulling me out of that pitfall today.
You didn't even have to try that hard, it is so completely odd what you do to me.
Even now, I still do not understand it.
You know I love it.
There are so many things that just...are.
I feel like there is no explaination for it.
No reason...it just exists.
You have turned me into a clock watcher.
I am not complaining whatsoever.
I wish I didn't have these pangs of jealousy, though.
It is so absolutely unfair and dreadful of me.
I swear I want you to be happy.
That oath still doesn't make some of this stuff go away.
Love you.
I'll always want for more, just like I want the time to change right now.
This very moment.
I'm strangely okay with it all, but not.
Like most things that involve you, it is so simple and hard to explain.
Thanks for pulling me out of that pitfall today.
You didn't even have to try that hard, it is so completely odd what you do to me.
Even now, I still do not understand it.
You know I love it.
There are so many things that just...are.
I feel like there is no explaination for it.
No reason...it just exists.
You have turned me into a clock watcher.
I am not complaining whatsoever.
I wish I didn't have these pangs of jealousy, though.
It is so absolutely unfair and dreadful of me.
I swear I want you to be happy.
That oath still doesn't make some of this stuff go away.
Love you.
I'll always want for more, just like I want the time to change right now.
This very moment.
I'm strangely okay with it all, but not.
Like most things that involve you, it is so simple and hard to explain.
For Reiley, my one and only breadman
A blinding beauty is always held deep inside of us.
A burning beast resides along with it.
A blissful, breathtaking balance is found within both of us.
When the rage is all consuming, I feel your gentle and strong hands wrap themselves around my delicate, tumultuous heart.
You embrace it to perfection; a calming effect like this is found nowhere else on this terra.
Emotional beasts of prey are randomly set loose.
You rein them in and stop the downward plummet before I reach the nethermost.
Passionate beasts full of torridity engulf my body and thoughts.
You ease them and satisfy them beyond comprehension.
An astonishing show of love, depth, dedication, and geniune care.
The passion is volatile; it is ready to drive you mad at any moment.
What fun would it be if it weren't dangerous?
Would you enjoy it so much if you knew you weren't pressing too far?
The jealousy, the arousal, the teasing, and the preparation are all too powerful ways to play.
Hands elegantly pressing my buttons, and testing where my love lies.
I love our public displays of affection, and I moreso love the displays of power.
You anger the beast within. As it begins to snarl, I feel your alluring consolation ; and you soon return the animal to a purr.
Your beauty wraps itself around my everything, and the balance is complete.
The sultry night would linger for days.
I am yours to control.
You are mine to control.
Our attention will forever be demanded.
We realise the temptations and problems of getting too caught up; let us both becareful to not get out of control with our control.
I will be your beauty, and you shall be my beast.
You will be my beauty, and I shall be your beast. Balance.
Let our story lead us not through real conflict, and times of mistrust.
Instead, let us play each other's buttons, and slay the demons feeding on our hearts.
Let our roles be balanced for each other, and let us always be resolved in our status and duties to each other.
Beauty.
Beast.
Balance.
A burning beast resides along with it.
A blissful, breathtaking balance is found within both of us.
When the rage is all consuming, I feel your gentle and strong hands wrap themselves around my delicate, tumultuous heart.
You embrace it to perfection; a calming effect like this is found nowhere else on this terra.
Emotional beasts of prey are randomly set loose.
You rein them in and stop the downward plummet before I reach the nethermost.
Passionate beasts full of torridity engulf my body and thoughts.
You ease them and satisfy them beyond comprehension.
An astonishing show of love, depth, dedication, and geniune care.
The passion is volatile; it is ready to drive you mad at any moment.
What fun would it be if it weren't dangerous?
Would you enjoy it so much if you knew you weren't pressing too far?
The jealousy, the arousal, the teasing, and the preparation are all too powerful ways to play.
Hands elegantly pressing my buttons, and testing where my love lies.
I love our public displays of affection, and I moreso love the displays of power.
You anger the beast within. As it begins to snarl, I feel your alluring consolation ; and you soon return the animal to a purr.
Your beauty wraps itself around my everything, and the balance is complete.
The sultry night would linger for days.
I am yours to control.
You are mine to control.
Our attention will forever be demanded.
We realise the temptations and problems of getting too caught up; let us both becareful to not get out of control with our control.
I will be your beauty, and you shall be my beast.
You will be my beauty, and I shall be your beast. Balance.
Let our story lead us not through real conflict, and times of mistrust.
Instead, let us play each other's buttons, and slay the demons feeding on our hearts.
Let our roles be balanced for each other, and let us always be resolved in our status and duties to each other.
Beauty.
Beast.
Balance.
A love letter to no one for everyone to see.
My mind explodes in thought.
Of everything I said, everything I want to say, everything that could be said. My eyes can't focus on anything for too long, they drift away.
They sparkle and green ideas gaze into some non-existant future.
My concentration stutters and fails.
You cause it do that often, actually.
My ears are filled with Etta James's heartbreak and love affairs.
I easily feel her voice.
I am sorry I made this invisible mold for you.
I know I made it, but I don't want you to fit it.
Please, don't ever fit it.
I only want things from you that you want to give me.
words included.
No matter what my lips display and ask of you, be you.
I only want you, your brokeness, your perfections, and your broken belongings.
The only thing you need to provide is what I fell in love with.
All I want is the one thing I think about all the time.
All I need is the thing, that no matter of everything that has happened, I can't shake the desire to have-the thing I never want to lose the desire to have.
My green ideas dull slightly as the salty, liquid pain escapes.
You are worth the tears.
Yes, Etta, I do want a Sunday kinda love.
Sometimes I am not sure he does, Etta.
I said it already...when you know what you want, I will be here waiting.
Everything ripped away, this is all I have.
This is all you get.
Do you want it?
Sorry, I forgot, you don't know; and I will not ask again.
I am only strong enough to be weak once.
I am one of your broken belongings, you know?
I am not sure you ever asked for me, or purchased me, but that is just the way it is now.
All I do is go out of my way to make you feel good, to feel better, to be happy, to give you whatever it is you don't know if you want.
All I do is love you the only way I know to love something amazing like you.
Everything you said, ever, quickly drowns out Etta.
My green ideas are quickly becoming red and the water will not stop falling.
Yes, I hear what you say and I understand.
You do not understand, and I am so scared to try and explain it to you.
I know, I know, nothing I can say will change anything; but it has before and it will now.
I can't shut it off.
The button of over analyzation has been pressed.
You know all to well the switch to this insanity lies nowhere, but everywhere.
It's the tiny, meaningless things that break my heart.
The silly things I wish you would do, you know; the silly things I do with my best friend.
Those things I am not sure you are comfortable with, or maybe they are things you just don't want to do with me.
Maybe you are afraid of them?
I can't ask you for them, that goes back to the mold.
You aren't the one squeezing to hard; I am breaking my own.
Maybe I do it for you, so you do not have the guilt of its emptiness.
Words just fucking stroll and march out, and I can't stop them; and sometimes I do not even know what I'm saying until it has been broadcast over a network of destroyed emotions.
I do my Sunday dreaming every minute, and every hour of everyday.
I'm aware that is all they are...silly dreams.
Stupid, unrealistic, silly dreams of a stupid girl with sad, tearful, green ideas.
Someone to keep me warm when Monday and Tuesday are too cold.
I love the fact you would never lie to me.
You would never tell me what I want to hear.
Don't ever stop doing that, no matter what I say.
I'm scared to sleep; I have had enough flawlessly not achievable dreams about you while I have been awake.
Go ahead, tell me again, and again, and again, and once more.
Actions speak so much louder, and I believe you anyway when you speak your gorgeous words.
I am not enough, this is not enough, even if it makes you happy for now.
I'm aware that I am better than nothing at all; but what of me and my long, lost sunday love when something better comes along?
I do so tire of being treated differently.
Please explain it to me.
Fucking tell me why it has to be different in front of certain people.
Infact, why do some of the things you say to other girls in front of everyone, jokingly, taste sweeter than the real things you say to me.
I don't care, I refuse to let small flirtations bother me.
My sad green ideas keep flirting with closing and sleeping.
I know I flirt too much; I catch myself and stop now, just for you.
It is always only you, for you, everything for you.
I hate feeling naked and vulernable and weak.
I hate feeling like I am not worthy or good enough.
I love feeling like you love me.
I am going to push away the crazy, randomness now, and just be.
I wish it were with you; but until you know.....
I will be waiting here, just being.
Tuck me into "that" blanket. Green eggs and ham. Goodnight lover.
Of everything I said, everything I want to say, everything that could be said. My eyes can't focus on anything for too long, they drift away.
They sparkle and green ideas gaze into some non-existant future.
My concentration stutters and fails.
You cause it do that often, actually.
My ears are filled with Etta James's heartbreak and love affairs.
I easily feel her voice.
I am sorry I made this invisible mold for you.
I know I made it, but I don't want you to fit it.
Please, don't ever fit it.
I only want things from you that you want to give me.
words included.
No matter what my lips display and ask of you, be you.
I only want you, your brokeness, your perfections, and your broken belongings.
The only thing you need to provide is what I fell in love with.
All I want is the one thing I think about all the time.
All I need is the thing, that no matter of everything that has happened, I can't shake the desire to have-the thing I never want to lose the desire to have.
My green ideas dull slightly as the salty, liquid pain escapes.
You are worth the tears.
Yes, Etta, I do want a Sunday kinda love.
Sometimes I am not sure he does, Etta.
I said it already...when you know what you want, I will be here waiting.
Everything ripped away, this is all I have.
This is all you get.
Do you want it?
Sorry, I forgot, you don't know; and I will not ask again.
I am only strong enough to be weak once.
I am one of your broken belongings, you know?
I am not sure you ever asked for me, or purchased me, but that is just the way it is now.
All I do is go out of my way to make you feel good, to feel better, to be happy, to give you whatever it is you don't know if you want.
All I do is love you the only way I know to love something amazing like you.
Everything you said, ever, quickly drowns out Etta.
My green ideas are quickly becoming red and the water will not stop falling.
Yes, I hear what you say and I understand.
You do not understand, and I am so scared to try and explain it to you.
I know, I know, nothing I can say will change anything; but it has before and it will now.
I can't shut it off.
The button of over analyzation has been pressed.
You know all to well the switch to this insanity lies nowhere, but everywhere.
It's the tiny, meaningless things that break my heart.
The silly things I wish you would do, you know; the silly things I do with my best friend.
Those things I am not sure you are comfortable with, or maybe they are things you just don't want to do with me.
Maybe you are afraid of them?
I can't ask you for them, that goes back to the mold.
You aren't the one squeezing to hard; I am breaking my own.
Maybe I do it for you, so you do not have the guilt of its emptiness.
Words just fucking stroll and march out, and I can't stop them; and sometimes I do not even know what I'm saying until it has been broadcast over a network of destroyed emotions.
I do my Sunday dreaming every minute, and every hour of everyday.
I'm aware that is all they are...silly dreams.
Stupid, unrealistic, silly dreams of a stupid girl with sad, tearful, green ideas.
Someone to keep me warm when Monday and Tuesday are too cold.
I love the fact you would never lie to me.
You would never tell me what I want to hear.
Don't ever stop doing that, no matter what I say.
I'm scared to sleep; I have had enough flawlessly not achievable dreams about you while I have been awake.
Go ahead, tell me again, and again, and again, and once more.
Actions speak so much louder, and I believe you anyway when you speak your gorgeous words.
I am not enough, this is not enough, even if it makes you happy for now.
I'm aware that I am better than nothing at all; but what of me and my long, lost sunday love when something better comes along?
I do so tire of being treated differently.
Please explain it to me.
Fucking tell me why it has to be different in front of certain people.
Infact, why do some of the things you say to other girls in front of everyone, jokingly, taste sweeter than the real things you say to me.
I don't care, I refuse to let small flirtations bother me.
My sad green ideas keep flirting with closing and sleeping.
I know I flirt too much; I catch myself and stop now, just for you.
It is always only you, for you, everything for you.
I hate feeling naked and vulernable and weak.
I hate feeling like I am not worthy or good enough.
I love feeling like you love me.
I am going to push away the crazy, randomness now, and just be.
I wish it were with you; but until you know.....
I will be waiting here, just being.
Tuck me into "that" blanket. Green eggs and ham. Goodnight lover.
Going Home.
Going home is such a ridiculous statement. You can never go home. You cannot go back to what once was. Ofcourse it is physically there for most of us, but for me it will never be what I remember. It will never be what I loved. Infact, did I love it all to have left it the way I did? Everytime I go "home", I walk in as if I had never left. It feels so far from natural its not describable. I don't belong there anymore. I am merely a guest with a lifetime pass. God how I miss the trees, the smell of clean air, the dark nights with stars, and the small roads that need patching. With all the things time has let me forget, I cannot shake the sound of my blazer pulling out of the gravel drive way. I can clearly see the road to my house and the four way stop sign I ran on many drunken nights. My blazer is long sold and wrecked. That is not my road or my house or my driveway. I ran away from all that years ago. I escaped, and I hate when I have to turn around and look back.
I should be asleep. I have important things to do 'morrow. Her words keep running through my head, and I am worried. " Shannon, I need you to come home a few days early. We have to talk. There are things I ~need~ you to know incase I don't make it through the surgery" I pleaded with her to tell me now. The rest of her words keep a steady echo vibrating in my mind. "No Shanny, things like this are best said in person. It's my responsibility to tell you face to face." Secrets are best served fried. The south greases them and hands them to you with hospitality, that is assuming the tell you at all. Most secrets are silenced down there in the humidity. White lies and dirty laundry quickly drowned out by Southern belle accents and Jook-joint Blues. The elders you are taught to respect tuck the truth away in the large oak trees you play in as a child. They bury them in the fresh, sweet grass while you are distracted with running through the sprinklers in the thick summer air. The Bible belt is a dangerous place for those who made the choice to stop hiding. Please don't worry Mother. I promise you taught me well. I will not tell. I dread what you must tell me, but I know all to well how this works. You cannot take it to your grave, but I know I must promise to take it to mine. Mother, don't cry; you know I am coming to hear your confession. I forgive you. I have no choice but to forgive you. I told you that you raised a southern girl. It is safe with me. Let us have catfish for supper afterwards, we can pretend you never said anything.
I should be asleep. I have important things to do 'morrow. Her words keep running through my head, and I am worried. " Shannon, I need you to come home a few days early. We have to talk. There are things I ~need~ you to know incase I don't make it through the surgery" I pleaded with her to tell me now. The rest of her words keep a steady echo vibrating in my mind. "No Shanny, things like this are best said in person. It's my responsibility to tell you face to face." Secrets are best served fried. The south greases them and hands them to you with hospitality, that is assuming the tell you at all. Most secrets are silenced down there in the humidity. White lies and dirty laundry quickly drowned out by Southern belle accents and Jook-joint Blues. The elders you are taught to respect tuck the truth away in the large oak trees you play in as a child. They bury them in the fresh, sweet grass while you are distracted with running through the sprinklers in the thick summer air. The Bible belt is a dangerous place for those who made the choice to stop hiding. Please don't worry Mother. I promise you taught me well. I will not tell. I dread what you must tell me, but I know all to well how this works. You cannot take it to your grave, but I know I must promise to take it to mine. Mother, don't cry; you know I am coming to hear your confession. I forgive you. I have no choice but to forgive you. I told you that you raised a southern girl. It is safe with me. Let us have catfish for supper afterwards, we can pretend you never said anything.
Bread is my Best Friend
Everyone is jaded somehow.
Every single one of us.
Bitchy Shannon is vulnerable, lashing out in an attempt to push people away.
Hippy Shannon is guarded, letting people believe she is sweet and loveable.
Gangsta Shannon is ghetto, knowing not everything is peachy.
Naked Shannon is pure, fresh, and clean. She is yet to be altered adversely by the gauntlet of people she must run everday. She wakes up safe. She holds her heart in her hands, kisses it hello, and promises it that it will be safe today.
You are so beautiful when you aren't pretending to be okay.
I am confused, I thought Hippy Shannon was my favorite, even though her smile makes you anxious.
I know Gangsta Shannon is so much fun because she is wild.
I am disgusted by Bitchy Shannon, I hate her.
I am terrified of Naked Shannon.
Captain: Oh Breadman, why is not alright to just be up front with everyone and just hand them yourself and say "Hey. I'm broken, so are you, lets be friends."
Breadman: Cuz people like to deny being broken, or poke at other peoples broken parts to make themselves feel better.
Captain: But if we all admitted it forwardly, it wouldn't be anything to poke at. It would be like poking your own wounds then, and not many people are sadistic enough to do that, right?
Breadman: Sometimes tho you find some people that you can say "hey, I am broken, and so are you, lets go find some tape."
Captain: Breadman, I think we lost our tape, sir.
Breadman: We will use rice then! I am asian! I have lots, and it works well.
Captain: *laughs*
Captain: Well, Wolfie stole some tape. He patches me up regularly, but I'm short. He holds it above his head. I can't reach it to steal it back to tape him up.
Breadman: Well then we will go find others who have tape, but we will go together just incase we come across something that is hard to pass alone.
Breadman: Maybe you don't need his tape.
Breadman: Maybe someone is holding tape for you at a better height.
Breadman: I am still looking for my tape dispenser, but I think you have more than one.
Captain: It is pretty horrible to think I have used so much of Wolfie's tape, only to hobble away with the pieces he fixed to find more convient tape that is easier to achieve.
Breadman: Are you missing pieces?
Breadman: Are you leaving pieces of yourself behind evertime you go to Wolfie for a patching?
Captain: No, they just dont like to stay together.
Breadman: maybe his tape no workie for you then?
Captain: My repeatedly breaking pieces are not to be blamed on his perfect tape.
Captain: Breadman, he definitely stole one piece, and because that piece breakes more often than others, he decided to keep it safe for me.
Breadman: Captain, did he steal it from you, or did you give it to him?
Breadman: Stealing implies you wanting to keep it in the first place, or you did not want him to have it. So which is it?
Captain: Wolfie holds it for me, and it hasn't gotten lost or hurt in a long while, except on the few instances he squeezes it a little to hard. When I go to him, and he has it, it all just feels together again.
Captain: I definitely gave it to him. Naked Captain was holding it, and she kissed it goodbye and handed it away.
Breadman: Captain, if you love Wolfie's tape this much, and trust him with your loose parts, and you really mean it, then I'm happy. Just becareful with his broken pieces, and always examine your tape dispensers.
Wolfie: Hello there Captain.
Captain: *sighs contentedly*
Every single one of us.
Bitchy Shannon is vulnerable, lashing out in an attempt to push people away.
Hippy Shannon is guarded, letting people believe she is sweet and loveable.
Gangsta Shannon is ghetto, knowing not everything is peachy.
Naked Shannon is pure, fresh, and clean. She is yet to be altered adversely by the gauntlet of people she must run everday. She wakes up safe. She holds her heart in her hands, kisses it hello, and promises it that it will be safe today.
You are so beautiful when you aren't pretending to be okay.
I am confused, I thought Hippy Shannon was my favorite, even though her smile makes you anxious.
I know Gangsta Shannon is so much fun because she is wild.
I am disgusted by Bitchy Shannon, I hate her.
I am terrified of Naked Shannon.
Captain: Oh Breadman, why is not alright to just be up front with everyone and just hand them yourself and say "Hey. I'm broken, so are you, lets be friends."
Breadman: Cuz people like to deny being broken, or poke at other peoples broken parts to make themselves feel better.
Captain: But if we all admitted it forwardly, it wouldn't be anything to poke at. It would be like poking your own wounds then, and not many people are sadistic enough to do that, right?
Breadman: Sometimes tho you find some people that you can say "hey, I am broken, and so are you, lets go find some tape."
Captain: Breadman, I think we lost our tape, sir.
Breadman: We will use rice then! I am asian! I have lots, and it works well.
Captain: *laughs*
Captain: Well, Wolfie stole some tape. He patches me up regularly, but I'm short. He holds it above his head. I can't reach it to steal it back to tape him up.
Breadman: Well then we will go find others who have tape, but we will go together just incase we come across something that is hard to pass alone.
Breadman: Maybe you don't need his tape.
Breadman: Maybe someone is holding tape for you at a better height.
Breadman: I am still looking for my tape dispenser, but I think you have more than one.
Captain: It is pretty horrible to think I have used so much of Wolfie's tape, only to hobble away with the pieces he fixed to find more convient tape that is easier to achieve.
Breadman: Are you missing pieces?
Breadman: Are you leaving pieces of yourself behind evertime you go to Wolfie for a patching?
Captain: No, they just dont like to stay together.
Breadman: maybe his tape no workie for you then?
Captain: My repeatedly breaking pieces are not to be blamed on his perfect tape.
Captain: Breadman, he definitely stole one piece, and because that piece breakes more often than others, he decided to keep it safe for me.
Breadman: Captain, did he steal it from you, or did you give it to him?
Breadman: Stealing implies you wanting to keep it in the first place, or you did not want him to have it. So which is it?
Captain: Wolfie holds it for me, and it hasn't gotten lost or hurt in a long while, except on the few instances he squeezes it a little to hard. When I go to him, and he has it, it all just feels together again.
Captain: I definitely gave it to him. Naked Captain was holding it, and she kissed it goodbye and handed it away.
Breadman: Captain, if you love Wolfie's tape this much, and trust him with your loose parts, and you really mean it, then I'm happy. Just becareful with his broken pieces, and always examine your tape dispensers.
Wolfie: Hello there Captain.
Captain: *sighs contentedly*
Breeze
The door creaked, and clicked happily into place.
The rattle of the screen did not disturb me.
Dark clouds had devoured the heat, leaving a beautiful chill.
Tonight was pefection in a world of broken people and crazy hearts.
Slowly my feet were moving.
I allowed them to have their own journy and agenda.
You keep stealing my tears.
You keep making me smile.
Currently, a smile that was parting my own demons as I watched the darkness above spread apart.
Stars shyly peaked through and were ignored.
My full mind had no time for them.
The unusual breeze caressing my face reminded me how wonderfully out of the ordinary was this entire night.
I vaguely knew my feet were strolling over pavement.
I could not focus on anything, and the fuzzy, out of focus view was almost as breath taking as your mind.
I hate you for making me so content.
My hand turned the door knob.
I tugged at my mind.
I had been gone a lengthy amount of time, walking the dull streets.
I try to remember the feel of my feet on the filthy ground, or even the houses I had passed.
I pull hard at my brain, and the only thought that manages to surface is the only thing I remember at all today.
You.
I hate you for invading every part of me.
I love you.
The rattle of the screen did not disturb me.
Dark clouds had devoured the heat, leaving a beautiful chill.
Tonight was pefection in a world of broken people and crazy hearts.
Slowly my feet were moving.
I allowed them to have their own journy and agenda.
You keep stealing my tears.
You keep making me smile.
Currently, a smile that was parting my own demons as I watched the darkness above spread apart.
Stars shyly peaked through and were ignored.
My full mind had no time for them.
The unusual breeze caressing my face reminded me how wonderfully out of the ordinary was this entire night.
I vaguely knew my feet were strolling over pavement.
I could not focus on anything, and the fuzzy, out of focus view was almost as breath taking as your mind.
I hate you for making me so content.
My hand turned the door knob.
I tugged at my mind.
I had been gone a lengthy amount of time, walking the dull streets.
I try to remember the feel of my feet on the filthy ground, or even the houses I had passed.
I pull hard at my brain, and the only thought that manages to surface is the only thing I remember at all today.
You.
I hate you for invading every part of me.
I love you.
The Ever Loved Consumption of All
Confusion consumes me once more.
I have decided to welcome it.
Head back, Arms wide, Eyes closed, A deep inhalation.
Acceptingly, I allow my emotions to take me.
The tidal wave of everything is refreshing.
This is not defeat.
In order to lose, it must be a battle.
I have never supported physical war, now I refuse to feed the emotional one that was once on going inside me.
I did not give up.
Perhaps this is just a peace treaty of sorts.
My mind, my mouth, my heart, my actions finally working together instead of against each other for a common goal.
I am not weak.
My energy is just better suited occupying itself elsewhere.
My soul will have much more free time now to adventure, and I am stronger for the explorations.
I did not swallow my pride.
It belongs to me; I am not owned by it any longer.
It can rise, swell, and I will control it.
Control brings power.
I'm not afraid of you anymore.
I am definitely no longer afraid of how I feel.
My thoughts are also free; I am no longer pushing them away.
They are not being shoved and hidden as was the norm.
Infact, thoughts flowed freely-even overly so-while I was on the phone.
They continued to flow in the shower, listening to an ipod, lying in bed, and even when he was inside of me.
It's odd how much one smiles when one just lets it all fall away.
I think my shell tearing apart-slowly but surely-is the first time I haven't wanted someone to pick up the pieces and glue my life back together.
You can leave those on the ground.
I need you, but I no longer need you to fix me.
We have more important things to handle, like affection for one example.
I adore my bad influence.
I have decided to welcome it.
Head back, Arms wide, Eyes closed, A deep inhalation.
Acceptingly, I allow my emotions to take me.
The tidal wave of everything is refreshing.
This is not defeat.
In order to lose, it must be a battle.
I have never supported physical war, now I refuse to feed the emotional one that was once on going inside me.
I did not give up.
Perhaps this is just a peace treaty of sorts.
My mind, my mouth, my heart, my actions finally working together instead of against each other for a common goal.
I am not weak.
My energy is just better suited occupying itself elsewhere.
My soul will have much more free time now to adventure, and I am stronger for the explorations.
I did not swallow my pride.
It belongs to me; I am not owned by it any longer.
It can rise, swell, and I will control it.
Control brings power.
I'm not afraid of you anymore.
I am definitely no longer afraid of how I feel.
My thoughts are also free; I am no longer pushing them away.
They are not being shoved and hidden as was the norm.
Infact, thoughts flowed freely-even overly so-while I was on the phone.
They continued to flow in the shower, listening to an ipod, lying in bed, and even when he was inside of me.
It's odd how much one smiles when one just lets it all fall away.
I think my shell tearing apart-slowly but surely-is the first time I haven't wanted someone to pick up the pieces and glue my life back together.
You can leave those on the ground.
I need you, but I no longer need you to fix me.
We have more important things to handle, like affection for one example.
I adore my bad influence.
Gee, Thanks.
Thank you.
You finally accomplished all what I was waiting all this time for.
The anticipation was brutal.
I'm just glad we got that pesky, gut-wrenching heart break thing out of the way now.
It was really inconvient to continue pretending you wouldnt do it.
You've saved me a great deal of trouble, really, by beginning your indifference now.
Pathetic and Apathetic.
Those words are the perfect adjectives to describe me at this very moment.
I'm at a loss for words.
I do suppose, regardless of how I feel, it's best if you just start to ignore me.
I definitely encourage it.
I refuse to give in any longer.
I'm done.
I'm disgusted that I feel so much pain.
The way I would, even now, allow you to use me for whatever is down right disturbing.
I'll be your whore.
I'll be your joke.
I'll be your pretend friend.
I'll be whatever it is your fucked up mind desires me to be.
I don't mind at all.
You can take advantage of my pitifullness.
You can throw me away at any moment.
I'm completely disposable, somewhat like a Dixie cup.
You can get to me whenever it's convient for you.
I'm not high priority.
I can take it all with a grain of salt, if you would please just stop letting me love you.
I so do hope the plan is to have me entertain you until its not longer convient for you.
Now, if only I could explain how I really feel.
Honestly, I just wish I was what you wanted.
I'm so over it all, completely.
I feel as though I should apologize with every breath.
You finally accomplished all what I was waiting all this time for.
The anticipation was brutal.
I'm just glad we got that pesky, gut-wrenching heart break thing out of the way now.
It was really inconvient to continue pretending you wouldnt do it.
You've saved me a great deal of trouble, really, by beginning your indifference now.
Pathetic and Apathetic.
Those words are the perfect adjectives to describe me at this very moment.
I'm at a loss for words.
I do suppose, regardless of how I feel, it's best if you just start to ignore me.
I definitely encourage it.
I refuse to give in any longer.
I'm done.
I'm disgusted that I feel so much pain.
The way I would, even now, allow you to use me for whatever is down right disturbing.
I'll be your whore.
I'll be your joke.
I'll be your pretend friend.
I'll be whatever it is your fucked up mind desires me to be.
I don't mind at all.
You can take advantage of my pitifullness.
You can throw me away at any moment.
I'm completely disposable, somewhat like a Dixie cup.
You can get to me whenever it's convient for you.
I'm not high priority.
I can take it all with a grain of salt, if you would please just stop letting me love you.
I so do hope the plan is to have me entertain you until its not longer convient for you.
Now, if only I could explain how I really feel.
Honestly, I just wish I was what you wanted.
I'm so over it all, completely.
I feel as though I should apologize with every breath.
Le Vague
I'm pouring my soul out.
Dripping it wildly onto pages.
Mainpulating it in programs.
Displaying it vaguely for the world to see.
I'm aware how cowardly it is for me not to say what I mean outright.
I'm also aware my emo pushes people away.
Well, I would like to believe thats the reason people disappear, but perhaps its everything about me.
I'd rather confide in strangers than you.
I'd rather vaguely broadcast my life than have you in it
Dripping it wildly onto pages.
Mainpulating it in programs.
Displaying it vaguely for the world to see.
I'm aware how cowardly it is for me not to say what I mean outright.
I'm also aware my emo pushes people away.
Well, I would like to believe thats the reason people disappear, but perhaps its everything about me.
I'd rather confide in strangers than you.
I'd rather vaguely broadcast my life than have you in it
Done
My eyes are strained.
Not nearly as badly as my emotions.
The color from my face has been drained.
Not completely though, like my pride has been.
Sleep will not seek me out.
You had one more try.
I watched, I waited, I was left wanting.
Somewhere, hidden deeply in the fartherest part of my mind was the thought that you might.
As the sun rose this morning to chase away the gloom, it was much too late.
Any hope I had of you was snuffed out hours ago.
Even before the sun rose on your coast, I knew I was done.
I have no idea when I will fall asleep.
Watching the birds flitter and sing outside is painful beyond imagination.
It wasn't really anything, so I can't mourn the loss of nothing, right?
I wish it was more tangible.
Sorry, it's past tense now.
I wish it had been more tangible.
I'm regret that I could not give you that- not as thought you wanted it.
I'm honestly clueless as to what was really happened.
The only thing I'm certain is that I somehow made it all worthless and awkward.
I never wanted that at all.
I wish I could convince myself I'm over reacting.
I'm scared of that thought.
I think believing that would only lead to more ache.
My eyes are no longer dry from the lack of sleep.
I'm only going to shed these for you once.
Everything is finished.
I close my eyes, capturing the last tear so it will never fall.
I wait for the dreams to find me.
I'm done, and so are my thoughts of you....atleast for now.
Not nearly as badly as my emotions.
The color from my face has been drained.
Not completely though, like my pride has been.
Sleep will not seek me out.
You had one more try.
I watched, I waited, I was left wanting.
Somewhere, hidden deeply in the fartherest part of my mind was the thought that you might.
As the sun rose this morning to chase away the gloom, it was much too late.
Any hope I had of you was snuffed out hours ago.
Even before the sun rose on your coast, I knew I was done.
I have no idea when I will fall asleep.
Watching the birds flitter and sing outside is painful beyond imagination.
It wasn't really anything, so I can't mourn the loss of nothing, right?
I wish it was more tangible.
Sorry, it's past tense now.
I wish it had been more tangible.
I'm regret that I could not give you that- not as thought you wanted it.
I'm honestly clueless as to what was really happened.
The only thing I'm certain is that I somehow made it all worthless and awkward.
I never wanted that at all.
I wish I could convince myself I'm over reacting.
I'm scared of that thought.
I think believing that would only lead to more ache.
My eyes are no longer dry from the lack of sleep.
I'm only going to shed these for you once.
Everything is finished.
I close my eyes, capturing the last tear so it will never fall.
I wait for the dreams to find me.
I'm done, and so are my thoughts of you....atleast for now.
Rain, Rain
The rain attacks my roof shingles relentlessly.
Sitting here in this window seat, I realise how its been so long that I've forgotten.
I lie my head against the glass, its warm-not chilled as expected.
I do enjoy the windows tears much more than my own.
Thoughts run through my mind much more quickly than the water can pass down the pane.
You know exactly what I'm thinking, don't you?
My thoughts and emotions are much more transparent than the water or the glass.
The blackened sky coats the stars and blankets our world.
Almost as though the charred clouds intend to keep the earth safe.
I'm so envious.
I want nothing more than to be engulfed in your arms.
Sinking into safety.
The light flashing across the sky, reflecting and bouncing, is almost erotic.
It reminds me of the passionate lighning you can find in some people's eyes.
The crashing startles my thought process momentarily.
It's raining on this hot, sticky night in the desert.
I'm watching through my window, and ofcourse thinking of you.
The coming of the storm brings the promise of change-good or ill.
Sitting here in this window seat, I realise how its been so long that I've forgotten.
I lie my head against the glass, its warm-not chilled as expected.
I do enjoy the windows tears much more than my own.
Thoughts run through my mind much more quickly than the water can pass down the pane.
You know exactly what I'm thinking, don't you?
My thoughts and emotions are much more transparent than the water or the glass.
The blackened sky coats the stars and blankets our world.
Almost as though the charred clouds intend to keep the earth safe.
I'm so envious.
I want nothing more than to be engulfed in your arms.
Sinking into safety.
The light flashing across the sky, reflecting and bouncing, is almost erotic.
It reminds me of the passionate lighning you can find in some people's eyes.
The crashing startles my thought process momentarily.
It's raining on this hot, sticky night in the desert.
I'm watching through my window, and ofcourse thinking of you.
The coming of the storm brings the promise of change-good or ill.
Sweet Lies
I promise I can't stand it.
All these emotions, flying , rampaging.
I can no longer control any of them.
It is beyond my ability to continue pretending that you don't cause all of this.
You are definitely the one responsible for this awkward feeling.
It's not a bad awkward.
It's similiar to the strangeness when you are intimate with someone for the first time.
Somehow you make it okay to be myself, and in the same moment make me crawl inside my own skin.
You cause me to remember things I had long forgotten.
Feelings surface that I was confident I had safely hidden away.
I'm never sure if I should hate you or thank you.
I swear I despise the way you make me smile.
I dislike the adorable things you say.
I hate how unique and amazing you are.
I loathe you completely and totally.
I'm definitely not even successfully lying to myself, much less anyone else.
All these emotions, flying , rampaging.
I can no longer control any of them.
It is beyond my ability to continue pretending that you don't cause all of this.
You are definitely the one responsible for this awkward feeling.
It's not a bad awkward.
It's similiar to the strangeness when you are intimate with someone for the first time.
Somehow you make it okay to be myself, and in the same moment make me crawl inside my own skin.
You cause me to remember things I had long forgotten.
Feelings surface that I was confident I had safely hidden away.
I'm never sure if I should hate you or thank you.
I swear I despise the way you make me smile.
I dislike the adorable things you say.
I hate how unique and amazing you are.
I loathe you completely and totally.
I'm definitely not even successfully lying to myself, much less anyone else.
Secrets
I have a secret for you.
I'm confident your lips will never form the words to reveal it.
If my luck holds out, we share the same secret.
I have a sin for you.
I'm confident you will never form a negative judgement.
If my luck holds out, you will continue to revel in this sweet sin as well.
I have a gift for you.
I'm confident you would open it with much pleasure.
If my luck holds out, you will hold onto your gift.
I have a surprise for you.
I'm confident you would appreciate it.
If my luck holds out, you will want it and not break it.
I have a realization for myself.
I'm not confident that I feel very lucky.
I'm confident your lips will never form the words to reveal it.
If my luck holds out, we share the same secret.
I have a sin for you.
I'm confident you will never form a negative judgement.
If my luck holds out, you will continue to revel in this sweet sin as well.
I have a gift for you.
I'm confident you would open it with much pleasure.
If my luck holds out, you will hold onto your gift.
I have a surprise for you.
I'm confident you would appreciate it.
If my luck holds out, you will want it and not break it.
I have a realization for myself.
I'm not confident that I feel very lucky.
Confused II
I'm not quite clear why I pretend I don't want in.
Maybe its the need to lie to myself.
Perhaps its my old friend, fear, once more for whatever reason.
I can't open up anymore, yet I have the desire.
I desperately want it all to gush out of me.
I want to give this feeling away, but I'm not cruel enough to present this mess to anyone.
Everything is this shamble of imprefection I have created.
I've waited so long.
I've held on for so long.
It never ends, and it's time to let go.
Maybe its the need to lie to myself.
Perhaps its my old friend, fear, once more for whatever reason.
I can't open up anymore, yet I have the desire.
I desperately want it all to gush out of me.
I want to give this feeling away, but I'm not cruel enough to present this mess to anyone.
Everything is this shamble of imprefection I have created.
I've waited so long.
I've held on for so long.
It never ends, and it's time to let go.
Bath
Everything is washed away.
The white floods and bleeds.
Forgive me, for I have sinned.
Silver baths me.
The torrent of clean is suffocating.
My fingers relax, letting the only grip I have on reality falter for a moment.
The free fall into your imagination is exciting to me.
The rest I desire won't come.
Trick me into a dreamless sleep.
That sounds safe.
Much the way you sounded safe, back in the day.
The white floods and bleeds.
Forgive me, for I have sinned.
Silver baths me.
The torrent of clean is suffocating.
My fingers relax, letting the only grip I have on reality falter for a moment.
The free fall into your imagination is exciting to me.
The rest I desire won't come.
Trick me into a dreamless sleep.
That sounds safe.
Much the way you sounded safe, back in the day.
Pictures and Pieces
Picture It.
Look at us.
Captured there forever.
Oh, how we smile.
The way we hold each other pulls at something inside me.
Do you think we will ever find each other again?
I sit and wonder if we, any of us, will ever laugh that way again.
It's haunting how our youth will be eternal behind the dusty glass.
Disturbing, that we are endlessly frozen in that state of naive euphoria.
When I look at you in your blue frame, It occurs to me you never knew how it would be.
How are your kids?
How old are they now?
Are you happy with the choices you had to make?
When I look at you in your expensive frame-the one I got because I love you- I realise you will always be a part of my life.
Do you still hate me for leaving?
You left him, Please tell me you didn't feel like he does now.
Why is awkward for us to speak to each other now? We told each other everything.
When I look at you taped to the page, I realise you always knew what you would do in the end.
Do you have any idea how we felt when you left us?
Did you know that your best friend, my close friend, would be forever changed by finding your body?
Why didn't you tell us it hurt that bad?
When I look at you, hiding in your wooden frame, I realise you were never what you seemed.
Was our brotherly and sisterly love for each other only as deep as the bottom of the bottle?
Do you ever think about the nights we would drink a case of beer and hold each other-crying, until the sun rose?
Do you ever see your first daughter? Blue frame says she misses you.
When I look at you in this plastic page, I realise you were too young.
Why did you go over there?
Why did you think this was your war?
Do you know wooden frame married the girl who wouldn't wait for you?
Did it hurt when they blew up your blackhawk?
When i see that collage of random pictures, all of us together exploring our world, I realise I took it all for granted.
Did I make an impact on your life?
Do we even remember each other?
HOw many of us recall our memories together?
Did our lives turn out the way we always planned?
Are any of us happy?
The innocence is long past.
The pictures remain to pove it.
If we have nothing now, If we are left empty handed, We will always have these.
Our laughter, tears, corruption, youth, and dreams are living on even if it all died inside us long ago.
We can never return, but we can sadly mourn as we remember .
What would we give to be that jaded again?
When I look at you, the old you I have imprisoned in front of me, I realise what you were searching for.
Did you find it?
After his funeral, did you ever forgive yourself?
Do you know that I miss you, and that the reason we haven't spoken in five years is because you became so fake and hidden?
When I look at you with that very you like grin, I can't imagine you not wearing it.
I'm sorry expensive frame broke your heart.
The ring you got her was perfection in stone.
Will you ever be okay?
I'm glad that one night didn't make our friendship strange.
When I pull you out from behind the back page where I threw you years ago, I realise how lame you were.
Was it fun to use me?
How fun was it for you to tell all of our friends what you took from me that friday after I turned fifteen?
Yes, they told me that you told them all about it.
Honestly, I haven't thought about you in over six years until today.
Some how, I'm confident that you only became a larger fool.
So many of us, and so too many remembrances to count.
So much lost over the course time has taken us on.
We are who we are, and maybe we all sometimes pray to be oblivious once more.
Maybe we always knew our universe we had created would disolve and fade away.
Maybe thats why we are left here with all these photographs we took to capture what would never be again.
You can never go home.
Look at us.
Captured there forever.
Oh, how we smile.
The way we hold each other pulls at something inside me.
Do you think we will ever find each other again?
I sit and wonder if we, any of us, will ever laugh that way again.
It's haunting how our youth will be eternal behind the dusty glass.
Disturbing, that we are endlessly frozen in that state of naive euphoria.
When I look at you in your blue frame, It occurs to me you never knew how it would be.
How are your kids?
How old are they now?
Are you happy with the choices you had to make?
When I look at you in your expensive frame-the one I got because I love you- I realise you will always be a part of my life.
Do you still hate me for leaving?
You left him, Please tell me you didn't feel like he does now.
Why is awkward for us to speak to each other now? We told each other everything.
When I look at you taped to the page, I realise you always knew what you would do in the end.
Do you have any idea how we felt when you left us?
Did you know that your best friend, my close friend, would be forever changed by finding your body?
Why didn't you tell us it hurt that bad?
When I look at you, hiding in your wooden frame, I realise you were never what you seemed.
Was our brotherly and sisterly love for each other only as deep as the bottom of the bottle?
Do you ever think about the nights we would drink a case of beer and hold each other-crying, until the sun rose?
Do you ever see your first daughter? Blue frame says she misses you.
When I look at you in this plastic page, I realise you were too young.
Why did you go over there?
Why did you think this was your war?
Do you know wooden frame married the girl who wouldn't wait for you?
Did it hurt when they blew up your blackhawk?
When i see that collage of random pictures, all of us together exploring our world, I realise I took it all for granted.
Did I make an impact on your life?
Do we even remember each other?
HOw many of us recall our memories together?
Did our lives turn out the way we always planned?
Are any of us happy?
The innocence is long past.
The pictures remain to pove it.
If we have nothing now, If we are left empty handed, We will always have these.
Our laughter, tears, corruption, youth, and dreams are living on even if it all died inside us long ago.
We can never return, but we can sadly mourn as we remember .
What would we give to be that jaded again?
When I look at you, the old you I have imprisoned in front of me, I realise what you were searching for.
Did you find it?
After his funeral, did you ever forgive yourself?
Do you know that I miss you, and that the reason we haven't spoken in five years is because you became so fake and hidden?
When I look at you with that very you like grin, I can't imagine you not wearing it.
I'm sorry expensive frame broke your heart.
The ring you got her was perfection in stone.
Will you ever be okay?
I'm glad that one night didn't make our friendship strange.
When I pull you out from behind the back page where I threw you years ago, I realise how lame you were.
Was it fun to use me?
How fun was it for you to tell all of our friends what you took from me that friday after I turned fifteen?
Yes, they told me that you told them all about it.
Honestly, I haven't thought about you in over six years until today.
Some how, I'm confident that you only became a larger fool.
So many of us, and so too many remembrances to count.
So much lost over the course time has taken us on.
We are who we are, and maybe we all sometimes pray to be oblivious once more.
Maybe we always knew our universe we had created would disolve and fade away.
Maybe thats why we are left here with all these photographs we took to capture what would never be again.
You can never go home.
Black Hole
So many mistakes.
So irreversable.
So many things lost and torn away.
I'm so empty.
There is completely nothing left of what was.
I'm surrounded by shells of those I loved.
Angelic people that this plague that consumes me has long since siphoned all the essence out of them.
I never wanted to hurt anyone.
I'm sorry for your pain and your loss.
I mourn for things that once were.
God, I can never apologize.
I can never summon the words to my lips to explain the existance of someone like me.
In no society, present or past, is there an excuse for all that I have done.
I know its impossible to believe that I'm only now learning it's not acceptable to drain everyone to fill this vast and never ending void that is me.
I'm an emotional blackhole.
The very thought of someone loving me terrifies me.
I know I will just ruin them as I have the trail of shells behind me.
Destruction follows me home; It follows me everywhere.
I have ran for so long, and I can never escape it.
While I run, I'm so selfish.
I'm so blinded by my own fears and inadequacies that I never see what I'm doing until the dust clears.
When the ashes that were once the souls of the people I ran over settles, I'm left alone-exactly where I began.
I only pause long enough to catch my breath before scampering away again.
It's not that I don't care.
Infact, I feel too much.
God, why can't something fix me.
There is no one or no thing to quell the ache.
I'm not even strong enough to do it myself.
Please just make it stop.
Make ME stop.
I would give it all, everything, away for someone to cure me.
Someone who understands me.
Someone who won't commit me.
Just lift my head from this desk.
Dry my face in such a way that the shame doesn't flood and drown me.
Grab my wrist, take them somewhere they are safe.
Pull ME into safety.
Don't ask me to be strong, and don't ask me to pretend to be strong for your sake.
Tell me I'm okay.
Don't let the waves of disgust at my weakness batter me any longer.
Let me know I'm not a failure; I'm not useless.
Use your best lie and charm if you must.
Just know that my self worth is lying on your fingertips.
I realise no such person exists.
The idea of me being complete is just that- a fantasy- an idea.
All i have left to do is fold inward.
Implode into the emptiness.
There is no one left to run to, and nowhere new left to run.
I have trapped myself, and now I must lie in the bed I triggered.
So irreversable.
So many things lost and torn away.
I'm so empty.
There is completely nothing left of what was.
I'm surrounded by shells of those I loved.
Angelic people that this plague that consumes me has long since siphoned all the essence out of them.
I never wanted to hurt anyone.
I'm sorry for your pain and your loss.
I mourn for things that once were.
God, I can never apologize.
I can never summon the words to my lips to explain the existance of someone like me.
In no society, present or past, is there an excuse for all that I have done.
I know its impossible to believe that I'm only now learning it's not acceptable to drain everyone to fill this vast and never ending void that is me.
I'm an emotional blackhole.
The very thought of someone loving me terrifies me.
I know I will just ruin them as I have the trail of shells behind me.
Destruction follows me home; It follows me everywhere.
I have ran for so long, and I can never escape it.
While I run, I'm so selfish.
I'm so blinded by my own fears and inadequacies that I never see what I'm doing until the dust clears.
When the ashes that were once the souls of the people I ran over settles, I'm left alone-exactly where I began.
I only pause long enough to catch my breath before scampering away again.
It's not that I don't care.
Infact, I feel too much.
God, why can't something fix me.
There is no one or no thing to quell the ache.
I'm not even strong enough to do it myself.
Please just make it stop.
Make ME stop.
I would give it all, everything, away for someone to cure me.
Someone who understands me.
Someone who won't commit me.
Just lift my head from this desk.
Dry my face in such a way that the shame doesn't flood and drown me.
Grab my wrist, take them somewhere they are safe.
Pull ME into safety.
Don't ask me to be strong, and don't ask me to pretend to be strong for your sake.
Tell me I'm okay.
Don't let the waves of disgust at my weakness batter me any longer.
Let me know I'm not a failure; I'm not useless.
Use your best lie and charm if you must.
Just know that my self worth is lying on your fingertips.
I realise no such person exists.
The idea of me being complete is just that- a fantasy- an idea.
All i have left to do is fold inward.
Implode into the emptiness.
There is no one left to run to, and nowhere new left to run.
I have trapped myself, and now I must lie in the bed I triggered.
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