91 east

Why would I throw my lifeless body into something that I've seen people die from? I find myself and others frequently convincing ourselves that we're a different story. It won't happen to us, because we aren't them. How foolish we can all be for that. Ragdolling down the countryside into what will surely be my end, my limbs flop and twist in undersirable contortions.


In my dreams, I wander. It's no different than what I do in my conscious state, but in my dreams I feel no shame. When I'm awake and answering questions I feel guilty that I don't know what I want. My dreams however leave me wandering down empty corridors. Aged pillars decaying and crumbling left and right as tiles crack under the weight of my indecision. Here it comes.

cringing.

i wasn't that star. i didn't explode. i still do laps around galaxies, but now they're not so close... they're farther away these days. watching the lives of others and their dreams falling all around them like dirty recycled los angeles rain drops. that water is thick like blood. blood that runs down steep palos verdes and beverly hills driveways into the gutters where we've all slept once or twice by now.

i want to know where you swim at night. what nebulas you frequent. which stars you love to watch explode. and most of all, what planets you want to destroy. i can help you decimate celestial beings. let me.

these songs that you've chosen for me are something deeper than i probably know. but my very thinking about that possibility leaves me wondering if they're meaningful at all or if they're simply melodic constructions held together by chicken scratched lyrics on loose leaf paper.

write me something scary.

write me something beautiful.

just don't stop writing me.

7x8

So I dig my toes into April
In an attempt to just hold on
While the waves of summer wash away
The sand castles we've been living on
We're left out in the open
Stranded here under the sun
Just to build those sand castles back up
Pack the dirt and fight, or is it run?

La da da da,
Just counting down the days
Twiddling my thumbs
And thinking about the ways,

It could have been.
It should have been.
It's done.

I'm so afraid of what's left
What sits here on my plate
These months I can't seem to stomach
These feelings I can't seem to shake.
I'm killing time for what it is
Exposed and baked under the sun
Coffee shops and long talks
I'm happy cause I'm alone.

recognition

this is what it means to taste misery. This deep copper that dyes my tongue a disgusting color. I can cleanse myself all I want but I know I'll always taste this metallic dissapointment. Sleeping without cotton swabs in my mouth is a terrible idea. There's nothing to soak up all the blood that pours in and down my esophagus.

I've never felt like we were equals, but now I know it for sure. It's so hard to accept that something I've clung to for years can be ripped away from my being like magic, with no trace. No remains. Only ruins are left in a wake that makes me feel like something less than human. Did I deserve this?

thunderstorms.

i'm tired of talking about music.

right now i'm really tired of pushing out music and lyrics and poems and thoughts and shit. i feel like if i keep pushing things out and not letting them walk out naturally, it will all be shit. i don't want what i love to be a waste, so i'm tired as of now. what i really want to do is rid myself of this cavity in my stomach that shares the rent with my heart. i want to sleep it all off and brush away what still sits on my shoulders.

i want to fly to the mid west and sit on a lake that i know. i want to tell no one and walk down to the dock. i want to sit on the structure and feel the warm water on my feet. i want to sit there in a big coat and watch the clouds move in from the west. they gather above the giant mass of water and shade the life that stirs beneath the surface. darkness covers the lake and the speedboats go home. it's storms like this that make me want to see. it's lightning that illuminates the 1,000 lakes and more that makes me want to fall into the water with my arms outstretched for the sky. i can feel the water flooding my nose and as i cough, forcing what i'm made of out of my body another streak of lightning cascades over the lake and i am home.

i conduct electricity. i shape these clouds and control the grid that powers the night sky. i'm the one making everything bright and shiny and beautiful.
but i am nothing.
i am drowning in the lake that acts as a mirror. reflecting the electric discharge born in the clouds, shaking airplanes and crows.
i am night.

sleeping beasts

please don't make an effort
i've got it under control
you see i'm used to being here
on the bottom of the ocean floor
treading through your thoughts
i keep my footsteps light
these patterns and seas of rhythm
are nothing in comparison to the score

one, love
keep your distance
two, love
i've got my resistance

the water's getting heavy
crushin from the pressure
living in this submarine
am i content, or should i ask for more?
and so i'm treading water
the temperature is warm
i watch the sun set in the east
and settle down with this sleeping beast, evermore

(what's the score?)


one, love
keep your distance
two, love
i've got my resistance

my dark passenger.

it's night, and i am desolate. the darkness is not pitch black to the point where nothing is recognizable, but just enough to be unable to discern shapes in the distance. as i wander through the haze that obstructs my vision, i take small light steps so as not to trip over anything making itself invisible to my feet. the grunge that surrounds me is a feeling i'm familiar with. it's something that has been with me and led me through my life for years now. it is my lies, my deceit, my harmful nature, and most of all my hate. it is a walkway that provides me with room to move, but at the same time it restricts my steps and keeps me confined on a path that only it knows the end to. i have struggled as hard as i possibly can for years to hold in whatever this grunge may be, and i have done a fairly good job. there are moments of weakness i expereince however, where it momentarily escapes in the form of a different character condemning those who deserve anything but. in a crowded room, this passenger is the entity that sleeps beneath the plastic incadescent smiles...the ones that are so fake they show every tooth in the mouth. the passenger is one that glides effortlessly through my heart and spins threaded thoughts that swamp my brain. it layers my mind and floats through it like a mist. though visible, it cannot be caught or contained and the only thing that you can do to survive it is to drive slowly and keep your brights off. this grunge...this passenger...i can only hope to subdue it for as long as possible.