i have a friend called You
i have another friend called Gone
i have another friend called None
i have another friend called Else
i have another friend called
i have another friend
i have another
i have
i
phony Whack-A-Mole charade
I Am So Happy And I Am Ready To Die Whenever
February 07, 2014
December 20, 2013
deathmasks
She tracked down every one of his ex-lovers and cut off their faces and wore them around the house when she was alone, sometimes laughing, sometimes crying, usually feeling nothing.
He tracked down every one of her ex-lovers and cut off their faces and wore them around the house when he was alone, sometimes laughing, sometimes crying, usually feeling nothing.
Then one day they both thought they'd be alone and adorned themselves with the faces of the most recent ex-lovers and accidentally met each other in the kitchen.
Every heart stopped beating as they looked at each other, into each other's eyes, the familiar eyes framed by the skins that couldn't smile on their own anymore.
He removed his mask and picked up a knife from the counter and looked at her in a way that made her uncomfortable.
She removed her mask and picked up a knife from the counter and looked at him in a way that made him uncomfortable.
He tracked down every one of her ex-lovers and cut off their faces and wore them around the house when he was alone, sometimes laughing, sometimes crying, usually feeling nothing.
Then one day they both thought they'd be alone and adorned themselves with the faces of the most recent ex-lovers and accidentally met each other in the kitchen.
Every heart stopped beating as they looked at each other, into each other's eyes, the familiar eyes framed by the skins that couldn't smile on their own anymore.
He removed his mask and picked up a knife from the counter and looked at her in a way that made her uncomfortable.
She removed her mask and picked up a knife from the counter and looked at him in a way that made him uncomfortable.
November 22, 2013
Keep The Christ In
You wake up
probably from a coma
The living room
(haha, "living")
is littered
with beautiful boxes
oh
the paper, all the paper
it cradles an image ("emblazoned")
of you at your worst
and you
oh
you just tear through it all
The dead and decorated tree
watches you open every box
It shudders, thinking of its roots
out there somewhere
"Where is my family?"
is a thought you don't have
handfuls of priceless
and imaginary gems,
all for you,
all from some god,
you were so good
this year
as you admire your gifts,
Everything Your Heartless Chest Deserves
slithers down the chimney
with care
and sits in a circle around you
Happiest, Useless
Holidays
probably from a coma
The living room
(haha, "living")
is littered
with beautiful boxes
oh
the paper, all the paper
it cradles an image ("emblazoned")
of you at your worst
and you
oh
you just tear through it all
The dead and decorated tree
watches you open every box
It shudders, thinking of its roots
out there somewhere
"Where is my family?"
is a thought you don't have
handfuls of priceless
and imaginary gems,
all for you,
all from some god,
you were so good
this year
as you admire your gifts,
Everything Your Heartless Chest Deserves
slithers down the chimney
with care
and sits in a circle around you
Happiest, Useless
Holidays
October 28, 2013
Horrible, Awful, Bad at Everything
Did you hear that?
Who's there?
There's someone
Turns the lights on
Grab a weapon
GHOSTS LIVE IN YOUR MIND
AND THEY WHISPER ALL THE TIME
GHOSTS DRIFT THROUGH YOUR BRAIN
THEY REFUSE TO LET YOU CHANGE
I am haunted
but I wanted
to let you know I care
I feel nothing
I see no one
but I know that something's there
I see you've met The One In The Mirror
I'm sorry he's dying he's fucked up and wrong
Who's there?
There's someone
Turns the lights on
Grab a weapon
GHOSTS LIVE IN YOUR MIND
AND THEY WHISPER ALL THE TIME
GHOSTS DRIFT THROUGH YOUR BRAIN
THEY REFUSE TO LET YOU CHANGE
I am haunted
but I wanted
to let you know I care
I feel nothing
I see no one
but I know that something's there
I see you've met The One In The Mirror
I'm sorry he's dying he's fucked up and wrong
October 21, 2013
October 09, 2013
The Two Times I've Been "A Hero"
When I was a kid another kid was mean to my friend, made her cry, so I chased that fucker across a few yards and tackled him and smashed his face into the snow a couple of times, yelling.
When I was an adult, you and I fell in love.
When I was an adult, you and I fell in love.
October 02, 2013
Repetitive Birth
Fresh soil beneath dry fingernails, a thoughtful gift.
The bright hollow inside a lightbulb, the slick inside of lungs.
All we need is to not become what scares us.
Inexperienced mothers refusing to explode the young from the eggs.
A cockroach pondering anything at all.
The train we're on is begging us to get off before it reaches its destination.
An apple will start rotting when it stops caring what happens to it.
Celebrities are writing heartfelt letters to all their fans, taking great care to personalize the sentiments, but all the postal workers in this crippled galaxy are perpetually, unapologetically, blackout drunk.
Get well, get well.
All we need is to not become what scares us.
Dreams of serene lunacy dream of stabbing themselves in the dark.
Shooting stars propelled toward anything that won't complain upon impact.
The Church Of The Time You Noticed You Were Different.
The Cult Of The Time You Cried When Your Best Friend Moved Away.
Cotton candy crushed into a slightly sticky cube, stuffed into an abscessed wisdom tooth.
Connotations will warp over time but no one will notice until the mind starts replaying sacred moments in slow motion.
All we need is to not become each other.
The bright hollow inside a lightbulb, the slick inside of lungs.
All we need is to not become what scares us.
Inexperienced mothers refusing to explode the young from the eggs.
A cockroach pondering anything at all.
The train we're on is begging us to get off before it reaches its destination.
An apple will start rotting when it stops caring what happens to it.
Celebrities are writing heartfelt letters to all their fans, taking great care to personalize the sentiments, but all the postal workers in this crippled galaxy are perpetually, unapologetically, blackout drunk.
Get well, get well.
All we need is to not become what scares us.
Dreams of serene lunacy dream of stabbing themselves in the dark.
Shooting stars propelled toward anything that won't complain upon impact.
The Church Of The Time You Noticed You Were Different.
The Cult Of The Time You Cried When Your Best Friend Moved Away.
Cotton candy crushed into a slightly sticky cube, stuffed into an abscessed wisdom tooth.
Connotations will warp over time but no one will notice until the mind starts replaying sacred moments in slow motion.
All we need is to not become each other.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)