hands on our mouth its really over now,
wearing the same pants from nine to eleven, I can barely speak.
I saw inside of the mirror a little man inside me subscribing to
to something coming and his eyes fell to the closet.
'don't worry about anything'
she sincerely saw through my curly hair for the first time,
knowing love and sickness will be the death of me,
but we’ll stick it out all for something.
besides she won’t release me till its all over.
4:02 pm • 26 December 2011 • 2 notes
did they ever once stay, to watch your love swim out?
the faces they made buried in dirt to dull their shapes,
cutting the hand which chose our names.
Polishing the next words which come out, be careful they might be our last.
sinking deeper into the dirt, chest deep at the age of twenty,
six feet seems so shallow.
and she couldn’t take her eyes off of the clean words I placed on a slate,
fill in the blanks.
moving clumsy lips which tell loose lies,
we’re sinking into this California dirt.
I stayed and watched only to drown in love and be reborn into a better life,
she stayed above me for ever, like she stays above me know.
3:55 pm • 26 December 2011 • 6 notes
shaking my teeth loose at the dinner table, my fake smile broke right through
the cracks of the wood floor, now that you’ve picked each one apart you can’t look at me.
the door swung wide open, putting your make-up on everyday leaving for work
or the store, or away, always leaving away.
but it doesn’t add up, because once I fix things up right you won’t be so embarrassed of me.
and I’ll look in the mirror if I ever feel like lying.
3:05 am • 26 December 2011 • 2 notes
I do not like the term spilled ink, especially when read through a backlit screen.
even so, something well written does not come about
From an accidental spill
Of an ink well.
Ink is not spilled but, instead
Put into place.
Placed between blue parallels
That cannot contain emotion.
There is no beauty in a blotch,
No comfort found in a stain,
appreciation penned from my heart and my soul.
That is no accident.
2:34 am • 26 December 2011
I’m a simple man, the simplest of men, loving you the
Way I know how to.
She stirred the sensitive feelings which
Sat below, and how much should one care?
I said I’d leave, because look my mother left.
Don’t talk of your wife,
Of women with bad feelings.
It all has made a story of me because time is fatal.
She left like the changing of pavement.
1:31 am • 26 December 2011
fasten the noose
she threw away the family portrait drawn when she was four,
trembling sweating, a shadow from the light of a candle.
parents separated by more than mountainsides,
she sits on the porch holding her mothers cold hands;
they were looking for someone to blame.
the death of her father she would find in time, that waiting for forever brings
no end, the days spent weeping inside.
and we can burn the tangible in the most brilliant fire, but our memory is the one friend
that you can grow to hate, spending to much time in the mind wishing to
unwind the paths paved by the past,
3:25 pm • 12 December 2011 • 5 notes
I wake up cold on the floor, laying in a fight,
Oh the way my weary soul will drive, followed by all
The horrible things I’ve done.
I’ll find somebody that I can blame, the piece of the
Puzzle that won’t allow it all to stay the same.
My weary soul will find once more what it feels like
To wait forever and some days we’d wish to die or be young.
The cancer will spread around the body and there’s nothing we can do about it now. So follow the
Grass covered path, and your soul will find all the things
You’ve missed, like the love of our mother and strength of your father. Your youth will carry the soul away back to the days when life was a game.
2:05 pm • 12 December 2011 • 3 notes
Bus numbers posted on dusty transparent glass
Point me on the daily path of non-renewal.
I long for the day when my soul
Pushes lifes dinner plate away and remarks
Its all full of shit, that’s what the drunkard yells
On the conner and bart buzzes below;
And sometimes I imagine the people traveling at those speeds
Not enclosed in aluminium, just floating by at
67 miles per hour, and yet I’m stuck here.
The home that I’ve grown to love, grew away from me
sprouting outward wrapped up in it all.
The heart palpitates with irrational beats, because she’s grown out of our sheets.
5:19 pm • 4 December 2011 • 20 notes
there are things that we all know we must do,
what she wanted from me was a proper clue, but we made to many stains in our bed.
what I want from her is into her soul, fracturing our hearts to love for all time.
soon she wanted out, as we spun around, what we got from this was to never let go,
the ideas we entertained, planted deep like a rooted tree.
she used to hate me until we were both let out, but the paper cups stained
red as the grapevines fed us.
4:20 pm • 30 November 2011
New aged lineation connecting old traditions
Of the east, they will be lost in the days to come.
Journeys waged on western fronts, meditation
Should be the new mediation seperating our
Worldly self rom our universal self, yet maintaing
A sense of both, a common balance must be reached
Withing every individual before we can save the world
As a collective.
4:15 pm • 29 November 2011 • 1 note