Another good night gone away
Hoping I'm still interesting
I love every bit of your crazy
Even what you've done for me lately
I was counting down the days until I went home
But now I regret that
Because it's going too fast
The days are going too fast
I'm losing time on this world
Time wasted alone
Decaying my bones
I hate this bed, but every night
I lay down here and hang on tight
Every year I become more and more aware
About the things I didn't know before
All the times we had walking around
Were the best ones I ever had
Honey are we still gray?
Because I feel that you've moved on
Have you been counting the days
Sitting there while ive gone?
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
White Noise
I believe what I need
Is a dose of chaos
Enough of these notes,
These stanzas
Enough of these jokes,
These punchlines
I need to run
I need to hit the pavement
I need to gun it and never look back
What am I looking for?
It's not the same week to week
What am I looking for?
I'm tired of looking at this surface
I'm tired of looking at what's below
And finding more of the same.
They keep looking over my shoulder.
Is a dose of chaos
Enough of these notes,
These stanzas
Enough of these jokes,
These punchlines
I need to run
I need to hit the pavement
I need to gun it and never look back
What am I looking for?
It's not the same week to week
What am I looking for?
I'm tired of looking at this surface
I'm tired of looking at what's below
And finding more of the same.
They keep looking over my shoulder.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Red Alert / Belle
Not too late last night
I walked over to her dorm
She wore something different
from the hours before
Took her to an Airborne concert but
like a chemistry joke I got no reaction
What else do I do here?
It's not part of my standard attraction
I guess I could investigate
But in reality I'll leave it to fate
I'll never understand why
She was standing far away and close at the same time
Constant reminders of the
state of her affairs
From her faux leather jacket to the
color of her hair
I guess I could investigate
But in reality I'll leave it to fate
I'll never understand why
She was standing far away and close at the same time
I'll never be the one that you'll wake up to
Is that my fault or just something that you do?
I walked over to her dorm
She wore something different
from the hours before
Took her to an Airborne concert but
like a chemistry joke I got no reaction
What else do I do here?
It's not part of my standard attraction
I guess I could investigate
But in reality I'll leave it to fate
I'll never understand why
She was standing far away and close at the same time
Constant reminders of the
state of her affairs
From her faux leather jacket to the
color of her hair
I guess I could investigate
But in reality I'll leave it to fate
I'll never understand why
She was standing far away and close at the same time
I'll never be the one that you'll wake up to
Is that my fault or just something that you do?
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Gazebo
Her hair was unaffected as she sat down
Marble benches her only support
She felt the walls of her womb disappear
She relied on her last resort
But he was nowhere to be seen,
Wise to her teachings and lack thereof
Her hand cold as the stone underneath
Her blood running like scarabs
There is no why. There is no how.
The answers are there for comfort
There are no answers. Only questions.
The teacher had finally learned.
Gone were those moments
Only remnants of them remained
Alas, those ghosts played
Whimsical with their empty fingers
Another two souls tangled
Yet, they never were together
She fell as if she could stand
Tuesday, a lost passage found
Other members grabbing at her dress
Pout, she did. Supporting their dismay
Problems? Probably.
Losing to who? Another ghost.
Evil? Not in the least bit.
Another ghost? Not anymore.
Starting over.
Especially today.
Marble benches her only support
She felt the walls of her womb disappear
She relied on her last resort
But he was nowhere to be seen,
Wise to her teachings and lack thereof
Her hand cold as the stone underneath
Her blood running like scarabs
There is no why. There is no how.
The answers are there for comfort
There are no answers. Only questions.
The teacher had finally learned.
Gone were those moments
Only remnants of them remained
Alas, those ghosts played
Whimsical with their empty fingers
Another two souls tangled
Yet, they never were together
She fell as if she could stand
Tuesday, a lost passage found
Other members grabbing at her dress
Pout, she did. Supporting their dismay
Problems? Probably.
Losing to who? Another ghost.
Evil? Not in the least bit.
Another ghost? Not anymore.
Starting over.
Especially today.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Prologue
"At least take the boy. If you have a heart, take the boy."
The woman stood in the doorway, not pushing her way into the cabin that used to reside in snowy woods, now a garden of dirt and sticky residue. The moon created waves in the ash, turning it into an organism waiting for one wrong move.
It was beautiful.
"Fine, I'll take the boy. But there's no room. I'm beyond capacity as it is."
"Thank you. Thank you so much."
"Don't thank me. I'm doing you a favor. You have no idea how much trouble this little shit is going to be."
The woman held her smile weakly. The initial let go was nothing. She knew what had to happen. She knew she didn't have long, maybe until sunrise. Her legacy, whatever that may be, would not die tonight. She felt as if the meaning to her life was this single point in time.
She felt it in her bones, her teeth. She felt it in her lips as they closed for the final time.
George nodded. His beard pushed down against his black and red flannel work shirt, stained and with holes in places. His hair was in a permanent crescent, parted on the right, white as the snow that used to lay on the ground. He took the five year old boy and pushed him inside.
"Mommy!"
A small girl pulled him away by his wrist, whispering that it'd be okay. The boy had tears that continuously fell down his face, but his cries were now silent. George had never seen a child weep in the way the boy did, but pushed his back so he would stumble towards the girl of the same age.
The boy peeked a look out the door, at his smiling mother and then at the bearded giant to his right before looking back at the girl. She had a button nose, with a blue checkerboard pattern dress. The dress had a single pocket sewn across the breast, in which she kept nothing.
George looked at the boy and then at the woman. He blinked slowly, as if to pull in whatever emotion he had developed. His head fell as he closed the door on the stranger, now parted from her flesh and blood. She stared at the door for a long while. The wood was worn and the cracks told their own story. She knew she was this wood, and she could not take care of her son.
She turned around, smile gone. She took a step off of the porch of the cabin and walked towards the never ending maze of broken, charred trees. How they were still standing were miraculous. The woman put her hand to one of the trees, forever warm.
The sun would be up in a few hours. She didn't want to be found this way.
The woman stood in the doorway, not pushing her way into the cabin that used to reside in snowy woods, now a garden of dirt and sticky residue. The moon created waves in the ash, turning it into an organism waiting for one wrong move.
It was beautiful.
"Fine, I'll take the boy. But there's no room. I'm beyond capacity as it is."
"Thank you. Thank you so much."
"Don't thank me. I'm doing you a favor. You have no idea how much trouble this little shit is going to be."
The woman held her smile weakly. The initial let go was nothing. She knew what had to happen. She knew she didn't have long, maybe until sunrise. Her legacy, whatever that may be, would not die tonight. She felt as if the meaning to her life was this single point in time.
She felt it in her bones, her teeth. She felt it in her lips as they closed for the final time.
George nodded. His beard pushed down against his black and red flannel work shirt, stained and with holes in places. His hair was in a permanent crescent, parted on the right, white as the snow that used to lay on the ground. He took the five year old boy and pushed him inside.
"Mommy!"
A small girl pulled him away by his wrist, whispering that it'd be okay. The boy had tears that continuously fell down his face, but his cries were now silent. George had never seen a child weep in the way the boy did, but pushed his back so he would stumble towards the girl of the same age.
The boy peeked a look out the door, at his smiling mother and then at the bearded giant to his right before looking back at the girl. She had a button nose, with a blue checkerboard pattern dress. The dress had a single pocket sewn across the breast, in which she kept nothing.
George looked at the boy and then at the woman. He blinked slowly, as if to pull in whatever emotion he had developed. His head fell as he closed the door on the stranger, now parted from her flesh and blood. She stared at the door for a long while. The wood was worn and the cracks told their own story. She knew she was this wood, and she could not take care of her son.
She turned around, smile gone. She took a step off of the porch of the cabin and walked towards the never ending maze of broken, charred trees. How they were still standing were miraculous. The woman put her hand to one of the trees, forever warm.
The sun would be up in a few hours. She didn't want to be found this way.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Waking Up
"Do you want me to admit that I'm crazy?"
"N-"
"Is that what you want?"
"No."
The room was painted a steel gray as if to numb some sort of realization.
"I just want to know what you're thinking."
The ceiling was a lighter shade of gray. The florescent lights glowed a solid, transparent white.
"That's a hard demand."
Pause.
"I know."
He was sitting in what appeared to be a very uncomfortable chair. It almost required one to sit up straight. Leaning back would just let him slip right off. That would be embarrassing.
"That's why we're here"
"Is it?"
The other being in the room laid on a cot with a thin mattress, cranked up so he was eye level with the doctor. He wore a button down shirt, buttoned up the whole way with the exception of the top button. It felt like it choked him.
The doctor was dressed like any doctor that was trying to crack someone's mind. A vest covering a blue, long-sleeved shirt. His hairline was starting to recede. His glasses were hanging off the edge of his nose.
And of course, he had a clipboard.
"Why are we here?"
"You tell me."
The doctor was trying to maintain some sort of authority.
It felt like it was raining outside, even though there was no way of telling. There were no windows and only one door. No observation, no witnesses.
"I think I should be angry. After all, I know I'm not crazy. I've said it before, but that's only going to harden your opinion that in face I am crazy. If I call myself crazy, then you'll just remember that you were right in the first place and wear your smug smiles underneath your stout noses."
"Perhaps you're right. How would you know if you're crazy?"
"I think I would feel it."
"Feel what?"
"I'd feel the dizziness pull itself over me. I wouldn't be able to stop myself from falling into some paradoxical void where I realize how limited life really is."
"Isn't that what brought you here?"
Was the doctor really the patient?
"I'm crazy."
"But are you?"
"N-"
"Is that what you want?"
"No."
The room was painted a steel gray as if to numb some sort of realization.
"I just want to know what you're thinking."
The ceiling was a lighter shade of gray. The florescent lights glowed a solid, transparent white.
"That's a hard demand."
Pause.
"I know."
He was sitting in what appeared to be a very uncomfortable chair. It almost required one to sit up straight. Leaning back would just let him slip right off. That would be embarrassing.
"That's why we're here"
"Is it?"
The other being in the room laid on a cot with a thin mattress, cranked up so he was eye level with the doctor. He wore a button down shirt, buttoned up the whole way with the exception of the top button. It felt like it choked him.
The doctor was dressed like any doctor that was trying to crack someone's mind. A vest covering a blue, long-sleeved shirt. His hairline was starting to recede. His glasses were hanging off the edge of his nose.
And of course, he had a clipboard.
"Why are we here?"
"You tell me."
The doctor was trying to maintain some sort of authority.
It felt like it was raining outside, even though there was no way of telling. There were no windows and only one door. No observation, no witnesses.
"I think I should be angry. After all, I know I'm not crazy. I've said it before, but that's only going to harden your opinion that in face I am crazy. If I call myself crazy, then you'll just remember that you were right in the first place and wear your smug smiles underneath your stout noses."
"Perhaps you're right. How would you know if you're crazy?"
"I think I would feel it."
"Feel what?"
"I'd feel the dizziness pull itself over me. I wouldn't be able to stop myself from falling into some paradoxical void where I realize how limited life really is."
"Isn't that what brought you here?"
Was the doctor really the patient?
"I'm crazy."
"But are you?"
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Darkness
I'm running through problems
Can't break through them
Can't bring them down
They're not problems, per say
Just issues.
Things I don't know I want to deal with.
Things I feel would bring other things down.
It's nothing bad.
In fact it happens to everyone.
Eventually.
And the thought has crossed my mind
Many times while crossing the street
That blinding white light we're told to stay away from
Instead of embrace.
Why? I'm not scared of that light.
Just afraid of how I'm going to get there.
Waiting for the roof to come caving in.
For me to explode.
Internally.
Letting my mind wander to places that it shouldn't.
Is it true? Is it not?
Who knows really?
A doctor probably.
There's probably nothing to face.
Not that I want to face anything.
Instead, I'm biting my fingernails,
Listening to the same music,
Listening to the same professors,
Listening to the same architecture.
Everyday I value sleep more and more.
The dreams are what I miss and fear the most.
They're inescapable really.
If I had the choice of sleeping without that colorful imagination
I don't know if I'd take it.
Because dreams can be better than reality.
In fact, they mostly are.
There are no limits.
Even I doubt that statement, however.
Even in my dreams you pull away.
Ah well, life goes on.
Until it doesn't.
But even then.
Even then I doubt that statement.
The leaves, the plants, the animals, the small children have no higher knowledge.
They are not afraid. Even when they are, you can't imagine their emotion.
It's not the same.
The tags and titles we attach to those chemical reactions are nothing more than generalizations.
Perhaps this is the wrong place for this.
I feel like I could spill everything.
I feel like it wouldn't matter.
In a good way.
Instead I have this pounding at the back of my head.
My skull holding my brain splitting in two.
Is home the remedy?
I don't even know.
Can't break through them
Can't bring them down
They're not problems, per say
Just issues.
Things I don't know I want to deal with.
Things I feel would bring other things down.
It's nothing bad.
In fact it happens to everyone.
Eventually.
And the thought has crossed my mind
Many times while crossing the street
That blinding white light we're told to stay away from
Instead of embrace.
Why? I'm not scared of that light.
Just afraid of how I'm going to get there.
Waiting for the roof to come caving in.
For me to explode.
Internally.
Letting my mind wander to places that it shouldn't.
Is it true? Is it not?
Who knows really?
A doctor probably.
There's probably nothing to face.
Not that I want to face anything.
Instead, I'm biting my fingernails,
Listening to the same music,
Listening to the same professors,
Listening to the same architecture.
Everyday I value sleep more and more.
The dreams are what I miss and fear the most.
They're inescapable really.
If I had the choice of sleeping without that colorful imagination
I don't know if I'd take it.
Because dreams can be better than reality.
In fact, they mostly are.
There are no limits.
Even I doubt that statement, however.
Even in my dreams you pull away.
Ah well, life goes on.
Until it doesn't.
But even then.
Even then I doubt that statement.
The leaves, the plants, the animals, the small children have no higher knowledge.
They are not afraid. Even when they are, you can't imagine their emotion.
It's not the same.
The tags and titles we attach to those chemical reactions are nothing more than generalizations.
Perhaps this is the wrong place for this.
I feel like I could spill everything.
I feel like it wouldn't matter.
In a good way.
Instead I have this pounding at the back of my head.
My skull holding my brain splitting in two.
Is home the remedy?
I don't even know.
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