You’ll always have a home in my heart. But sometimes it’s just not right for you to stay there.
If I had never opened my mouth would any of this be the same? No not at all, I’d probably be a bit more sane. Easy enough for me to say that something as practical as sanity can be measured on a scale from 1 to 10. But so are looks, and god dammit I think I’ve never seen a smile brighter than the one you flashed when you realized I had no emotions left to spend. I’ve never been a big spender, but if looks could kill I’d be another victim of your heart throb genocide. What’s never been yours has always been mine, and thats your grin, the one you flash every now and again when something makes you a little less than satisfied with the position you’ve isolated yourself in, but it’s not my fault I’ve left my tongue to manifest into your dreams. A fucking parasite, sometimes I’d rather let my eloquence and vocable decadence be the death of myself, not the immaculately conceived screams reflecting from the seams of the jeans I’ve let my rusty fingernails and coffee stained palms caress in plain sight. It’s frightening for me to admit this, but let the pride I’ve swallowed be my witness. If looks could kill then I might as well be blind, because I’d rather not see the trails of arctic wolves you’ve left behind.
kickin’ it with Tribe Called Quest all night.
that the only thing stopping me from reaching down your throat and tearing the words you should have kept at home from your stomach and smearing them across your forehead, is a broken desktop screen and a few miles of dingy cable connections.
I was, born king ruler of my dominion, analyzing each and every substance of my being, blending with the crowd when necessary, a chameleon of sorts, hiding in narrow minded day light, bearing my cross like a diamond studded chest piece hanging from my ball and chain. For the last five years, I’ve spent my time measuring my success by the individual syllables and silhouettes I’ve splattered on my barren canvas, by the cigarettes and narcotic abuses of information that I’ve continuously resisted from consuming the essence of my being with self pity, it’s a gritty way to mop the sidewalks and streets with a broom handle I’ve been busy dancing with. The radio pukes out showtunes turned autonomic antipathy invading my neurons and impulses with jittery remarks and addictions for sneakers, beepers, belts, anything laying less than a centimeter deeper than the skin I shroud my humanly form with. I take on the act of lonely teenager so as to hide from the public eye while sending the tides back to the moon where they came from, snorting the sea foam and rest atop the waves crashing in on dreams foretold in ironclad notebooks and oratory glory. It’s a wonder of public speaking that my dogma resists the usage of a bible, to store and nurture the few sparks of wisdom that could light any old flame to burn down any beautiful forest. In the underbrush is where I lay my venom, spitting it from my totem pole and podiums, an invisible trap for those too caught up in the movement of my jaw bone away from my earlobes and the physiological circumstances circumventing the meaning behind the air escaping my punctured lungs. Applicable thought stapled to the back of a few meaningless methods of syntax expression, expose the kinks in the chain links tying together my stringy, moody muscular cortex. A membrane of rust and garbage, a few cardboard boxes and a pair of lethargic monotonous friends riding the coattails of dignity lost in modern trends, where I can safely and controversially stash my pride in the thoughts of those too daft to share their opinions.
I was, dead as a son of a bitch lying with his head resting on the gun underneath the pillow of winds, whisking away any sense of moral judgement and ethical progress, its simply due process for the dues I’ve yet to pay regarding the mortgage I’ve taken out on heavens gates. A few deflated clouds and acidic raindrops later I find myself stalking the skies for more prey to swallow into hollow eyes, a tragedy of the justice system I’ve climbed my way to spend a few dollars in retribution and contrition. I’ve contrived the decisions for others through artifice and faulty advice on how to manipulate the spaces between their toes to look like rainbows, and to shoot the pixie dust within your naval to look like shooting stars to wish your pain away like a plug in the spigot. But as the dam overflows the flood reaches over the concrete walls like an arm through the darkness, snatching its victims into the cool release of a watery grave, kidnapping their innocence and washing away the stains of time in irony and rhetorical devices, a blight on the widows of window shoppers picking through the diamonds and dirt littered by the bank robbery of souls and mischief. God doesn’t have a thing on a monster like me. I stalk my enemy with a calm heading and serene grin, because my blood boils and my bones melt within. I float with the tides I pull back, and waste away in the dust I’ve kicked up from doors I’ve shut too quickly, to put it simply, you will never find the real me. I’m lost somewhere between fallen angels and shooting stars, but we as humans, have never really made it that far.
to the best friend I could ever ask for. I love her to death and I will stand by that through anything and everything you can throw at me. We’ve been through just about everything you could imagine and no matter what we never stayed angry at each other for more than a few days, IF that. She annoys the shit out of me and I prod her until she cries, but I don’t care because she’s the best friend I could EVER ask for, and I owe my personality, friends, and my pride and joy to her. She’s amazing, and today is her special motha fuckin day. Happy birthday Jackie<3
I don’t think you even want to sort this out do you. You just enjoy the attention. But you don’t even enjoy it. Everything is so appealing, you want it all. Take it and see what fits but don’t be surprised when you’re so bloated your novelty t-shirts and spotless dunks can’t seem to cover up the words you’ve held back. No one understand your message, yeah right you paint symbols in hieroglyphics. It’s an ancient art, whether or not you believe in it it won’t take much for you to swoon away your woes by drowning them in someone else’s tears, but lately you’ve found its harder to bury the indignation in top soil. Go ahead plant another seed and water it with the leftover piss from the last relationship you glued together like kindergarten was just a phase of hand-eye coordinated triumphs and infantile rages. You’re hell bent on being honest, yeah right only with the one that mattered. Look where that got you, face full of plaster and concrete and to stop your teeth from moving out of the way of your sexual inclinations you’ve braced them with barbed wire and vacuum seals. When will you learn you’ve shut away the best you could receive, good luck standing tall when you’re walking on your knees. Pathetic, vile, immature, malicious, malevolent, you are a storm of chaos and reverence. Who the fuck are you and what have you done with what you’ve become, because a treasure chest ain’t enough to hide the golden sealed ships you’ve sunk.
it would be a much more serene place to be. Never would we have to hide our emotions and feelings about a situation, nor would we feel held back from what we wish to say about someone. Compliments would be raw and sanguine, you would never have to doubt the words from someones mouth if their biological sonar is reflecting off of your skin.
Not to mention you would never feel that restriction of movement that leather straps or corduroy legs bring forth. Your muscles and bones, leg hairs and stretch marks would flow freely with the wind between your knees, acting like a cove for the fresh air kissing your thighs with gentle lips.
Maybe in a world we never have to hide what our bodies wish to say, what’s been programmed within our cells to dictate our fluency of locomotion, to guide where our fingers and toes meet one another like a synapse between right and wrong, we’d never have to feel like somethings missing. It’s all out on the table, and with no pants to cover up the scars and semi-sexual lies we hide behind, perhaps the world would be a safer place to chase the truth with hunting knives and fishing rods.
After all, without pants, you can run faster.
Teeth touching ear to ear, eyes squinting dangerously touching lid to lash,
brashly judging the distance from wall to calmly coordinated motions with a touch of,
ignorant mathematics and a knack for the unexpected. Flickering in the deserted
floorboards arranged in circular jackknives driven knee deep into the mud.
Home base never felt so alone, shivering whispers shaking hands with the devils
locked in closets, enticed by the bull run knocking down this china shop dancing
with the spirited few busy picking out their tombstones and backdrops for a honeymoon
thrown to the dashboard splattered on the windshield, lopsided airwaves projecting
the misled lead bullets and stainless steel lies stolen from the backside of a spine
climb it like a ladder place the samurai sword from a dingy old museum, right in the
slots beckoning for a sharp edge and a womanly touch, between the optic nerve
and a few slurred words tied together with musical bars and double stops, fermata
the pause between sentence and thought so as to bring out the beauty in silence
and all of its grandeur. Lavishly majestic, the sounds never uttered appear much
more appealing to the naked eye, in comparison to the snide remarks left under
the covers, bedsheets and dusty pillows can only act as a barrier between reality
and dreams never to come to fruition, for as long as the dreamer can hold his eyes
shut, barbed wire and land mines keep out foreign invaders but at some point,
you’ll be subject to face the intonation of a crowd unmoved by dignity.
Herd economics, we’re all caught in the undertow of trampling under the pack.
It’s a pride society, this hymn means nothing more than the scarlined tattoos down
turn my organs inside out to find a trace of what I ate to poison me with such doubts of my originality. I’m not famous for a reason, and to that I raise my glass to the substantial eclecticism from which I owe my first psychological fallacy. I am nothing more than a man without a home, my niche is in the unoccupied corner of the bathroom floor, where nothing makes any more sense than the answers that lay behind the shower door.
I do care about the situation, but there’s nothing I can do about it as a teenager. That was in reference to the other teenagers who spammed my damn dashboard with it. I read four news sources daily because I’m s0o0o tuff so yes I do try to educate myself, I’d love to do something but I recognize that I can’t with my given position, and spamming dashboards at 9am doesn’t make me a happy camper. Nuff said.
then do something more than complain about it on tumblr. All morning I’ve seen rants and pictures about Egypt and Libya and all of that. First of all it’s a lot more complicated than strictly “freeing the people”. That’s not to say I don’t support their cause, because I do. But as a fat, lazy, American teenager on a personal blog site, the last thing I want to see is fellow slobs acting as if their grievances against things they’ll never truly understand until thrust into the position, are justified. If you’re so damn concerned, do something about it. Don’t denounce others for doing the same things as you.
I just saw a commercial for this website. I want to puke. If you want your christian soul mate I don’t think ‘god’ would throw them at you via the internet. Nor would he use 80’s advertising technology to let you know this was possible.
Hell if ‘god’ had his way he’d be shooting you biddies through lightning bolts and tongues of fire, after you’ve prayed for four more hours of course. Speciously, I can say that I don’t know enough about this cool guy with a killer beard to pass judgement on his holiness. But, then again, he DID write a bestseller…
If ‘god’ wanted you to find your mate, but he gives you free will, I don’t think he’d use a faceless flicker of lights bells and whistles to let you know who you’ll carry through St. Peter’s lies. If you want christian poon, go to church. Jesus is a masochist, drink his blood and maybe he’ll throw you a bone. Or a cross.
Hell that’s marriage anyway…..
I told the angels I’d see you some day soon,
I haven’t lived enough life to leave this room.
I missed absolutely nothing. *sigh* deleting this shit tomorrow. Night tumblr.