Tag: Writing

When your thoughts turn again to the grey space between anger and apathy. The foundation you have built between your eyelids to hold them open begins to crumble. Collapse. Never enough

Cloud my eyes Pull the sickness of my sight from me. So the lust of companionship is not wasted on all I see. Flay my fingertips, so I only touch What I really need, rather than what I want.

feeling-felt still some other greater mystery to me- I suppose this is how you understand your place. below and falling flailing and silent,  for fear of waking the beasts above

forget Keep your hands where I can see them so they don’t plunge into some depth beyond my vision to pull screaming, those words I’ve said before and shouldn’t have.

certainty building on foundations of mud and some kind of desperation I always end up back here alone. maybe if my pipe dreams werent flushed down and out the moment I trained my eyes upon them I would  at least have a few stones to stand upon  as my crude replica of happiness is crushed…

Some other greater mystery Maybe listening to the bands we once shared will make me remember our old ways a little more clearly Pretend we are still floating around one another in those nebulous secret ways Bare ourselves to that even steady judgement that never came and let the small things slip Its hard to…

pointless -wilted flowers on notebook pages so many things I forgot- I can’t help but think: I guess it would be easier to accept if you had died or something. How conceited I must really be to think that someone wouldn’t want to associate with me anymore I don’t have a way to reach out…

its 6:30 in the morning and I am still alone Thinking of anchors tied to my eyelids,  forcing them to stay. trying to hide the brass knuckles i find strapped to my hands when i wake up. Readying myself for another night of bruised thoughts Maybe this is too long to think about the same…