it’s beginning to show
it’s intertwining dividends between time invested with growth.
my intention provoked. lying listless and broke
revisiting moments that to me, seem explicitly warped
yosemite vulture. my melatonins dried up some
sore throat, sore back, amphetamine humdrum
ever growing size of my blood pump escaping out of my thorax
500-pound dry-flesh, green alien invasion
the least entertaining eyesore of something alive
need something to die for, an end to the means
imagine going to sleep, with binary code in your dreams
wake up to see, beating hearts in the sheets
cupid dart in my daith, superstar on the stage
taking a nosedive in oblivion, fiending fans in their seats
15:56 in corinthians. hold me, and scream
a cobra in the grass, with a boomslang caught in its teeth
two fangs, bon’apetite
still are what you eat
darkest before, dawn at its peak
marking off doomsday in a week
neitzche authored pretty much what I’m telling you now
neitzche’s name is the same if you take out all the vowels
neitzche authored the sequences that I yell at you now. everyday considered lost if were not dancing around. acceptance a must. i want to forget you, forget that it happened, to protect my destruction. when each minute is elapsed
it’s said if you’re depressed you’re living in the past.
if you’re living in the future, then its anxiety. trying to delete this undo button on the time machine. i want to speak to the one. whether it be with these feet or our tongues. I’m used to this dance. exchanging euphemisms or moving in trance. don’t lose me, watching each opportunity snatched.
i don’t know how to express myself without giving away, exact detail- still obscuring the day. i don’t feel well, i tell myself i’m sure it’s okay. the sunset, the rain, gun smoke, & malaise, the perspiring& tired breaths, our entire tryst – the fire sex. i couldn’t talk fluently, -you were my only dialect
getting wound up in simile and allegorical speak, creating a world where the orbit isn’t even normal to me. categorical means. euphoric disease. it’s tough being an alien. futuristic portal and beam. love seeing it rain. UFO license plate reading “catch me if you can”. i love seeing you change, don’t want to see you the same. love being in rain. i hate leaving a trail of my footsteps exposed. i love sleet, hail and the snow. the same nuisance, just at different times of the year. a love/hate relationship with being insane. kinda like.. we are. or we were.
i love to be in control. gunship turret patrol. i hate underlying factors. unresolved moments in gold. underlining tantrums. i loathe when suns provides bastions of sunshine for eternity. motherfucker, i hate all these motherfucking uncertainties. being doused in someones punchline is wildly disconcerting. dislike being lost, who wants to fist fight in the dark. with house rules: it ignites, when this right lands on your jaw. implant a GPS in my dome, let it beep if I’m gone. coordinate my geotagged location once more. hum me a lullaby baby, while i sing along. lea salonga’s “let me show you the world“. carpet stained with coffee grains, and unrealistic expectations and heartless pangs. sand tower fantasy’s, where romanticism hardly fades, and carnal rage is whole.
and … erotic diction overturns symphonic fiction thats promised. i feel as if, everything ive ever thought is invalid or ancient. I can’t quite put my finger on it- and that has me complacent.
I’m back again. I identified the problem, simplified the content. Happiness can’t be figured out. That’s the point in process. you’re either a massless void in rhythm, or a single cellular, organism. that was an awful way to put what I’ve been trying to mean. and honestly, I’m torn to smithereens
most of the time i didn’t say what i wanted to scream.
i’ve got a troll that lives under my bridge, who uses me as his ventriloquist. guttural roars slowly coming out of my throat. and that pot of gold isn’t enough to start bringing him home. I’ll take my pulse, and i’m barely breathing, i’ll let you in on a secret- I’m exponentially worse than i was 5 minutes into this story. but yeah worse is better than the nothing i stared into this morning.
spinning the howitzer, just to get me out of the house. sometimes i’ll take a shower, and put it on freezing. sit there until i figure it out. goosebumps surround sound system, hallways in black. broadway show finishing now. curtain close. audience gasp, lights on me gently taking a bow.