what the fuck do i do

the moon the moon the moon the sun the sun the moon press mute succumb doomed doomed doomed I'm doomed. we're done who who who are you who are us? collusion contusions. you're a cup of hot chocolate on the fiercest winter morning feel the blisters forming whistle through the windows pixelating percentage whistling. cold… Continue reading what the fuck do i do

my mother used to say

hi. I'm okay. my name is .. (private exchange) oceanic delight. mariana trench - lets lie on the waves get lied to with promises as you wave your goodbyes the we'll soon see each others. the i cant wait to arrives gesticulating giant, wide-eyed naivety shine Juan Valdez roast - a vagabonds variant vibe cash… Continue reading my mother used to say

i know what i need 

I dont know what I want whether its surface dwelling alone at the swamp or an oak in a marsh, soul searching proverbial want we're more or less spawns of monsters nobody needs you were my star spangled banner and I was taking a knee subterranean breeze, vitamin pond, still smell your perfume every once… Continue reading i know what i need 

fötter day

you can hear the... suburbia chime, zirconia vertebrae. pearly white spine glass thrown in stone houses, regular suburbia night whirring, rewind. chronicled childhood in olive drab paint monocle glass. wormwood and bottles of shawshank. dissolute solitude, wanderer who wallows in maze en route. delay for tomorrow. never promised today virgin diary. anne frank. marie curie… Continue reading fötter day

Protected: then and now: im sorry. the gray just isnt beautiful to me anymore.

There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.

July 19th, 1991.

all little boys need father figures not to be normal, or not to be sane. You wouldn't turn on a lightswitch without seeing where all the conduits placed. You grow up with a fist full of hurt. A surge, like a missile, without hearing a 'miss you'. But one thing is certain, nothing makes you… Continue reading July 19th, 1991.

Don’t you get mad when there isnt’ a word that encapsulates your thoughts? So you write sonnets and songs, and poets and hymns, haikus and shit just to sorta capture it all?

sigh. the streetlight kissed your eyes & created an impression so pure. its whiteness i bring this up, bceause I fell in love by remembering my reflection off your iris. expression in its highest form, sensory designed to cure, destinies arrived. analyzed the sculpture, of course. - then vandalized your structure leaves falling aimlessly, in… Continue reading Don’t you get mad when there isnt’ a word that encapsulates your thoughts? So you write sonnets and songs, and poets and hymns, haikus and shit just to sorta capture it all?

my last shot, i swear, man.

Sweared it’s my last shot. Promised it was. It was the electric flow to my conduits buzz. Been left alone, shadow unfollowed me. but, I got 40 ounces that say I’ve done everything but bottle it up. Hairs falling out, play a game, (because I’m so ugly, I’m fucking shot.) Count the follicles, ‘she loves… Continue reading my last shot, i swear, man.