| (no subject) |
[May. 5th, 2009|03:38 pm] |
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I can't think of anything worse after a night of drinking than waking up next to someone and not being able to remember their name, or how you met, or why they're dead. |
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| like a prism movie |
[May. 20th, 2008|03:31 pm] |
i'm still dying every night.
i keep waking up every morning,
twilight in dawn's place,
not knowing which of the seven of me i will be.
from red to violet,
illuminated with flammable colors that did not exist yesterday,
the orchid bleeds onto my skin,
leaving my existence to dream itself into a sparkling pool of liquid fire. |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 21st, 2008|11:42 pm] |
there's a spider in my head.
i think.
it lives there. somewhere on the left side.
i think.
it randomly administers to me a poison,
injected directly into the brain, with no trace of routine. i think.
just the other day, it refurnished its home.
victorian.
sometimes it crawls through my ear canal to smoke a cigarette. cotton webs stop its furniture from shifting when i lay down, but all the books still fall off the shelf.
it never searches for food.
it has a strobe light and it's. always. on.
time is orange. and the spider will always need to drain the life of the innocent. step into my parlor. the carnival ride must be fixed. electric metal, machined armor. spiders don't have shells. i think. climb the window. pricey prize ... said the spider to the fly. fingerpaint me a blue smile. then cut it in half.
memories of the tortured girl play hopscotch, holding the lollipop of doom. it will grow and it will consume. not the other way around. spiders are everywhere. circles float above me. i drop one in my ear. to listen to the sound of light. to have no room for fear.
there's a square pushed down below me. an artificial box. treasured cages of protection. no more keys. no more locks. a royal sage on center stage and every time i turn the page, the cheshire cat jumps on my back. i've been tied down to these fucking tracks... no need to move. no need to think. you've taken from me strength, i'm weak.
too tired to play, too tired to sleep.... you won't ever hear me speak again.. only suckers are your friends.
with tainted wrists
the widow cries.
through red teeth
the widow lies.
on the day of black
she's left alone
hiding yellow...
in her judas eyes. |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 8th, 2008|09:30 am] |
"I had resolved to be less offended by human nature, but I think I blew it already."
-Hobbes |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 25th, 2008|08:18 am] |
a carousel.
it's pretty to look at,
you don't really want to ride it.
to accommodate everyone, it's stuck on repeat.
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| (no subject) |
[Jan. 21st, 2008|09:20 am] |
| [ | music |
| | milemarker (coincidence?) | ] |
you'd be 199 years old today.
rest in peace mr. poe. |
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| a fable |
[Nov. 9th, 2007|07:35 pm] |
once upon a time, there was a nest of birds way high up in a giant oak tree, which was on the edge of a well-stocked, but weathered cattle ranch.
inside the nest were four abandoned baby birds who were under the care of their rather large (and frankly, very rude) mother-in-law.
needless to say, their adoptive care was not so much desired as it was needed.
and as expected, only the essentials were given.
it was very cold on the morning that she pushed them all away, literally.
however, too early it was this day for the smallest peeper who fell the length of twenty feet before landing head first in the dirt beside the trunk.
and at that very ill-timed moment, a grazing (and unsurprisingly dim) cow just happened to step over the little bird and donate to him a very large and very warm pile of poo.
yeah...
oh, he screamed.
and some 17 miles away a great dane lifted his ears.
but the little bird soon discovered what a wonderfully warm sanctuary he had found himself in, and decided it was best to stay there for a bit.
later that evening, the rancher's housecat left his perch on the window sill seeking exercise. and dinner.
but after finding no mice in the open field, he settled upon a stroll along the perimeter and eventually ended up towering over (wouldn't you know it?) the little peeper in the pile of poo.
the little bird had heard the approaching sounds and called out for help.
a prompt 'hero', the ravenous cat dug him out and swallowed him, picking his teeth with a feather and smiling happily as he trotted back towards the house through the field.
the moral of the story:
those that shit on you aren't necessarily your enemies.
and those that help you out of shit aren't necessarily your friends. |
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