tell me who you are
how you came out like this
who made you this way
what were the circumstances beyond your control that turned you into this
this person you are now
i am shocked and numb to all the bad i do
will i get caught?
do i care
who are the people i do wrong to
and why do i do it
do i love you?
you are still the closest thing i know to it
meaning anything and nothing but promised time
and not enough
i came on your stomach
and wanted to wipe it off
you laid and told me to wait
do i know how to love
did i ever
did we love eachother the right way
the way real men and women should
i feel so bad
like we did each other so wrong
teach me mother teach me
teach me to love right
teach me
Monday, June 11, 2012
Monday, April 9, 2012
CHAPTER 2
He wandered around the party. a brutal heat that excausted him.
he heard a sad song playing from some no where speakers from out side.
he wondered why the party was outside and not inside.
he heard the lyrics and thought of when he had be doing intense amounts of drugs a year before.
he has lost a person close to him .. they had to run away.
crack is evil. pure evil he hought. heroin is less evil. it just makes you a lil blip on the screen.
turns you into one of those microscopic ants that is so small compared to the hugeness of reality / universe / time / black hole comparison.
heroin was evil but crack made you a monster. crazy and spit-
never mind. brings up too many cravings and needs.
stop thinking of it.
think of something else.
ok.
fastfoward the scene.
he fast forwards his head and thinks about his old lover and then fastforwards to his realitve peace this year later. in this outdoor party. people scattered across the lawn. tired and drunk.
these people all look like lost wanderers from the desert. seeing mirages of waterfalls and cups of water etc
crawling on the dry dead summer grass and spitting colored water out.
these drunk people were just a dyhdrated he thought. as lost arabian travelers from films.
just as lost and sad.
OH GOD. he just thought of that cheesy anaology and laughed to himself.
he wandered passed a girl moanig and thought of a morning when he woke up sick and needing heroin. he was in a girls house. he had been staying with her. she was a drug addict too. she wasnt in the bed and her phone kept ringing non stop.
he heard someone moan from the bathroom and wondered if she had done too many drugs (again)
he wandered in th ebathroom sick and sore and she was furiously masterbating in her tub. she had obviously just fixed. none for him. and he had shared so much with her. typical addict. fucking cunt.
she was sparying the shower head into her pussy and screaming in pleasure.
nothing could have disgusted him more. what a fucking cunt. disgusting. how can she come at a time like this? when he was so sick?
"hey your mom is calling"
"get the fuck out of here asshole!! im busy!!"
"do you have anymore dope? im sick as fuck"
"no! get the fuck out!"
liar. he left her house and drove to his mothers house miles away.
he was sick that night. delioursly trying to sleep. eating stolen valium (his mothers) and watching a history channel documentary about the bermuda triangle.
strange and evil nightmares. which was worse the bermuda trinagle or him?
both?
had we bcome the same person?
lol
he heard a sad song playing from some no where speakers from out side.
he wondered why the party was outside and not inside.
he heard the lyrics and thought of when he had be doing intense amounts of drugs a year before.
he has lost a person close to him .. they had to run away.
crack is evil. pure evil he hought. heroin is less evil. it just makes you a lil blip on the screen.
turns you into one of those microscopic ants that is so small compared to the hugeness of reality / universe / time / black hole comparison.
heroin was evil but crack made you a monster. crazy and spit-
never mind. brings up too many cravings and needs.
stop thinking of it.
think of something else.
ok.
fastfoward the scene.
he fast forwards his head and thinks about his old lover and then fastforwards to his realitve peace this year later. in this outdoor party. people scattered across the lawn. tired and drunk.
these people all look like lost wanderers from the desert. seeing mirages of waterfalls and cups of water etc
crawling on the dry dead summer grass and spitting colored water out.
these drunk people were just a dyhdrated he thought. as lost arabian travelers from films.
just as lost and sad.
OH GOD. he just thought of that cheesy anaology and laughed to himself.
he wandered passed a girl moanig and thought of a morning when he woke up sick and needing heroin. he was in a girls house. he had been staying with her. she was a drug addict too. she wasnt in the bed and her phone kept ringing non stop.
he heard someone moan from the bathroom and wondered if she had done too many drugs (again)
he wandered in th ebathroom sick and sore and she was furiously masterbating in her tub. she had obviously just fixed. none for him. and he had shared so much with her. typical addict. fucking cunt.
she was sparying the shower head into her pussy and screaming in pleasure.
nothing could have disgusted him more. what a fucking cunt. disgusting. how can she come at a time like this? when he was so sick?
"hey your mom is calling"
"get the fuck out of here asshole!! im busy!!"
"do you have anymore dope? im sick as fuck"
"no! get the fuck out!"
liar. he left her house and drove to his mothers house miles away.
he was sick that night. delioursly trying to sleep. eating stolen valium (his mothers) and watching a history channel documentary about the bermuda triangle.
strange and evil nightmares. which was worse the bermuda trinagle or him?
both?
had we bcome the same person?
lol
CHAPTER 1
can you feel it gripping all over your shoulder ?
yeah i know you can cuz i can tell it hurts like that
make you want to cry and shit
(he held off on telling her more...she was scared / confused enough as it was / is / )
i think i know what you mean - the girl says
i know you do baby i know you can feel this feelings im trying to get acrosss to you
it hurts doesnt it
having a feeling t hat you feel so deep and intense that you cant get out with traditional words n shit
dont be silent bitch. talk to me girl.
(she blink and opens her mouth and then closes it. then looks down at the trash. a beer can and a little reciept from the corner store all mushed up with mud and rain)
they kiss but her lips and mouth are too small and tounge is almost non existent
INSIDE " does this bitch have no tounge/ did he tounge get cut off?)
she pulls away and walks off
he shrugs and beins to uncountrably shake hard
AAAHGH
-
yeah i know you can cuz i can tell it hurts like that
make you want to cry and shit
(he held off on telling her more...she was scared / confused enough as it was / is / )
i think i know what you mean - the girl says
i know you do baby i know you can feel this feelings im trying to get acrosss to you
it hurts doesnt it
having a feeling t hat you feel so deep and intense that you cant get out with traditional words n shit
dont be silent bitch. talk to me girl.
(she blink and opens her mouth and then closes it. then looks down at the trash. a beer can and a little reciept from the corner store all mushed up with mud and rain)
they kiss but her lips and mouth are too small and tounge is almost non existent
INSIDE " does this bitch have no tounge/ did he tounge get cut off?)
she pulls away and walks off
he shrugs and beins to uncountrably shake hard
AAAHGH
-
Saturday, September 24, 2011
From "I Strangled Mine" 2011
Mud and Sand
I ran out of things to do.
And You decided to start doing things.
I found something to do.
And ended up forgetting all the rest
Of the things I used to do.
I remember before, when
Little needles pin pricked my innards
Drinking down Mud (?) that billowed
from strange and foolish holes in the ground
IT
Entered the worn cavity and searched-
For my mother’s breathe on my tongue
For ice and salt to melt away skin
For tones heard only while underwater
While being slightly drowned by a young boy next door
Sounds that can only be mimicked and heard when
That huge autistic boy flattens your head into the hardwood
And your tongue tastes birch and splinters in your teeth
Mud and Sand
Iron and wood
Alone and fucked
And so,
I ran out of things to do.
So I locked up and out.
Crouching in that
Porcelain stove and covered in that rain drenched soot (mud?)
That I mentioned before -
The kind
That sticks to your skin.
Like wet sand. Half burning from the salt and the wind.
Picking up handfuls of it
And mixing it in with what little hair you have left.
And
Drinking it down
From fine canvas water bags.
Algerian (?)
Like -
What ancient men must have
Drank from
In that old desert
That we call something different now.
Sand and mud and soot and oil filling every orifice
Enveloping my tongue and yellow stained teeth
Brown tinges
From the SMOKE
And so
That Murky spit mixture falls from my holes
And onto your forehead
Baptizing you just like on ash Wednesday
A black mark in our bedroom
A cathedral of pure paranoia
And narcissistic Evil and Darkness
(Real Evil. You know (?))
It drips slowly
Like a thick syrup
Bit by bit on your tiny little head
But
You still sleep and bleat and murmur
You sleep empty bedded and cold
You sleep and sleep and sleep
While I traipse around our house
Deeply afraid
Of unseen killers and those who kept
Walking up the stairs
I finally wake you up
Scared and indulgent
You tell me to go to bed
No one is around
I never sleep
I ran out of things to do.
And You decided to start doing things.
I found something to do.
And ended up forgetting all the rest
Of the things I used to do.
I remember before, when
Little needles pin pricked my innards
Drinking down Mud (?) that billowed
from strange and foolish holes in the ground
IT
Entered the worn cavity and searched-
For my mother’s breathe on my tongue
For ice and salt to melt away skin
For tones heard only while underwater
While being slightly drowned by a young boy next door
Sounds that can only be mimicked and heard when
That huge autistic boy flattens your head into the hardwood
And your tongue tastes birch and splinters in your teeth
Mud and Sand
Iron and wood
Alone and fucked
And so,
I ran out of things to do.
So I locked up and out.
Crouching in that
Porcelain stove and covered in that rain drenched soot (mud?)
That I mentioned before -
The kind
That sticks to your skin.
Like wet sand. Half burning from the salt and the wind.
Picking up handfuls of it
And mixing it in with what little hair you have left.
And
Drinking it down
From fine canvas water bags.
Algerian (?)
Like -
What ancient men must have
Drank from
In that old desert
That we call something different now.
Sand and mud and soot and oil filling every orifice
Enveloping my tongue and yellow stained teeth
Brown tinges
From the SMOKE
And so
That Murky spit mixture falls from my holes
And onto your forehead
Baptizing you just like on ash Wednesday
A black mark in our bedroom
A cathedral of pure paranoia
And narcissistic Evil and Darkness
(Real Evil. You know (?))
It drips slowly
Like a thick syrup
Bit by bit on your tiny little head
But
You still sleep and bleat and murmur
You sleep empty bedded and cold
You sleep and sleep and sleep
While I traipse around our house
Deeply afraid
Of unseen killers and those who kept
Walking up the stairs
I finally wake you up
Scared and indulgent
You tell me to go to bed
No one is around
I never sleep
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