He’s sitting in his shadow,
match lit,
iron sight shifting with his arrow.
Da Vinci with a trebuchet,
resentment at a younger age.
Don’t think I’ve ever fucking been the same.
Stay still please, so I don’t have to ever aim.
Heartbeat on my cabernet, gospel on the interlude.
Never into hurting you, but that’s probably hurting you.
Want to hear you love me, but that’s my crawling incertitude.
I’m sorry, you’ve heard it… too… many times.
Loose lips sink ships on the New Delhi line.
Blueberry, thyme, Seattle fog on the Bloomsbury dime.
Anxiety finds a new adversary for you every time.
Kavinsky playing Nightcall,
nightfall addict. Gun-slinging, moonlight absorber.
Eyeball static, upbringing made me too primed for torture.
Leukocyte warlord with a do-or-die sword code.
DNA punching out Morse, ’cause the nuclei’s disordered.
Sobering negative, gripping a metal shank alloy.
Overly sensitive programming on this self-aware android.
Therapists that call me the armchair nutcase.
Trying to turn back to bugged versions of his software update.
I stop to stare into your eyes, perfect oval-shaped opals, like Russian dolls holding more jewels in them like an enigmatic invention.
A hundred soft, hazel static connections, like joules that gather intent, that teach me there aren’t lessons in every traumatic event.
Tag: lyrics
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I’m stronger than you. Or I thought I was. Maybe I am. Don’t touch me. Make up your mind. Tell me you love me. Fuck me like you mean it. Mean it when you fuck me, love me when you tell me, you love me. Tell me a secret. Show me your ghosts, and I’ll show you, my demons. Baby, you should go. Maybe we only got along because our monsters played nice. How can I atone? I’m so over being alone. But I’d rather be alone than prone to abandonment and holding on to consolation that’ll never be known. Fuck what your sentiments wrote – they lied to me and let it be shown.
A lantern is only a guide if the lights lit, and you have your sights set on looking for home. Hope you sow what you reap, motherfucker, my eyes on you. You’ll be holding up hollow fruit with no seeds in between. you asked me to keep my poetic words away from hurting your soul. I aint keen on breaking promises, but no. Hold on a minute, hold on an hour, hold onto my throat. my broken heart is telling me you told him you won’t.
Fuck it, I’m definitely stronger than you. If I did half the shit you did, you wouldn’t be breathing.
I could feel it. My heart was beating faster than it should. I kissed you while crying, my eyes blurring the truth. Moments froze. A cryogenic holding cell, to serve as reconnaissance. Mild dilemma. Miles of enemies. My field of daisies wakes up to your bombs. Rot in your holding cell. Holding your rotting cells. Selfish, cold, hell. I hope that you’re happy. Well, I’m happy you’re hoping. We look at the present like it’s not as good as the past, try to absolve ourselves from what the future brings us. Cumulonimbus. Futuristic. Who are you kissing?
It’s me. Look at your constellation tattoo and connect the dots. I am that shining star. Do you ever look at it? It’s the letter Y. The same letter as the question I ask. Phases unphased. Finding myself in the middle of nowhere. Then, I’m finding myself in the middle of nowhere. I don’t know what I am, but I do know what you aren’t. Humans are complex. We show emotions that we don’t currently feel and hide the ones that we do feel. I’m a crab in my shell when I’m screaming to let me the fuck out of my own skin. Someone once said it is impossible to be selfish and happy – and that’s terribly true. I just hope you stop being selfish.
You tell yourself you’re a free soul, unbound by any chains. But my love, you’re holding your own chains. You’re not free. You’re just running away. There are no underground railroads for people who run away from the truth. There is only one way to unlock the chains. Your lips need to stop telling lies. Now tell me with your eyes how you’ll make that happen.
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It’s beginning to show
The intertwining dividends of time invested and growth
My intention provoked, lying listless and broke
Revisiting moments that to me seem explicitly warped
Yosemite vulture, my melatonin 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 appetit
You are what you eat
Darkest before dawn at its peak
Marking off doomsday in a week
Nietzsche authored pretty much what I’m telling you now
Nietzsche’s name is the same if you take out all the vowelsEvery day is considered lost if we’re not dancing around. Acceptance is 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 it’s 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 details – still obscuring the day. I don’t feel well, I tell myself I’m sure it’s okay. The sunset, the rain, gun smoke, and malaise, the perspiring and 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 speech, 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.
Definitely were.
I love to be in control, gunship turret patrol. I hate underlying factors, unresolved moments in gold. Underlining tantrums, I loathe darkness that hides the sunshine for eternity. Motherfucker, I hate all these motherfucking uncertainties. Being doused in someone’s punchline is wildly disconcerting. I dislike being lost, who wants to fist fight in the dark? With house rules: it ignites, when this right lands on your jaw. I want to fight my way out of this shadow. 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 “A Whole New World”. Carpet stained with coffee grains, and unrealistic expectations and heartless pangs. Sand tower fantasies, where romanticism hardly fades, deep in carnal rage.
And … erotic diction overturns symphonic fiction that’s promised. I feel as if everything I’ve 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-celled 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 five 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.
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I feel so disconnected. Pictures of stars are trillions of seconds old, heliocentric. We spend our time wishing we could revisit a setting. I could see it in decimals, each dot a pause in a sentence. Hold my hand, avalanche. Bring me the check when you’re finished, mezzanine at the theater, velvet seamstress, Madam Gutierrez. Qué romántico eres. Carve my heart, au revoir mi mujer. I spend the evening in tears, like it’s common procedure. Every droplet is a sonnet, every water stream a cathedral where people gather, or they scatter, whether it be former or latter, and they pray to their Jesus, and I pray because I have to. There’s order in madness, rhetorical hope in the sadness, like a volcano that’s dormant or a star going dwarf, just part of it all, endorphin hull, heart to starboard. When we talk, disembark. Your lips press mute, Mrs. Vixen, so dissolute, pixel-perfect, lipstick in blue. Vigil for a virgin, vicissitude, picture me as I picture you. Don’t listen when you talk, kiss your ears when you moan, so petite, heavenly, pour the shot glass, and reload. Monkey see, monkey’s cheek perfect on your ocular bone, ’cause to me, you’re as sweet as a strawberry dose.
Through the darkness, on horses, cobweb corrosion, cut through the bark with my sword. I’m sorry, my forest, double entendre, knot in my throat, not even sober, harlequin clone, dark knight imposter, I’m already Joker. Early onset Alzheimer’s, forget what you told me. Along the lines, we’re ostracized, but we’re all really lonely. Wave down a taxi, drop me off on the corner, call me when you’re home. Wait for me at the door, don’t leave me alone. Lay down – the house spins, false belief, methadone, marmalade, cherry tree, cigar leaf, telephone. Qu’est-ce que c’est?
Fasten seatbelt while seated, mi amor, stand to applause, an encore, such a valid response, you’d barely feel it. You moved on, so very far. I checked my bags at the door, viewed the empty decorum, sat at the bar, recount the experience, watched the only bag revolve round the oval. Let me fall, so very scared. We should want what we fear.
Thanks.
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It was only a second. It felt more like Armageddon, a source of dependence. My very core was augmented, no force, just indebted to pain, embedded; the flow descending in waves. Chakra, like flames, no position, no direction, unphased. See, most of what I felt was descriptions, captions in italics, a handpicked basket of malice, last resort love-lust. I decide first. It’s hard to describe a picture with nine hundred ninety-nine words. Inarguable. We didn’t argue; we just cut you off to yell in your face. You could feel the dismay, built up incendiary droplets of sage. Rose petals kissed the spots on your face, dynamite dulcet decay. Vitalize vital signs, ultra-displacement. I memorized your voice, so estranged, umbra vibrations. Ultraviolet rays touched the recliner in gray. I went on for an hour, armchair therapy. You sat in your bed, tears rolling down my cheek, as I let you know it wasn’t okay, how I felt, how unlucky I was, how stars realigned themselves on that day. Perfect memory tenses, serial lover, in bed with the Zodiac Killer. I murdered your obsession with stargazing once my sign became unfamiliar.
I get along without you perfectly, darling. I’ve forgotten you, just like I should have, regardless. I hear your laughs in whispers of wind, details I thought I’d forgotten, any scintilla, bit into the apple that brings you into my garden. Songs that played in the background of trysts we partook in are nothing, just tunes that became aloof and out of tune. A fool for thinking autumn would sing to me during December’s departure, devilish palm touch, crackling firewood in rhythm with heartbeats, dwindling darkness. You’d hear the goosebumps raise if you listened in softly, killing me, hardly. I get along without you, perfectly, darling. Of course, I do, except perhaps in autumn, but I should never think of autumn, for that would shatter my heart in two.