all face

it creaked without making a sound, it oozed without producing a liquid.

hushed, i was gasping for air, twirling my fingers around the pondering, pulsating blue vines

consistent as twine

trying to find their way to the finish line, these last few tugs

jolts, almost.

neatly encompassed in something much larger

smooth like stone in my palm, hot as coal

locomotion, twitching took over
the leap

and the landing.

simple to swallow, without so much as a thank-you.

the emotionlessness of my overwhelmingly emotional state

like spilt milk.

watching this empty sack deflate

in utter disgrace,

limp, like the end result, i hated love.

but i loved, the outcome.

Naturals Not It

God. What has he done for me lately.
“Thank God” My Mother says. I’m silent. This is the first time she has ever witnessed me smoking a cigarette.
Inhale deeply. Steady. A pin drops in the distance.
I’m rubbing caked on tar from beneath my Mother’s eyes with my free hand.
Exhale. I cock my head to this side, away from the lines in her face, the rusty teeth and her thinning hair. But beauty, without a doubt.
We stand now, watching an empty playground at dusk, an eerie view for this particular situation.
Ash falls onto the collar of my jacket. Suck and blow. I’ve stopped reaching the filter to my lips.
I ponder this thought of God, his almighty hand reaching down to stroke my Mother’s back as she weeps.
I’m sure she is curious as to why I haven’t joined in on the water works.
She also knows, I rarely show emotion in public.
This thought of God as comfort, solace from the wreckage which is my younger brother.
How stupid.
She turns to drag her feet between the sliding glass doors, staring at me with wet doe eyes. I force out the only words I’ve uttered since we arrived.
“I’ll be a minute”
I think about calling you. In hesitation I get lost in the park, the simplicity of joy from a swing set. The ideas we created as children.
When there was only grass and sky, when neither heaven nor hell existed in our minds.
How stupid.
I leave God outside and ascend back into the depths of this sorrow, this ocean my Mother, my Brother and I are drowning in.
Maybe I’ll play the lottery tomorrow, I think.
Hopefully, God will make an appearance then.

How stupid.

s.a.d? gtfo

I was an extra in a film, a part of my job that is not regularly part of my job.
I shone yesterday night's mess, egg salad spilling from the corners of my lips.
I listened to the film crew argue semantics, taking my last few bites.
swallow.
I wonder who he fucked, I thought.
I wonder if he wants to be mine, I pondered.
Amidst the white bread, the peppercorn, the horrid tone mulling in the air, I was revisited by our bodies, moaning and thriving. Connected under multiple spells of past midnight, locked stare, clamped jaw, skin envy, kiss
& that's when the camera panned. Capturing the moment where my heart lay heavy on my plate.
No food to be consumed, just ache.
When the room fell silent, I knew what they'd seen, but I pretended my sadness came with the end of my sandwich.
I'm quite good at acting.

refrain

voyeurism
this casual sex of blinking cursor,
the zoom lens,
this constant contradiction of language being used to descend, back to days,
when, flesh and interaction could transcend
beyond the depths of,
beyond the bare bones,
of human behavior.
no one discusses frustration
bloating, fatter then the greedy belly of a glutton
full on ourselves
this, we created, to destroy
without any thought of rehabilitation.
this hidden idea of existence consisting of words
I can no longer understand the meaning of.

I've stopped writing for the sake of my sanity.

moment.

am I an optimist or a pessimist?

take a moment.

spirituality & cake.

apparently, women are the main market for hope.

you do not inspire me

fuck.
take me back to when i was i before she became her who is me.
you do not inspire.

pullhair rubeye

avey tare and kria brekkan

If there were ever a power couple, this 'ought to be them.
If I ever desired a part of anything, this 'ought to be it.

How does one find another?
How do we find each other?

Music is the basis of any beautiful relationship.

mock me

could it be a trap? yes.

bad 90's rock, I'm silent. sitting in a bar, alone at a table of four.

mouths move, as per usual, my migraine increases. Forcing a smile, they do not notice, I'm on the brinks of, anxiety.

But why would anyone care, really?

They're all too caught up in the range in genre of music playing over the speakers.

Alice in Chains were never a good band.

fuck off.

grunge rocked.

such, a perfect day

pinot noir, cat calls, howl. Night owl, waking with cum caked onto your mouth’s corner before day breaks. sworn to be the better person, no wrapping paper required, no frills, no bells and whistles for unconventionally unconventional relationships. Slippery fingers, sloppy seconds around three PM. Staring at a cursor, licking blinks of desperation, reach out. Pull out.
Towel dry , comfortable. Cozy , squeaky clean, pondering.
“I know you’ll never love, so I’ll continue fucking”
Is public display such a bad thing when everyone believes they’re not worth the wait?
He is, she is, they’ll say. A story in six words, a fuck in two minutes, a bond in a look.
Adore in a day.
Life versus Truth
Me versus You,
Your face.

thoughts of glory

Must I constantly listen to friends fall in love and feel nothing? where have my emotions gone? where have my signature characteristics escaped to? It makes little to no sense, I'm sick of writing about bullshit. about him or him or him, Is all I will ever know MEN? must I constantly question why & why & why? Why must I, constantly question? Maybe I'm numb because I've lost purpose. But, I thought I'd found it, Even though, it is, slightly, less. This is the least I've written in a long while, I find myself mocking others, trying to rediscover, my style. I thought I had one, one, I thought I had a lot. It's dwindling. It all fades eventually. My heart takes it hardest, hardly pumping. I often forget what I'm doing, when it's being done. A zombie while minutes pass, my appendages taking me from A to B, but my mind's abandoned me. I'm easily annoyed, easily bored, I'm boring, I can hardly contribute to conversation, even if I have an evident opinion. Then, I'll rant, & weird out the rest, I'm critical, to everyone & my surroundings, to myself. I hardly believe much of what most people tell me. I'm rambling, I feel like I could be dying, my ambition is hardly helping.

Stop fuckin laughing. I don't find it funny, anymore.

I'm,

still crazy.

or, At least that's what the voices tell me.

& yet.

She’s used to be used, she’s never bored because she’s never boring. Shorty, she’s a 10.
She made the front page, She’s got her name in the papers on the backside. She’s double timing, a two-timed, tag team. She’s a dream girl, a succulent creature. She’s kutt. She’s a cunt. She’s a whore that has yet to be treated, She’s diseased, so they say. She’s filth, rotting, hole of a whole. She’s whole hearted, she’s well-willed, a mature nature breather, breathing. She’s fire breath, a dragon lady, She’s a screaming lunatic of natural behavior. She’s crying obscenities. She’s couth, she’s sophisticated, she’s violently driven. She’s untrustworthy, She’s the best friend. She’s pretty enough, She’s star struck, She’s stricken.
She’s dying, she’s death, she’s dead.
She’s sex.

can't i?

reading, snot nosed, uninspired

not a single ounce of satisfaction, an overwhelming warmth

from the lack of desire to write

my own fucking words

it's a new year and the newspaper tells me I've yet to find myself

losing my head seems so simple.

the space walker. the cadet.

debt paid to thousands of articles I could have written

but chose to read instead.