Thursday 31 December 2009

New years resolution:

:the local bars won't play the records I want to hear and women don't want to talk about them. Women don't want to talk about ethics either. I don't want to fucking dance or sit this one out only to trade broken sentences concerning philosophy. I've foreseen our deaths and they're sad and lonely.

Monday 14 December 2009

..ergo, ego:

"A good human is hard to find," he said, "you would have found one in me if you weren't blind to beauty, rendered by an age of vanity, you accept what you see absolutely."

"It was the most delicate thing," she pronounced, "the manner with which such words did flow from his mouth...I wasn't offended, I believed in him an absolute truth but I couldn't love him then as I can not love him now, instead, with regret I condemned him to another time. I must insist that he is not of our time. I can still taste the venom of his heart snake, not a lazy beast like yours' or mine."

Wednesday 2 December 2009

With time you'll learn to let your heart grow cold.

When it rains, it rains a lot in this city. I see no sunlight between the long shifts at the hospital. In a tired haze I question my measure of the light in her eyes, as they appear fainter still tonight. Reduced to a warm glow, what was once a household fire set alight by her childhood trauma. Growing ever stronger into her teens, rebelling against heroes and instead siding with their victims. A light found fainting as she turned towards her own deities --- alone and afraid of the up-and-coming twenties. And so the twenties are hard. And so perhaps her flame is a flame affected by the worst of this bad weather.
In that respect I can not blame her.
When it rains, it rains a lot in her life. She simply never adjusted her eyes to the flashing lights of the storm that projected from her mind's eye and onto her field of vision in any given room she occupied. A storm that kept her outside, her visions blending, her visions made a home of the worst of weather.
In that respect I can not blame her.
Is it any wonder then that she can't detect any light in my tired, blood shot eyes or the tremor of my pulse tonight as I shake steady hands that are finally allowed to express their exhaustion. After a long shift at the hospital I ask her if she can see it, the fire inside of me, but she can't and in that respect I can not blame her. Some days I can't see it either.
After a long shift at the hospital I ask her if she can feel it, the earthquake inside of me, but she can't and in that respect I can not blame her. Some days I can't feel it either.
I can not blame her.

Tuesday 3 November 2009

Do I have to be fine all of the time?

Dear Brothers and Sisters;

In sex and paranoia we trust, hunting alone at the local watering-holes. Ignoring each-other and the things that truly matter, except for the ego that confronts our own, an ego we plot to destruct.
..and if there's safety in numbers we don't seem to mind that we are outnumbered without each-other, my friends.
..and if there's safety to be trusted in armour, my friends, the irony extent is that we couldn't care less that we are under-dressed---inviting strangers under our skin--unbuttoned shirts and short skirts expose spine, thigh and breast inspiring the rolled up sleeves and clenched fists that sift through the mess in our heads shining a light on our true motive.
..and because it is understood that true friends stab you in the front I turned my back towards my friends in protest tonight, I staggered home alone underdressed, through the wilderness, and through the worst of weather and if I made it home alone it was only to remove the knives adjacent to my spine and burn the bridges of communication one more time.

Dear Enemies and friends;
Between nightmare and reason we are stuck, sleeping needlessly alone or together in lust, we awake half cut as we sober up we fall into many more pieces and on again to the tiled floor. We can not find the faith required to trust what is proclaimed to be in all honestly a 'love' absolute in this darkness absolute.
Under a black moon rising, if it does not mirror the motion picture or imagery we pull so easily from the music pouring from every pore of our society.
..perhaps music has been reduced to noise.
..perhaps motion picture has been reduced to the emotionless motion familiar to the equipment used to recreate it. The motion of repetitive machinery...both forced upon us from dusk, through daylight and again from dawn through twilight. Repeat. In our plight to revive an age bleeding dry of romance.
The lines have all been drawn, the lies have all been withdrawn, and I know where I belong.
..so, let's get out of the romance while it is still a concept that we can claim not only to define but also understand.

Sunday 25 October 2009

If you invite the demons, they will come.

Let's say; it's was a week from Halloween, set the scene, I am facing the holiday season for the twenty second time this year and I am leaving everything I accumulated in the gutter. The gutter don't care if and why we are all sleeping so needlessly alone. No, there's only the cocaine blues and pills, there's only the prescriptions to fill down there. We are bad habits and the gutter don't care. Against the backdrop of shit and piss and spray paint, you'll find the slow burners, out all night, ever inviting the demons. I could never pace a bottle in the face of my demons, and in turn I burnt out fast what I had and here I am alone on all Hallows' eve, working through the holidays again this year, repenting for my sins and understanding: just as there's the loneliness and demons that only live in our heads, there's the loneliness and demons we find in our beds, there's also a loneliness that only lives in the southwest. Yes, we are carrying the fire and it's killing us.

Sunday 11 October 2009

I will speak on your behalf and sign your name.

Pick me up softly, I don't know the shape that I'm in
I dropped through the windows and down through the buildings
And up to the front door again
There was a gunfight out in the moonlight
To settle the matters at hand
So pick me up stranger, pick me up softly
I don't know the shape that I'm in
And I did my best with my time in the West
And I tried not to leave anyone in distress
And I have stood tall yeah and I never lied
That's a lie
But I surely tried
To do everything I could do right
Pick me up softly, I don't know how much I've been hurt
One bullet missed me, the other one kissed me
And left me to die in the dirt
They killed every last man and shot down my Suzanne
It's over whatever it's worth
So pick me up stranger, pick me up softly
I don't know how much I've been hurt
Pick me up softly, I don't know long I have left
Oh I am not hurtin', but death is a-certain
There's a bullet that lays in my chest
I'm flooded with memories and people and sweet dreams
And words to my favourite songs
And I'll buy the last round if you lay my head down
And sing one for me when I'm gone


****


Some days I'm too drunk to see a damn thing and on afternoons like this I wake up sick and tired of getting fucked up all alone in this tired city. Then, after looking around the room to try and find my friends, I start feeling fainter as the thick layer of patience they front gets more disorienting.
..for a while I slept through to the end of some storm from the north and I had the strength and courage to dream. I slept furiously. Now it's the reoccurring nightmare when I wake up from a dream in which I was trying harder than you'll ever know to fight off gravity...but it always got the best of me.
..this is my flood and though I suppose it's inevitable that I drown in it, my hand will struggle to tighten the weak riggings of this shitty sailboat, less a ship. I can vaguely visualise the perfect waves on the day that my trail and tribulation slips out from under me.
A friend once said, "If you have the patience...dig a little deeper. You will find that there is more to everything that your world has to offer." but it's hard as hell to find that kind of optimism sailing in the dimples of a sad, stormy sea. Not that it matters all that much anyway because after-all we will all be gone one day. Not now, not then and not later...but one day.

Wednesday 23 September 2009

Twenty two and I'm fucked.

I almost love this city when I'm by your side: we admire the view from the fourth story window tonight, although these city lights are inadequate and unable to fully illuminate the locations and experiences that you have had memorised. I stretch my south side of the river imagination trying to visualize the sights you recall so fluid from a mind that grew up on the north side of the very same water. You recall a city as beautiful as the vision of majesty that I uphold, the kind I believe we really need in this city but are unable to possess. After all our childhood dreams deteriorated and the promises never kept faded from the minds of the friends that were lost along the way, we fled the nest. I guess this is growing up: restless and flightless tonight, in the world at large, I quit trying to recall the rule appropriate to process our potential and step back from a window with it's panoramic view to admire you...our potential is a figment of my imagination perhaps...my mistakes could have moved mountains in the past.

Start breaking my heart, I mean the part that wasn't broken in this city already.

Tuesday 8 September 2009

I keep a sinking ship between these boney ribs.

..honestly I don't care how you do or don't dress, let's skip the landscape of your hair, a beauty truly inherent...you're beautiful on the inside, I suppose, without the face paint or expensive cologne that you stole from your ex boyfriend: exclaiming, can you forget about the past; well, little darlin', I can if you can. Amen.
..so, let your hair down tonight, like it's the end of the world. I'll put that book down tonight about the end of the world and the spinning top of a world will still twist on it's axis for us even after the record skips and falters. It spins well beyond the rooms we frequent. Alike the ceiling above our heads, it spins, at the end of a long night. Amen.

Tuesday 25 August 2009

Love leaves its abusers.

Lover, and now that you’ve
left me I’m glad you’re
unlovely.


Because if you could
take all the heat in your
heart and just hang it from
you


I
wouldn’t be able to
bear the way you can not love
me


It’s much easier
of me to make a
monster out of
you


So here I go
substituting the glow from your
temples


All our sighs and our
trembles
and each last letter
sent to you.


From the
cheap little pen of this
weak little man, the one
singing


Out his jangling
ringing and hopefully
stinging attack upon
you


Yeah so here I go just
exploding the hope we’ll be
speaking


Someday years from now
seeking,
friendship and under
standing


and I
hope you get angry and
hurt and have the hardest of
landings


and I hope your new
man thinks of me when he
sees what a number I did on
you


I grow
tired of this song, turn my
eyes to the blonde in the
bleachers


She’s a lovely young
creature. I
think she’s seeking
adventure


I think she’s
ready to see that the
world ain’t so sweet nor so
tender


I won’t break her just
bend her, and make her in
to my new ringer for
you


I stay in the
same comfy town, write the
same old songs down I drive the same
streets


Seek the same sense of
dull peace. Whisper the same sweet
words to the
chippies.


Same
walk by the road, where the
same muddy snow’s finally
leaving


But I’ll fight off the
spring I don’t want lovely
things I don’t want the earth new

Sunday 23 August 2009

Mystery and wonder, messy hearts made of thunder.

Sorrow seems shallow or at least the sorrow I claime as my own, so I look up from the pavement temporarily from time to time. It is truespeak to say it may be hard to love a man like me in a time signature where a good human is hard to find.
..and so, I made my mistakes at slow speed and now I flow with precision and a graceful eloquence at perfect speed. Even when I drink like a sink and thumb my conscience, and any amount of conscious awareness down the drain, after too much whiskey, maybe too much wine I maintain my composure.
Looking up from the pavement last night I found a remedy. A medicine for melancholy can be found in the light in my darling friend's eyes.
Mystery and wonder, messy hearts crack louder than thunder. As another day breaks, hearts will break and organs may fail to operate. Tonight I love a stranger, tomorrow I probably wont know any different either.

Tuesday 28 July 2009

Ever since I was a kid I've been a brooding basket case.

Hey, do you remember that time when you said that you loved me and you meant it. You said that you had found those words hiding way down at the bottom of your heart where you didn't expect to find anything.
Hey, do you remember that time when you said that you loved me and didn't mean it. When you learnt to tell the two similar tales apart and recognise their entirely dissimilar but intricate connotations and meaning.
Hey do you remember that time that you had said that you didn't love me anymore and you could no longer find the feeling even way down the bottom of your heart where you had expected to find your heart strings.
Were you surprised to find them missing.
What came in-between those ever so important junctures. I wonder. I can't give any amount of thought depth, meaning or structure other than: I doubt, therefore I am.

Monday 27 July 2009

I admit that I was wrong.

A second life, language and home. A secret left to grow alone. Imagine a beautiful flower perhaps, in the world I call metaphor imagery reveals everything that you ever wanted to know about memory...remember you never would have known had I not told you.
Had I not trashed your home.
Had I not broken your heart we would still be together and I admit that I was wrong from the very start.
Although I acted out of necessity.
So; "let's get out of this city."
So; "let's get out of the house."
So; "let's get out of this romance," I said, comparing it to the natural disaster of drought.
You responded with a plea for my departure from a long list of your haunts and possessions.
If you love me, you'll let me live in peace.
A contradiction in your terms is illuminated by my confession that: I will remain recurrent and I never loved you more. You release me from the world that I named metaphor.

Tuesday 21 July 2009

Let me be fictional once in a while.

There's no such thing as endless love, it's only a joke told in very poor taste that some how keep cracking me up.

Monday 20 July 2009

I guess I've never really done anything other than say the right or wrong thing at any given time, be it the right or wrong time, I follow my instincts and never really act upon anything other than trying to be a better man.
What you said was missing was missing from inside your own head, your mind and body lacked the qualities required and not mine. I want you to know this, even if it is the wrong time to say the right thing. I guess it's always the right time to say the wrong thing in your mind. You will forever be ready to react.

Sunday 12 July 2009

Perhaps there's something missing in us all. Perhaps we are all destined to fall at the hands of others. Perhaps we are all destined to fail in the eyes of our lovers. Perhaps we are all destined to fade in strength to the weight of our most cherished relationships when the horns of trouble ring out and the battle cries commence.
She said there was something missing, and not one isolated insignificant piece of a puzzle but instead a remarkable naive romanticism inherent in her mind that I couldn't shift or stir her from a deep sleep.
I am confident that what she thought to be missing was there all along, perhaps wearing the mask and cloak provided by years of experience but eternally willing to shed it's disguise and be born again with a little encouragement. It has become obvious that she simply was not willing to look at, reach out and caress a relationship. Care for it as it cared for her. It's like she's got one magic trick, just the one and that's it, she disappears.

Saturday 11 July 2009

You're a Queen, and I feel like shit.

[A song for expecting friends.]

When you're born i'll call you a seminal wind
bringing ghosts of life to the surface again
with eyes held wide like sights of majesty
the kind we really need in this city

and if greatness casts its shadow
long and heavy behind you

it's because there ain't no mountain you can't move.
sweetchild,
there just ain't no mountain that can stand up to you.


when you come i'll call you the beginning of the end
of the way i was, because i'd give up everything
to show you the world with which you're left
things are such a mess, i'm sorry for everything

but if greatness casts its shadow
long and heavy behind you

remember there ain't no mountain you can't move.
sweetchild,
there just ain't no mountain that can stand like you
you'll teach these old dogs something new
there ain't no mountain you can't move.

Friday 10 July 2009

At the end of a long night...

"I'm glad that nothing has been left unsaid" she said. Her voice reverberating seemingly around the room, causing my head to spin with a 'boom tic boom tic boom tic boom' motion, oh the commotion as loud as the tide of any ocean as her words defiantly bounced off of all of the words left unsaid in my head. Unaware and unwounded, she fled as fast as any notion of 'us' that I had held a tight grip of in my head.
The vanishing.
I take heed of my possesions. I count the change in my pocket and question what I am holding a tight grip on now. A bar rail. Alone with just my words and my friends, I raise a whiskey and a subsequent beer to the beautiful flowers that will only ever inevitably wilt. I lower my voice, almost mute, until I lower my head. I tilt and I tipple. What was once a wave; my emotions have been reduced to a ripple. I catch the eye of a potential second best, as I forget your name, I ask her to name her poison. My venom transcends: "..oh, honey. Will you help me pick up the change?" I will say. Less of a question, more of a rehearsed phrase. By morning, I'll have had it my own way, I'll have told her all about you.

Thursday 9 July 2009

So, come back...I am waiting.



There’s plenty of time to make you mine tonight, there’s plenty of time to make you mine.
There’s plenty of ways to know you’re not dying, all right. Hell, there’s plenty of light still left in your eyes.

There’s plenty of things to wear when you come to me, every color of sleeve to be rolled. There are millions of rolling eyes that still cling to me. Every language of king is concerned. So why did you bawl from the spell of some old holy song that some liar laughed as he composed - some liar I loved to control?

I am waiting on hoof and on hand. I am waiting, all hated and damned. I am waiting - I snort and I stamp. I am waiting, you know that I am, calmly waiting to make you my lamb.

If I was going to lose with you, I was going to lose big.

If you're gonna lose then
might as well lose big then
as always it was always it shall be
do you really love me?

If you promise me you do
I'll take that job you want me to
and do my best
swear that I can pass this test.

some girl told me last night
she found my rhythms so tight
I swear she only bought me one or two
I told her all about you.

you should try to be more kind.
you know how i need to unwind
when it gets dark
and i wanna see some SPARKS.

Europe's gonna love me
all in different countries
there is no way that i could turn it down
and, anyway, it's for us

promise i'll be home before
that baby's knocking at the door
ill be right there
to let it in i wont be scared

well if we're gonna lose then
might as well lose big then
as always it was always it shall be
do you really love me?
do you really love me?

Wednesday 8 July 2009

..on working at night time while your friends all sleep furiously.

I must have rubbed my eyes all night, but I made it through to the other side.
Removing my glasses each time, until I made it through to the other side.
When good morning means good night and an atypical sun creeps from behind the roofs to the tree tops instead of a typical moon and it's easy, soft bathing light. Hiding until it chooses to shine and only then will it suddenly brake through the shade and into your eyes, it's hard to imagine your enitial reaction but now it's blinding you, so bright; sleep furiously.

Let's get out of the romance.

You thought you knew me
Emptiness prevails
I thought our full house was glowing
Emptiness in the house

Every single shape I see for the pile of dust it is
Let's get out of the romance
Empty house
Now I look at the lights of town through the trees on my way home
Emptiness
Let's get out of the romance
The house that I walk home to is in flames in this wind
The wind is getting stronger
The emptiness shows
The breath that moves the branches saying words that I don't know
Blows from nowhere
Just destroying
For no reason
But to wake me up again heartbroken and tall
Wind revealing
The dust that the body becomes
The spaces where we stood echo quiet
Rubbing eyes
We feel up the empty days
Clinging with our things to an windy rock
I revealed myself to you
And let the wind take me
Obliterated, you know me by my shadow.

Tuesday 7 July 2009

You move me to the core; everytime.

Human, human
Where did your life go?
And how do you live and how do you forget that you must die?
Human, human;
You were not proud before,
You did not used to talk so loud.
Human, human;
You dumb ape, you blind bat. You animal, just remember that
Human, human;
There are still songs at night,
There are still sounds in the mines below.
Let's get out of the romance.
Human, human -
You will not, and I will never be free
From the weight of our living
The load that our lungs must lift,
The armour we wear, though we are weary, we fight
Human, human,
But you were a baby too, we did not used to be so proud.
Human, human.
I know the world looks wide,
So wherever you go, over and over, just keep saying:
"You win! You win!"
Don't destroy me, but go right through me
Take my home and my wife
Human, human.
Your generous lungs billow warmth.

Sunday 5 July 2009

..all that is your beauty and all that is your treasure.

Bless this tiny alley. We have fallen from tall buildings. We have fallen through the air into a garden sweetly smelling of the softest sleeping flowers.
Now they sit under the sidewalk.
Now they're waiting for the shining of some future sun to show us all that is your beauty, oh, and all that brings you pleasure. I could sigh into your hide and say I hope I'm here forever.
Black sheep boy with your lovers. With your list of favorite pillows. With your list of missing children. With the wall where you drew windows overlooking hidden gardens cut apart by jagged mountains, climbing up into the air and crumbling down into a fountain. Where the water waits forever like a quiet distant treasure.
When you rise up to recover when, you leave this tiny alley.
When you meet me in the garden with your horns all hung with cedar. Every spirit brushing past me, brushing past them in the ether.
Scream: all of this is window dressing, all you are is flimsy curtains. Watch you flame up with a word from us and won't know that you're burning

Bless this tiny alley. We have fallen from tall buildings. We have fallen.
Bless the birth of him, the chapel he was killed in.
All these tiny flowers, they have sat under the sidewalk, they have waited for the pieces of the summer sun to show us all that is your beauty and all that is your treasure.
I could smell your skin beside me. Say: I hope I'm here forever.
Captain with your lovers. With your list of favorite pillows. With your favorite list of children and the wall where you drew windows overlooking tiny gardens cut in two by jagged mountains and the secret sacred sharing that went on beside the fountain. Where the water waits forever for a tiny tiny treasure that will rise up and recover. That will leave this tiny alley when you meet me in the garden with your wings all dipped in cedar.
All these spirits brushing past me, brushing past me in the ether.
Say "all this is window dressing, all you are is flimsy curtains, you will flame up with a word from us and won't know that you're burning."

Saturday 4 July 2009

..oh baby one day you'll understand...oh baby, one day you'll hold my hand.

Filter through the background noise, a female cries alone in a crowd. Time is a precious tedium, while alone in a crowd. The curious girl is invisible once more, alone in a crowd. Too proud to raise her dark glasses, forever alone in a crowd.

The majesty; her crown. My fair lady; her frown. I am a clown for being able to lift neither. Unable to turn this predicament around.

Strange words didn't register with strange eyes and ears, you left too soon you could have stuck around, time was on our side but you simply struck time out. Clocks and chaos: I will never be so careless.

Wednesday 1 July 2009

Seven simple rules for a life in hiding

one: never trust a cop in a raincoat.
two: beware of enthusiasm and of love, each is temporary and quick to sway.
three: if asked if you care about the world's problems look deep into the eyes of he who asks, he will not ask you again.
number four and five: never give your real name, and if ever told to look at yourself, never look.
six: never say or do anything that the person standing in front of you cannot understand...and seven: never create anything. It will be misinterpreted, it will chain you and follow you for the rest of your life, and it will never change

Sunday 28 June 2009

Grave digger...

Grave digger, when you bury me make it deep so I have room to breath and just watch as the world spins and think about how I don't fit in.
Grave digger, when you bury me do it quick so that I can't see all the life that I'll be missing because life is all wasted on the living.
Grave digger, deliver me from my sins because I've been drowning in the same deep shit since I can't remember when.
I'm just saying I don't want to again.
Grave digger, rest my bones in peace and sing a song under your breath for me. Sing something soft, sing something low, sing something we both know.
Grave digger, deliver me from myself. The only one to blame, there's my sinful name, so I honestly might as well I'm just saying that it hurts like hell
Grave digger deliver me. Grave digger set me free.

Street choir, singing...

You can throw my love away or turn your back on me or run to your death and with your dying breath say that there is no room in your heart for me.
I don't mind it, because I don't mind if, I don't mind it at all...
You can throw my love to the sea, or you can bury it here in the sand but either way there will always be a place for you saved wherever I am.
I don't mind it, because I don't mind if, I don't mind it at all...
You can keep my love in the dark or hide the light from me. You could throw me so hard that I fall apart and there aren't enough pieces to keep.
I don't mind it, because I don't mind if, I don't mind it at all....cause I know it's not your fault.

"all of us contain music & truth, but most of us can't get it out."

when you come i will call you a seminal wind
bringing old light back to the surface again
with eyes held wide by sights of majesty
the kind we really need in this city

and if a shadow of greatness
hangs long behind you

it's because there ain't no mountain that you can't move.
no child, there just ain't no mountain that stands like you.

Monday 22 June 2009

Although a lamb will go to slaughter, a man he learns when to walk away.

A treat, a real retreat, another country nonetheless is more you explore another country without me when you return we shall see how you feel about me after visiting another country nevertheless is more without me.

Strange eyes, once pretty, I know you worry. Pretty eyes shouldn't have to disguise worry. How I wish we had met before all others, before the fall, and only then do I believe that things would have been different. Pretty eyes, don't worry, please let my strange eyes carry the weight of our troubles.

..our city did crumble into another city entirely. It was a strange sight to behold, we pitied our circumstance, a relationship too bold and beautiful to watch fall yet we watched as if from a distance and now things are much different. We can not feel the same as before.

Sunday 21 June 2009

Failure on my lips.

Failure on arrival, I see our friendship blossom as a romantic endeavor wilts, it dies in front of our eyes and you don't even flinch or bat your eyes illuminate my shortcomings one last time and time again is on our side, it is clear that we walk a different line and your confidence inhales me. How you can always be so certain about what I can only call uncertainty is beyond me. Following your lead I make the assumption that the line resides on the beaten path of friendship, however familiar I will never again kiss your lips or touch your hips. Every breath I exhale is a sigh of exhaustion.

Saturday 20 June 2009

Something like a sense of detachment.

At the bottom of a well, the darkness is almost total, an absolute half moon allows a little light to grace my perspective. If I were lost somewhere between deep thought and a deep sleep then I found myself staring at the mid morning stars that stubbornly refused to be refuted, I draw a comparison to vivid memories concerning beautiful women that I have touched, these refuse to fade away also. These stars, alike my thoughts were mine and mine alone to hold but soon I would share them with the world. I tried to take comfort in the fact that no one else could see them, I held them in my arms and bathed them with kindness, beauty and truth..however fleeting this comfort may have been it existed all the same and provided an amount of solace to the otherwise vague and blameless calender months. It is almost as if the sun illuminates them, a logical conclusion, the sun illuminates all that the eye can see, everything around me and yet the sun has seemingly not illuminated you in weeks. Perhaps in another place. Another man's arms. Another man's kindness. Another man's beauty. Another man's truth. I will find you illuminated.

Wednesday 17 June 2009

Good words.

I wish we were high in the basement, wasting the last good words of our lives on a warm conversation and two cold beers that we wouldn't touch all night.

Tuesday 16 June 2009

..the letters met the lovers before the bodies found their shore.

Honey, I would bend my bones if it would help. I would stop the sun from setting. I would wrestle it myself. I would drink the oceans dry, and then dig the world a well, if it would but prove my love.

Sunday 14 June 2009

..the act was beautiful, but never meant to last.

I've experienced way more than you're willing to admit; you'll see this in another guy's eyes as he lies to your face wholeheartedly, with a degree of certainty unprecedented and you'll chase that snake to the ends of this earth understanding that maybe the horizon is where you will finally settle down happily together.
A total eclipse of cognition.
I may n
ot have been a beautiful creature, but I was a creature who knew how to appreciate and treat beauty as beautiful.
Beauty: a delicate thing t
o cherish and nurture, to take great pride in and care of.
Y
ou should have felt lucky and safe and found.
..f
orced to live without beauty, a darker side of humanity has been exhumed.
I thr
ow your scent to the past that is a grotesque animal; it will hunt, haunt and surely hurt you.
Hurt:
a delicate thing to cherish and nurture, to take great pride in and care of.

Sunday 7 June 2009

See you in the shallows.

Pulled along, on a string, the month of may's brightest diamond is strung out. It is understood that to acknowledge the sting is to fear the sting, and so it was decided that the stone's eyes were to be kept partially shut, otherwise blinded by the steam that is often produced by lust, relying on dumb luck, only to be stung at the month's end.
I was clutching the fray, in shock I released my grip accidentally, a natural reaction to such venom, and I regretted it instantaneously. Perhaps I could have put up a fight. I consider this a lot after long ago losing my sight, I drift in the undertow, alone or parrellel with yet another beautiful girl that doesn't mean a fucking thing to me; with arms outstretched we can not reach eachother, no we're simply not together and never again will I collide with you.
The shallows imply that there is a deep end.

Friday 5 June 2009

Your heart will break all over again; after enough time passes.

We fell quiet and fast, together, I tried hard not to allow my conscience to wander but never the less I was falling apart and although you were strong and silent, you must have understood...so much so that you could no longer hold on to the good times alone.
These are the new good times, I had proclaimed so bold, but they resembled firecrackers and either you could read my mind or trace it's reflection in my blood shattered eyes because you knew just about everything I could never have told you about how I'd been carelessly burning them up. How exactly is it that you foresaw our demise?
Stuck in the hurt of a new home, all family lost, alone. I would have liked to have given you everything that they'd taken from me, if I could take it all back, reclaim it perhaps.
Girl, has the wind up bird forgotten to wind your spring? Come summer, the previous season's romance will be a thing of the past.

Thursday 4 June 2009

Happiness looks beautiful only from a distance:

Happiness can be compared to a tidal wave.
Happiness swells.
Happiness grows.
Happiness moves.
Happiness mutates.
Happiness is an earthquake inside of you.
Happiness aftershocks.
Happiness shakes.
Happiness devourers.
Happiness passes as has Happiness been known to abruptly stop.





Happiness has left nothing but destruction in it's wake.

Wednesday 3 June 2009

..expose your youth.

I've spent the last few nights, since I first found out, tortured by the phone and it makes more sense to be filled with doubt.
You moved too soon, so...you're lost to me and now I can't find your voice or the words you speak and it's terrifying.
It's strange to antiquate something vogue like truth, I find it rather bold in the ways that you chose to expose your youth.
You're different now, so..I made you sad and I can't find the map that was marked to lead to the heart you had.

There will be numbness soon, I'll forgive and forget about you and any memory of what you are to me will be washed away.
Sure, I'm sad to lose but I will conceive that it was beautiful but sometimes cruel. Well, isn't that the way?
It's strange to me how when stories change, with those things we said that just can't be unsaid, but it's not my way.
I wish you well, you still are loved.
I hope you're happy now or at least happier than when truth was true.
A lie for a lie or a lie for life; goodbye.
It's me.
A wash.
A sea.

Friday 29 May 2009

Life is a battlefield;

love is a lie.
Love is a lie that you told.
Love is a lie that you told to me.
Love is a lie that I believed.
Love is a lie that you've taught me.
In love I am fluent.