last four, please.

repetition feels so terrible but I know nothing else. the impermanence of convictions and feelings don't change a thing. everything seems so common and cheap. childish dreams have never been chased so vehemently. but only out of desperation. I don't know if that's supposed to be shameful or not-sure feels like it.

text message memories

Its been two years and I still remember. your voice, your kisses, the perfume on your skin and hair, the way your eyes would lock on mine, our hands conjoined with thumbs locked in, the feel and taste of your soul inside. the long awaited hugs and letters so long. it was great. it really was. I haven't talked to you, but its probably best that way. we're completely different people with conflicting desires and goals. but it still doesn't stop me from fucking missing you when times are hard. oh well, such is life and life knows best. keep floating, world!

doo la da dee dee, dee dee do!

fingers poking porcupines
piney forests on a corn cob
rain and thunder freighten them
rain and thunder enlighten him
beez in the church all on our tongues
even though half of'em dont believe in what's sung
indiana hiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh
indiana lowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww
indiana high dont tell me noooo
like a dog with a window to see his bone
but no way to take it back to his throne
rain or shine they'll dine on what's thrown
but they're strangled and starved of the green and gold
brown chicken brown cowww
come take them home!

old songs, old finds

tattoo scabs all dressed in drab an exercise in elitest crimes don't test these times of prevention and lies dont climb over walls and shout for your wine we wont help you now but before we could have tried your on your own friend to cloud minds and old rhymes

most people annoy the fuck out of me. and the one's that don't? well. I'm adapting to keep it that way. future holds so little in so much and the only thing I feel thats certain is the unique-ness found in my recent ventures. I'll never let myself become jaded and feed the frenzy of normalcy that beckons from my feet.

untitled, untold

Vodka thins blood, thins lips---hot tongues and wishes from lungs invade my storm as guiding arms force virgin hands to till and plant on soft fertile lands--a temple worshipped with praying fingers, who wander for fear her taste won’t linger

But her name still sings here.

Running skin through soul, skull cuffed for pull, parted lips for apologies---our scent spreading love like some sort of disease, but please don’t see impermanency;
My words carry meaning that outlives my seed

So I read the lines and letters inscribed and mapped all the stars to heartbeats on breasts--a Corona Borealis from Ptolomy's chest---her pulse flies high like the skies seen within each dimension of vibration and sound---around and round kisses navigate aloud, leading their vessel 'cross printed silk oceans with waves swelling 'round areolas of bronze and nipples reaching out for an embrace so strong

So long.

So long; during and after we crashed in the natural disaster of blankets, sheets, thrown clothes, and heat--held thighs did meet slick hips in glee---blackened eyes greeted times of penetration with deep thrusts from times of telepathically told lust; just trust I won't ask questions concerning memories in dust

HYDROXYZINE

pharmacokinections stain my aim with poisoned pain from leaves to thieves of rustling trees trading hearts for kidnies to enemas of bleach dont you preach religion decided by fancy flies in suits and ties they flood the streets with poker blinds dollar bills seasoned in thyme and lye a beautiful mill for typed pentions and christs on crosses will bleed for your prices its a crisis that entices flourescent scents of blasphemous ligaments a ghoulish glow from mason jars for cancered breasts on semented chests lanterns of taciturn voyuers their joy serves only the free the proud and the brave lets behave as beehives contrive and thrive pollinating hallucinations of nations of red white and stars dont lay under polluted waters just to hide your scars I will lick you clean and perform in succession perverse oral sessions fuck after fuck your back will be wet from your hair full of sweat just a whore panting and dripping with that mouthful of debt.

sterile summers

lets fester in the silt of a resevoir built for all this guilt
suffocation comes in the form of Paranoia Blooms cooked in the shade of our shadows' tombs.

standing still admiring our pyramids,
our disfigured complexions will coat the surface of dying rivers' reflections

saltflats form and fireflies burn in florida organs.
their lights dim as imitations hide the stars
grow bigger, seem emptier
a conscience of green plastics and old habits from gymnastics.

don't tell me we're close,
signals from fleshy catapults don't count as folding bones.

clear as day

I smellz like a big dirty dumpster. ofcourse thats usually what happens when you climb into one and start rummaging around. I love my job. to be entertained by your own humiliation is a strange thing... I haven't slept in a while. I really really need to sleep. too much black girl butt grabbing. I was told by a psychiatrist on thursday that I have anti-social personality disorder-Iwish-guess I've got another label to wear round my neck, though. why is photography so important to people? why must every event be documented? It seems like such a waste of time and completely rapes the moment. fuckin A. what the hell am I to do with myself... I'm so jaded by personal problems and faded from reality. I need someone in my life who's much more brave-a honey badger of a woman to validate everything I do, write, and say. that's so fucking pathetic. I can't really say we all are, but I most definately am. oh well. who cares. doom path. that's my lyffe. its quite interesting when I think of how I never have or will do anything that is beneficial to society. why must it be important to be remembered? I don't know what to think. I use I alot. I I I I fucking me me me. god dammit. whatever. death seems so boring, normal, and temporary to me for some reason. Ifeel like I should be afraid and either think i'ma die and be nothing of nothingness forever and ever or be a lil angel in heaven. but I don't. I feel like I wont die, even when I diediedie-since I don't care about dying, its as if the subject is irrelevant to my existance. like, I'm exempt from the laws of lifenessness. what the hell am I babbling about... I never babble anymore. it makes me sad. I'm glad I'm doing it now. I wonder if theyre gonna make me lurk in the dumpsters now? who knowssssss.

P.S. I got left in austin during SXSW. and lemme tell you. I now officially hate all stereotypes of people. fucking hipsters.

fate of freud

four eyes won't fly among floating lies
too many mines for the wings of our crimes
guess we'll fall, hitting bombs, clumsily unfolding this ageless song
what do we find among the ashes of convenience store matches? a fading scent from the fires of friction
just more litter on the floor, and whats more, another reminder of the creatures we abhor.

the list

HAZ GROOOOWWWN.

over president's day weekend, I got left at a wendy's, 200 miles away from my bed.
and you know whattt?

I'M NOT SORREH! MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!!

problems

for fathers and shells without lacquer
these factors that brought us our cancers
in the transfer of data and distance
our souls are pixelated
punctuation poisons our communication
society is dilapidated
the swamps
the reptiles
the smell
my mind wanders to find its peace
ten more months until my release.
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insecticide.

Earth fenced us in and the ghetto filled to its brim.
No one screamed or cried, we all sat down and held hands with invisible strangers who left us long ago. Lungs inhaled the stale atmosphere one last time, as the flood trickled in and wandered round blistered feet.
A cold end rose to erect prose upon prepared chests and cheeks.
Air escaped through quivering mouths as we watched on,
and with those pleading eyes rolling, fading,
we were gone.

With that merciful pen an inscription was left
aloha is all it read
though, asshole is what it meant
don't trust the rain!

There were watchmen just below the currents of an estuary next door
for floors of three stood above tired lives and absent minds.
What was here to protect? It's lost on me, only dead waters and abandoned concrete to see.

To the shining sea we float on
for our hearts are stagnant and cold
and all past memories are growing old
but these lips still open and crave an exchange, whether of words or warm fluids.
A fire burns in frozen corpses for a low hum and a vibrant tune
of tongues dancing 'tween thirsts and knotted wrists
'cause we are bound in a paranormal prison of paradoxical bliss
we are done, and we are dead
...as door nails go.