on a post it

i'm paying too much to live.
life has expensive written all over my
skin. every day a part of me goes down with the sunset, and the sunrise
is as faded as the color of my hair.
 piling of money sits on the inside of my stomach, growing to tumors
i have to remove. the quest to buy for my value, and the value
is more than i can afford.

my smile takes exhaust over me,.
probably better tucked under dimness, where this introvert plays.
down the street of my youth
i left behind silence. no longer on mute,
i will give you the loudest headlines.
ambition depends on stability, and practically speaking -
to wake up with the desire to live
is a better toast.

rose petals i have collected still smooth over pages,
their soaking fragrance,
like love i once treasured still in the back of my throat,
sometimes in gasps i feel his name,
desire to fire, but no.
i have maintained the will to hurt.
i am gravitational. all the idiosyncrasies for you to sample from.
take one dose today, leave parts for your next adventure.

there are only a few nights i taste
chamomile tea and warm the
mind of its of bareness.
the most expensive road to recovery cannot
fulfill me. i am a doctor's worst note and their best
experiment. and the music keeps repeating, and i keep
drinking one pill after another.
somewhere in there i
s the reminder i live.

spiral from misery

into desire

flesh cut wound cut

on a lemon breeze

and a tongue free

on a spring afternoon

i let mine roll around your

goosebumps

when I die

wear your finest filthy jewels.
brightest threads and mis-matched patterns. if i don't see polka dots with stripes and plaid -

i will haunt you. probably. most likely.

i hope to see a crowd filled with jubilation and no remorse gather around my body.
i want daisies and lilacs placed around me. in my hair, and in my hands.
barbara streisand will blast through the speakers: don't rain on my parade,
and somewhere along the edge of a disintegrating cloud i will be hanging
with one arm holding on, and my feet dangling.
i think i'll probably be jealous i'm missing my own grand event.
but maybe i'm just believing my own hype too much.

• am i selfish for wanting to end my life
• who does it belong to and who do i owe my survival to?
• a woman set herself on fire to end her pain. 
• how selfish are you to want a person to hold on just, one, more, bit.
• hold on so you can feel comfortably at ease a life you hold no control over continues
• are you shredding your insides
•  some people are too far gone. they want to be gone. what more is there.

working at work doesn't work

words are running around outside breathless.

i want to eat every adjective i find on the sidewalk

and wrap it as a present to the next misbehaving child.

faces of frenzy walk past by me, ghost presence and the lights they never stop.

not one soul stopped to mourn the end of summer.

thoughts are spiking and the echo-gram is jumping.

there is no comma to pause for a moment

and all the periods have escaped into lush fields.

on

and

on

and

on

i go

until the mind has fried its last battery

and

now

everyone

is

asleep.

the

mind

is

sober. 

eroding at my heart, so many beautiful specimens. i think i loved only 1, but there may have been 2, or 3. they taught me something i thought i could use at the time, but looking back at it - nothing i couldn't find in books. every man i have been with has tried to mold me with his teachings. history, politics, mathematics. all subjects that drain me. i don't want a lover to read me passageways of today's latest economic downfalls. i just want a hug, and hot cocoa. a kiss, and my hand held with his. somehow i always end up the student in an empty classroom taking notes and failing all the tests.

crimson blossom

i survived august. a few more days and i can rip open my curtains. i bought new tea today. the senses are delighted. crimson blossom herbal green tea. my mouth likes. my tongue is red. it dyes. it tastes like cherry Tylenol  but not bad. i am a kid. artificial dye. red #5. remember! i made pasta with calamari, and shrimp. i added in cheese at the end. melted. gooey love. and sprinkled parsley. parsley. why couldn't that have been my name . . . ?

i was at the anarchist book fair today. what a group of eccentrics. they're wearing their belts loose and studying your voice. i don't think mine belts loud enough, so who is going to hear me. they're tying themselves to all kinds of ideas that seem to tie them up. well, as long as your dreams remain, lovely. this man tried to sell me some coke. sweetheart, i'm trying to get off.

the cat keeps running away every time i want to hug him.
well, what a surprise. i think my foes have given me greater warmth. every lover is on the other side scoffing, but at least i had fun with the loud mouthed assholes. at least they gave me their time of day. what a pain it is to love someone who won't even acknowledge you.

i'm not feeding the cat tonight.
lessons he will learn.

still waiting for a natural disaster. or am i one?

A character

I saw a man on the bus.

The same one I see every day. I want his eyes to meet with mine. They don't. I'm not sure why they would and what gain
I would get.
His fist thrusts against the railing post. No pain. Over and over again - it goes.
Clenched skin, powder white.
Blood gets frozen from knuckles, and I'm sure he is ready to fight whatever blossom has invaded his dome. The woman behind him has her own truth. Latte spills on her shoes, 5 minutes away from being late.
Late for a meeting.
Late without a smile.
Where will her heels take her, and how much does she pays for dinner?
I bet money subconsciouly heats her.
The bus is heavy, none empty. Getting ready, there he goes again. Still at it, tormented mind.
I wonder where his money lies... The way his skin is leaving behind - while clumps of jesus paraphernalia fly out of pocket. When was he last saved...
Veins, he cut them out I think. I see none. His face is that of my fathers'
Does his fist pound with the same remorse...?

+ i am wearing the sun today on my shoulders. carrying a bouquet of flowers i ripped from my neighbors garden. i have stolen someone's innocence last night and today i feel like i am finally blooming from my sins.

Your mind is fruitful and blessed with the most delicious seeds, and the face of an angel - if one shoud exist. I am convinced you are more than enough, and any mere mortal that comes into your life is just begging to be a second jewel. One that will never quite fit in, not with your exquisite diamond. And your eyes that have stored away the stars with its dark abyss are dangling presents in front of me. The apple I am inclined to bite.

And then I came upon this -

Endaural Phenomena - are sounds that are heard without any external acoustic stimulation. Endaural means "in the ear". Phenomena include transient ringing in the ears (that sound like sine tones), white noise-like sounds, and subjective tinnitis.

empty trips from 2005

#1
My burning eyes, fill holes in your heart. The fire stands tall against my will, and all I have is the outlook of the night.

#2
My mind is racing fast...
I see the moments, as they are my last.
Feeling secure is bittersweet
The green addiction, is, hard to beat.
My love is eating away the spirits,
With fire scorching at his door.

#3
They don't care about my wisdom. Discarding it as out of shape. Only 3 more weeks, and I'll be running out of hell. She'll sit on the windows, straight to heaven, barking up innocent calls, forgiven yet again.

#4
Water reeks havoc
Eyes tangled in
Suspension
Games are specific
to Ammunition
Bullets run through
My mind
You run your fingers
In
I bleed my pen marks
On your
Flesh
Contaminated
I know you're mine
Now.

#5
If only they understood the apple isn't falling from the tree, the apple as a matter of fact is poisoned to the core, and we eat it to infest our lives, to infest our love. We eat for security, secured by control, screwed for control.

#6
I don't want to look like I'm forgetting, but your eyes have been in mine for less than a downtown bus ride. Your eyes, kissing, burning out as we proceed. Goodbye Johnny. Don't forget to smile when you get off.

#7
Silver tides, glides, like frost bites into my skin goes sunshine, pink, taupe, words find themselves on sidewalks. Frustrated and yellow. At 1:15 he forgets his mind at home.

for my friend

Something sweet to their gaze. They look at me - elated. What joy! I have food for their little bellies. They trust me. I am worthy? I think I like them. How precious their lives must be. Or maybe rotten? I think they're trapped to an outcast loneliness.

"You must learn how to smile as you kill."

November. You rotten, dirty month. How I hate this time of the year when the streets are filthy ugly, the nights are cold and wet, everything is isolated. This is a scary time of the year for me. Dirty fall - early signs of winter. Death.

+++Why is it so hard to get over a person? Any person. the rain has been pounding against my window the last couple of days and I feel like any moment now everything will break and take me with it. It's nice. I still hate you November.

sometimes, writing is so painstaking. And not the process of memories or emotional baggage that rises up. But the process. The puzzle you're trying to finish when so many pieces don't even fit and you have to just sit still, be patient and work through it. You know it's there. It came with the box, you just have to find it.

fucking consumes me.

some things that turn me into liquid.

1. Hands
2. Really hot skateboarders, even if they suck at what they do
3. Weed
4. Boxers
5. Belts
6. Candle Wax
7. Toxic Markers
8. Seedy Motels
9. Green eyes
10. And if you're from Barcelona that's a bonus.

People who gossip to you will mostly likely gossip about you.

(yet another friendly reminder.) 

pile of (a) thought

+++
People will often tell you to think happy thoughts. Try to think positive, happy. Be happy.

That's the problem. I don't have any happy, positive thoughts. The little glimmer of hope that's stashed away in the back is usually overpowered by the negative. And when I do have hope, it's just one big false advertisement. Because I know what tomorrow will bring. I know that I always revert back. Something is comforting in this depressive state.