Stop.Wait.Hold your hands up, show me the sky.Dying could seem a lot more like flyingif we all just tried.So kill me if you must, take awaymy bright bird wings. Know, however,that [by] murdering me leaves none ofyou more free.Singing slowly, "I don't want to die."But I've had too long to live.Won't you paint me the ocean so I'llnever forget.His lullaby dries my eyes and fitsinto the scheming cycle of what wasand what is.
January 16, 2011I used to love youlove you trueBut look where it's gotten mein an iscolated roomSwaddled in your gazeSo playful and sereneThough I'm not completely certainwhat that's s'pos to mean.I was a Raggedy AnneLet you throw meback and fourthFelt so tortured when you staredme down withNothing but your orbsAnd now I seeI seeWhat it was I found in youYes, you pretty little thing,My heart isbreaking up withyou.
January 4th 2011Give me your vanityAnd I'll lay it in the windThen the things thatmean most to youwon't make adifferenceCoo. Coo. Cryabout make up andyour hair.How everybody'scopying you.Get angered.Send them glares.
Form a silent "o"Form a silent "o" with your thoughts.Scavenge around for a bitI'm having a hard time coping with this habit of self-destruction. But sometimes my calls of help don't get answered like the thousand prayers for food and safety
December secondI lie here with my tattered bluesTrying to remember how I lost you.I'd take you home, you would get scared (and throw a silent tantrum)But trust me, I've learned how to cope with it because she's seething with emotion.No more piteous sobs, just a dark intrusion to the heart.You'll waitand contemplatehow it will (all) endI've got no answer for you, sirJust sit tight and enjoy the show.Wait for the winter to end.
Shoebox.It's a saturday nightand you're not doinghomework? Well what are youdoing? Because I'm waiting,here. For you.Under the blankets of myseven sins hides a lust foryour intelligence.Get better, it'll all bealright. And nothing canchange how I'm feelingtonight.Spacing is good. Helpsyou know what youneed. Eventually, nothingis what it seems. Andreality wakes you in thedarkest of night to force you toknow everything will be alright.Abundance of night, but noneabout day, I pray that yourstrategies will delay...'Til the(les) jours quand you makeall the shudders of a winderlessdame. But I digress. I must prelaymy sorrows on the next day.