its just grey and miserable
a little boy siting on the road
like its fucking summer time
just sitting there with his bike
hes got a toy
and hes the only person ive seen
that eerie little boy
with a cloud of hot air at his mouth
and his little knees on the icy pavement
nothing could have gotten more sinister
i surround myself with things from the past
you are my past
my living, breathing, wonderful past
you looked in my eyes when they were full of light
small and innocent we were
but us, none the less
you were my friend
gone, disappeared
you had your life and i had mine
for a while my past was lost
creating memories of its own
then time caught up with itself
it came back stronger than ever
and here you are
my living, breathing, wonderful past
surrounding me
Im writing and writing and trying to keep a straight line because I don’t know what else to do and I found this piece of paper and I thought ‘hmm what can I do with a single sheet of white, blank paper?’ So I write. And I write. The clock goes tick tick and my life goes tock tock and it wont stop and all I can do is sit here and write. Those ticks and tocks I won’t ever get back but you know what, maybe I don’t care. Maybe it’s all just pointless bull shit that won’t stop. Maybe it stops if we all just do nothing. Sit still and write. Stop the world. Not the ticks and tocks, no. Those don’t stop. But stop the world. Just for an hour. A minute. Listen to the silence. Maybe realize something good for once in your life. But that won’t happen. The world can’t be tamed.
a smudge of nailpolish
seen too many tears for its youth
its double image so close
but not close enough to touch
a small reflection of my life
gone through and through the years
no matter how close i get
i can never touch
never feel the warmth of my own skin
never hear my own voice
never see my own eyes
you say im of youth
though i feel a hundred in years
felt too many scars
though not on my own flesh
buried deep deep
down
a small cage
my own emotions
unmasked
this is me
deaf from the silence of weeks
crazy from the anger of months
broken from the idea that i am
not a one
not a whole
only a me
as small as a crypt
a crypt for a mirror
the mirror of me
i remember the snow, the water, the walk to your lips. guided with your hands, my life settled in your arms. the music was played and your heart beat in time. i hear that sweet melody and once again, you come to mind. in memory of what we used to call in love.
you asked and asked and i couldnt lie. you said there was so much to be said but you said the words crumbled behind your teeth. you said. i said your misery is too deep and i wish there was more i could say. i said these words wont help you now. just dont break. dont break, i never faked. there was no silence. i could hear your despair and the fan in the ceiling. i could hear your heart being ripped into shreds. my hands, they tried, but your grief was too deep, my fingers arent that long. you paused and i breathed. you died and i lived.
i cant just sit here and watch someone i love go through as much pain as you do. i see you close your eyes against the piercing light. i see you close your eyes as you breathe your heart into the microphone. you’re radiating sorrow and its killing me as well as you. i dont wake up at 4 in the morning because i feel like it. i can feel you dying, somewhere inside me, i can physically feel you dying. and babe, it hurts like hell.
my sleep preventer, my wonderful singer boy, why do you do this to yourself? do you wake up at 4 in the morning the same as me? look at the moon and wonder how this came to be? you’re just a broken mess with missing pieces. i want to help you find them, those missing pieces, but i dont know where to look. im afraid you’re so far gone that you cant even feel my hands when i reach to you. next time you are sitting there in the dark, i hope you dont think you’re completely alone cause you know ill never leave.
i wanted you to know that you’re not the only one thats broken in this town. you break me when you break yourself. im broke. i dont feel right. you are breaking even still. i want to hold your pieces in my hands. stop throwing them away. you’re beyond the point of healing and your dragging me down with you. you are beautiful. dont waste it.
arts, technology, natural sciences, language, social sciences, religion and mythology, philosophy and psychology, generalities. reference books and reference books and all i ever look at are the secondary fictions. so many books, so many pages, topics, ideas, authors, people. this library is crowded. silent people sitting on their shelves, waiting for their turn to speak inside a mind. so modest. i would befriend them all if i could. lonely, forgotten people. slowly pacing down the isles is their caretaker. the god of the silent society. dust falls as each spine is grazed. carefully touching each book. she has not forgotten, no. she and i. rememberers of the silent society.
my class isnt far. just down the hall. but why should i be there? i dont like music. not playing it. not the way they do it. they teach us structure when all music ever wants is to be free. float down the isles of grocery stores and bring people to life. i dont believe in what they teach me in music therefore i refuse to learn it.
so i spend this hour with the books who need a memory. i wish i had enough memory, enough time to have a conversation with all the people in here. listen to what they have to say because no one listens. they are too self absorbed to even consider listening to someone else’s life story. being judged over and over again. sitting sad and lonely, waiting for the day when a feeble hand takes it from its resting spot and gives it a chance to entertain. and it will try with everything its got left. and after one thrilling page it will get put back down and thrown back into the sea of forgotten pages. it will sit and stare in all its loneliness and wait for the day it is given just one more chance. until then, the silent society dies.
you were never really there. not that i needed you and you abandoned me, you just never really existed in reality. your name is only written by my hand and your songs, only heard in my head. i swear you lived and touched my face but i cant find the proof. and now you’re gone and i cant help but think that you were always just a figment of my imagination. a lonely episode of my growing insanity.
i am awake. this is not a dream. i am awake. this is not a dream. i am awake. this is not a dream. i am skipping class and i have tequilla in my locker. everyone is skipping class. this is real. i am not insane. this is real. i am not insane. there is hail on the ground and it is 9:22am, February 17, 2011. the day of the living dead. i am dead and i am reliving my life. looking through dead eyes. this school is old, my body is old. my dead body, it is 16 years dead. and this is in my head. i am reliving the days when i thought i was sane. how nice it was to know fact from fiction.
you are an optimist. and me, im a pessimist. for as long as we’ve been friends ive admired your happiness. i was jealous of how well you kept it. it was almost as if it wanted to stay. happiness doesnt sit well with me but you, you’re radiating bliss. i dont think that smile ever goes away. we dont talk much anymore but i dont think we have to. i still love you just the same and i hope that every remaining school day has you waiting to give me a cheerful hello. i think i might be intimidating to you, when im around you seem timid and i never understood why. but these days i feel like its flipped and now im the one being intimidated by you. you’re beautiful and fearless and that smile could block out even the sun. dont ever question whether or not smiles go on for miles because i think, for someone like you, the road never ends.
i know one day i will see you on that tv screen with bright lights and screaming girls. i know that you will have long forgotten me because lets be real, i was never really there. but through all that noise and tainted love i will be there on that couch feeling my stomach fill with regret for the one thing i thought id never let happen. i let you slip away.
we lived in a small town. the rain drizzled down into a void that was my life. no love, conformity or a sense of being home was provided for. we created our own lives as one. we took that void and decorated it with foot prints and pictures of everything our parents never new. we took that emptiness and sang so the chords echoed off its walls of empty space. we were accustomed to boredom and excepted it in everything we did. we knew monotony would settle in right next to contentment in every flaunting endeavor but it had earned its welcome. this lifeless pit was my home and even for the world i wouldnt give it up. i heard the rain even more frequent than the school bell and i knew wet pavement better than myself. that forgotten town holds my heart and my life and without it, i feel that void return. only this time ive got no pictures to hang or songs to sing and so this void remains, reminding me of everything i once held in a void we called home.
welcome to cloud nine
pull up a chair
take a load off
give your feet a rest and let out your breath
we’ve got the sun and the wind clouding our thoughts
but its okay because we dont need them out here
you dont know your life until you see it from the outside
from above your head
from up on cloud nine
