It probably sucks, though. I wrote after I took my sleep drugs, right before bed. It has no clear ending, either. Everything I write is about girls.
It probably sucks, though. I wrote after I took my sleep drugs, right before bed. It has no clear ending, either. Everything I write is about girls.
I realize now that
I’m just an old, despondent fisherman
casting my line into an empty sea;
gallons of toxic waste engulfed the lake
and stole all the fish from me.
what’s there to do but to die
and be reborn as a raccoon
who eats your garbage
and fatefully, one spring day,
gets caught between your
front left tire and the road?
it’s like we live inside the walls
we always whisper when we talk
inhaling dust, exhaling coughs.
I’m entirely obscured as you fluoresce.
nothing occurs when you’re away
our lives run on a taped delay
the same old corpses, fresh decay.
I tried to make it hold, but I digress.
This is relatively long for a Tumblr post, especially on my account, so if you’d like to read a few long-winded paragraphs about nostalgia in regards to this post, you can read more.
on your greatest day, you blocked out the sun.
we’ve seen worse, yeah
we’ve seen worse.
wordless and blinking
banned from the funeral
a needle in the thigh and the blush on your cheek.
a stagnant backwash ruminating on my palate
we are the sorry people
I woke up with my skin grafted to the bedsheets
you bloom
you’re flush, you flourish, you’re a lyric.
we hang from ceilings like burnt-out chandeliers
our limbs rustle like leaves, as the breeze creeps
down from your neck like a gentle finger on soft skin.
find success in love
the potential effervesces beneath your skin
walk the line
stay the course
remain in the queue.
find success in impression
appear to exist
collect the things you pine for and lock them in a room
your heart is aflutter.
go out into the world
go out into a world without regulation
go out, into the world, and get murdered.
find success in sleep
I did some writing a couple nights ago:
as i lounged on the sand in the midday sun
the scattered clouds cleared away.
i felt the ultraviolet rays burn into my chest
but then it was quiet.
the waves stopped crashing and the gulls stopped cawing.
i could not breathe and everything was blue.
my mouth was filled and my nose was filled and this swell engulfed my entire being
and this was you.
you are more than an ocean wave
you are a beautiful hurricane.
my darling little ukulele
i want to play you, but you always play me
not from Portugal or Hawaii
my perfect little jumping flea.
I’m having trouble letting the sun in
it’s a struggle for me to let the cold leave.
I’ve tried blankets and quilts and old afghans
but it just curls up inside, it won’t let me be.
I’ve struck at this flint a thousand times
but I can’t seem to light the match to smoke it out.
you told me stories of surviving in an avalanche
and now I know what you had warned me about.
I will abominate this glacial grasp
and this eternal freezing will sing its swan song.
I will send this aimless wanderer
back up into the firmament for it to die.
and it will die.
