Anonymous asked: How can a person such as yourself think so creatively?
Don’t resent shapes lacking the definition of a perfect circle. What we talk about When we talk about geometry. What they’re wrong on when we say they say two plus two equal five. It’s just the same when two look straight touch without words unoriginal and beautiful. My song won’t worry to ask them to read between the lines. What they’re looking for...
Once Apon a Time Sometime After the Narrator said...
Don’t say the word love. It’s cliche’ and overdone. Don’t say “I’ll stay with you forever.” Those words fit well with Paris. We could get married the day we met, but then again, this isn’t Vegas. The words “I love” have their hand prints in Hollywood. Disney owns the copyright. Snow White, well, she left after a week. Cinderella...
So today I started a last.fm account
eatsleepmoresleep: They asked for a list of bands. Mastodon, Death Cab for Cutie, Thousand Foot Krutch, Animals as Leaders, Miles Davis, Newsboys, Smashing Pumpkins, Edgar Cruz, Louis Armstrong, Flights, Michael Mucklow, Radiohead, Simone & Garfunkel, Them Crooked Vultures, John Phillip Sousa, Helen Merrill, Band of Horses, Bombay Bicycle Club, Frank Sinatra, The Strokes, Tycho, Erik...
Her name tag Said everything “Sweet n’ Low” Fake sugar without that intoxicating feeling neither healthy or pleasing.
Forgive me we don’t fit. Love or love me back, I cannot ask. Lower me, or go up? We could see our numbers with little need to deduce, simplify or redefine. But one divided by three Make it painfully easy we’d never find the end of this.
A few years ago I made an unwritten list of things to do before I die. Now I can finally say I’ve scratched one off. I’ve used up all the ink in a single pen.
What's my line?
“But why did you pick me?” and it wasn’t that he was a sort of mythological Greek god. She was in love and needed some sort of definition as to why he loved her in return. Every girl he had ever been with longer than three months had asked “Why me” and, at one point or another, the question really turned into “Worship me?” Through the last few...
Maybe I’m just trying to hold onto some sort preconceived definition for masculinity where Poet doesn’t fit the discription. Personally, I just look at myself as some guy trying to stretch out a single sentence so it looks like I wrote out more than just a single sentence. As if the “Why I’m not a writer” phase wasn’t enough.
It is much much much easier to meet the lack of a standard.
I wrote you a poem
This could never go unsaid My being is bleeding recycled through tubes That cold feeling is living which we have become so used to.
Life is worth too much to waste On all the stories that fail to entertain It should be interesting starting with the first sentence Onwards, and to the final page.
“I thinking we’re falling in love” Winter must be on its way. “Things are about to get cold.” “What?” she said “Oh, nothing” I replied
She came back for her clothes and she was beautiful but this time only to show exactly what to miss when she left.
Looks like love
But then again, she did have a thousand different ways of looking, same as there were exactly a thousand separate pair of eyes all locked within the gaze of her own lifeless sight. A face, that body, her physical stance: it’ll be simply what it may. Letting it be, will be, the only way to allow it to age with any kind of grace. Had no one given noticed, neither would she. Every whisper...
Shut up and write. Shut up and love. Shut up.
Do you ever wonder if the roots travel down just as deep? The sidewalk has a bottom on both sides. It just might be possible. Maybe their feet decide and mine only follow. We only walk the same way, stop at the same places. As my eyes look up, could theirs look down? What they see, it will at least be endless, as is, most everything we see.
So the story goes
As the song ran from my ears to the brain, and from the brain to my heart, there was no denying who was in control; it wasn’t me. Not a single chord connected between the song and my emotions. They didn’t fit. If my eyes had gone closed it wouldn’t made a difference. Pitch black, sitting in the corner of the room where the only movements came from a pair of headphones. Then...
The Story of a Verb
Run home. Nothing loves. Hide inside. Stay alone. [End Paragraph] Look up. Move forward. Stop crying. Say hello. [End Ch. One]
She’s really pretty. It doesn’t matter who Or why. The “really” needs no specification no proportion Simplify the sentence? She is.
Thinking’s Stinking Hating? Blaming
pseudocat: i'll make my grave a toilet, then
eatsleepmoresleep: Oh, well in that case, I'll make sure to leave the toilet seat up when I go.
pseudocat: WELL THEN
Take mine. Take Love. Take Take Take Take Take Take Just like the lake that can’t, won’t, flow out and give back to an unending ocean. The rain weeps in sorrow and fills the dead sea. The dying existence of such As Take Take Take Never ends with give Pity the river we once were. Flowing, loving, and unknowing.
Process of success
Mom gave me cash They put her in pink Dad even winked Wait it gets worse They’ll stair outside from the window to see if we kiss Valentine’s alone is better than this. She ordered the garlic bread So I got her back I sat in the bathroom for an hour and a half Then at the table She wrote me a poem “How sweet of you to smell like freaking poo” that’s...
In a way, their first album will be my favorite. They hold the most hope and all the soul. They’ve got that one idea no one will approve. It’s not about the sound, only about the wonder and discover. It really shows us who makes it where. The last song to their break up album always sounds so desperate. They’ve made it to hold it, but not to love the thought, the sound and the...
Sunset, Sunrise, and The Color of Roses
Death came from the heart. The heart, as it filled within its own pumping liquid. ripped in its moment of death as we all though heart break felt like murder. This was quicker; this was colder. Dare they both say, it was love. The knife at hand, hands to their limbs and these systems stemmed from a deep red burning feeling only satisfied with the that same, shimmering, color. This isn’t...
Write a feeling Pure and unending It will bleed an abstract Eternal, Lost With a great motion Leaving us in the misunderstood It’s just what emotions Feelings. do.
Stop doubting whether it’s actually “okay” to say it or not. I know it, and she knows it, and I know What you’re afraid to say. When she gave me that embarrassed look and finally asked “how could you love a blind man?” My feelings finally spilled. “You say that like money makes a man more attractive. Anne, you say that like you’d have never...
Roses are red Violets are blue I sent posts to jayarrarr, skelechitophobia, . We ate lots of silly with the side of anon (and gray) I said to them all, and in a cheeky way at best “if I asked for purple, would you give me two” It was loads of fun. Valentine’s day is far too great to waste on a lame expectations in harlequin fancy pants romance.
Days like this make people as me feel as though the great many things that have found me to be small, ever so unnoticed. They with their ever building weight Hold a body to the ground just as links to a chain tied to the bottom the lowest floor of a sinking boat.
An ode to all my hopes
Dreams are a revolution. They come with hope and wonder. They will, more often than not, leave us hanging from a tree for treason. The only time to follow through with a dream is when there’s no longer anything left to lose. Too many people dream with envy, with a hypocrisy that only implies trading places with the greater as if they deserved it more. These dreams are revolutions...
Even with as little love as it has been. Far more than my soul had ever felt Underneath my skin Far less than what I’d need But more than mine. My soul, might die for this As it did, as it will and as it has.
“Let’s just speak without thinking. Let’s find exactly what it is we’re thinking by blurting out everything that comes to mind.” “Yeah” I said “That’s what everyone else does. Isn’t it.”
Does it mean what I think it means Or is it meant to mean what someone made it to be. Seldom both since our eyes waiver on our past sight
Forgive and forget you forgave…so you’re mad again.
“last relationship” is synonymous with “heart break” or “a joke” Don’t you wish we’d stop the part where we say we feel heart break when we’re only kidding or say “just kidding” when something, deep is really bleeding.
The body bleeds ideas perhaps it’s time to cut something open
As this is for those to love Trust the one who can’t be found. Not yet spoken. Words ever waiting days, minutes, moments away.
"Better than sex"
“Oh boy, this PP&J is going to be better than sex!!” I’ve never had sex(moving on). This is a constant battle at edge of my tongue for control over my conscious being. “will he say it’s better than sex?” And this, is just the problem. I’ve almost said at least twenty-seven times today “Oh boy! This is going to be better than sex!’ This...
Hunger is often mistaken for love.
Snooze Button Blues
Pick me hit me five more minutes think the wonderful wonders in each moment and lay the bed headed head to rest Once more just more a little longer ten minutes only makes it twice Love me touch me make me rest sleep in wait more hit the snooze
It wasn’t, as feet carried the body. It wasn’t beautiful in the way it should’ve been. Maybe it’s cliche’ to walk for someone, except without them. These words don’t come, just in the same way no one can force love. If my mind had tried to write of love and lack thereof, these words would be with preconceived feelings. The one thing I can promise,...
Same as always
Wake up, snooze button, brush teeth and shower Don’t forget the tie. What is it, Wednesday? It’s not really important. I’ll find out at the office. Take the elevator, go to the parking lot, drive. Up until this moment everything had gone on the same way any other work day went. Mark lived alone, ate alone, slept alone and everything he did where another soul had not yet...