(no subject)
Can i even do this anymore and the other
kids don't seem to care they'll throw
together a handful of blind with a bit of bat,
wings like plastic wrap stretched over
your baby's lunch. safely dancing in that box
with everything else sitting with a girl
who can't handle her daydreaming away from
the pidgins picking away at the crumbs
of crumbs, eating more than their queen slowly
she'll starve and they'll never know it
had gotten that bad, but their bellies are full
and they'll soon forget all about her,
those dirty feathers slowly trampled into the
pavement and where was her joy,
where is the stairway leading to, another room
with more people who would walk
over birds dead on the street without even
realizing their feet cancel out the
hollow. Crunch. Gross, cough choke, pretend
they're somewhere else. in someone
else's day dream, in photos i remember where
the woman was impaled through her
face, or the other girl who blew hers away, is
that where i'm going? Does everybody
exhale how i do? Did she exhale so heavy
before closing her eyes tight and--
--did she sing to the birds in her mind before
it painted her wall? Great wall. Great
things on the other side of the earth, of the
spectrum falling through blues and
reds until you forget the difference between
them, before you trip out and hear
them sing to you. Fade... fade... fade... faded
out of view infront of a two-way
mirror where you are seen, but you are
unaware and worn down worn
over and over it's the only one you've got
everyone has one who is the
envious neighbor now? who wears the shades
with crooked frames and broken
lenses. faulty vision. No foresight. No insight.
Put it together and it's foreign sight.
a double negative translated into a positively
good idea if it lasts, takes the pepsi
challenge and the other one bites the dust
again nearly covering that pidgin.
nearly sacred burial grounds. few know. like
building a house to find out there
are bones where you wanted your foundation
to be. skeletons from other people's
closets coming back to haunt you hunt you
dress you undress you and not
with their eyes and i wake up. Not in a dream
but with tender prey wet and
bloody in my bed and i've never quite hunted
like that. A clever fly fronted and
after being confronted was never left intact
a con as a front, a pawn is a cunt
unless he saves the king but what about
their queen what about the birds
and the bees? Honey and eggs. Wings and
wings. streams and streams. all
of these streams lost between unraveling
seams how was it, and what am i
going to finish before i'm finished. if i make
it to 50 i'll be surprised and not
from a tendency towards self-destruction,
but from constructions and
structures that can only hold so much
before they buckle. but what
a sight, like the desert and it's pitch black.
you're laying on top of the car
and trying to find constellations in the masses
of stars. More than you've ever
seen. More than in the tabloid magazines,
fighting and fucking just like
the celebrities of mythology, and just as
unreal. and when everything
burns out, what will be left?
kids don't seem to care they'll throw
together a handful of blind with a bit of bat,
wings like plastic wrap stretched over
your baby's lunch. safely dancing in that box
with everything else sitting with a girl
who can't handle her daydreaming away from
the pidgins picking away at the crumbs
of crumbs, eating more than their queen slowly
she'll starve and they'll never know it
had gotten that bad, but their bellies are full
and they'll soon forget all about her,
those dirty feathers slowly trampled into the
pavement and where was her joy,
where is the stairway leading to, another room
with more people who would walk
over birds dead on the street without even
realizing their feet cancel out the
hollow. Crunch. Gross, cough choke, pretend
they're somewhere else. in someone
else's day dream, in photos i remember where
the woman was impaled through her
face, or the other girl who blew hers away, is
that where i'm going? Does everybody
exhale how i do? Did she exhale so heavy
before closing her eyes tight and--
--did she sing to the birds in her mind before
it painted her wall? Great wall. Great
things on the other side of the earth, of the
spectrum falling through blues and
reds until you forget the difference between
them, before you trip out and hear
them sing to you. Fade... fade... fade... faded
out of view infront of a two-way
mirror where you are seen, but you are
unaware and worn down worn
over and over it's the only one you've got
everyone has one who is the
envious neighbor now? who wears the shades
with crooked frames and broken
lenses. faulty vision. No foresight. No insight.
Put it together and it's foreign sight.
a double negative translated into a positively
good idea if it lasts, takes the pepsi
challenge and the other one bites the dust
again nearly covering that pidgin.
nearly sacred burial grounds. few know. like
building a house to find out there
are bones where you wanted your foundation
to be. skeletons from other people's
closets coming back to haunt you hunt you
dress you undress you and not
with their eyes and i wake up. Not in a dream
but with tender prey wet and
bloody in my bed and i've never quite hunted
like that. A clever fly fronted and
after being confronted was never left intact
a con as a front, a pawn is a cunt
unless he saves the king but what about
their queen what about the birds
and the bees? Honey and eggs. Wings and
wings. streams and streams. all
of these streams lost between unraveling
seams how was it, and what am i
going to finish before i'm finished. if i make
it to 50 i'll be surprised and not
from a tendency towards self-destruction,
but from constructions and
structures that can only hold so much
before they buckle. but what
a sight, like the desert and it's pitch black.
you're laying on top of the car
and trying to find constellations in the masses
of stars. More than you've ever
seen. More than in the tabloid magazines,
fighting and fucking just like
the celebrities of mythology, and just as
unreal. and when everything
burns out, what will be left?