yellow flowers on my sheets/..or life in the crazy house.
i went up to my rooftop, stopped to smoke,
tossed the cigarette and screamed.
crying and cussing at the moon until my hands
were shaking and a choir of conserned onlookers began to form.
murmers and utterences under hushed breathing, " she's lost her mind" (i never knew it was found...) "she must be drunk" (i guess dutch courage goes a long way). "is she going to jump?" (sure, maybe you'll break my fall.)
like a cat feelings i never wanted to have kept scratching at my insides
i wanted to go home,
i wanted to hide
i wanted the spinning sensation to stop.
so i jumped.
off of the ledge
hoping that maybe
upon impact
i would explode into 1,ooo
little
peices.
no such luck.
after awhile i guess,
you learn to land on your feet
a strange ass backwards defense mechanism that
only works when you desperatly don't want it too.
there was a face
and a hand,
'are you okay?' he asked...
it was then when i started to laugh..
for mintutes that seemed like much longer...
'of course, yes i am perfectly fine.'
and that was it.
the end.
a
broken leg,
broken wrist
cut flesh
bruised face
a
clean slate.
on one of these nights, which happens every once in a long while, you have two choices. the first one is ridiculous, so i'll move on promptly to the second.
you smoke, scream, laugh, smoke-
sit down in the shower,
smile
smoke
play the blues... (georgia 1933)
and sleep.
you will feel better in the morning.
i promise.
tossed the cigarette and screamed.
crying and cussing at the moon until my hands
were shaking and a choir of conserned onlookers began to form.
murmers and utterences under hushed breathing, " she's lost her mind" (i never knew it was found...) "she must be drunk" (i guess dutch courage goes a long way). "is she going to jump?" (sure, maybe you'll break my fall.)
like a cat feelings i never wanted to have kept scratching at my insides
i wanted to go home,
i wanted to hide
i wanted the spinning sensation to stop.
so i jumped.
off of the ledge
hoping that maybe
upon impact
i would explode into 1,ooo
little
peices.
no such luck.
after awhile i guess,
you learn to land on your feet
a strange ass backwards defense mechanism that
only works when you desperatly don't want it too.
there was a face
and a hand,
'are you okay?' he asked...
it was then when i started to laugh..
for mintutes that seemed like much longer...
'of course, yes i am perfectly fine.'
and that was it.
the end.
a
broken leg,
broken wrist
cut flesh
bruised face
a
clean slate.
on one of these nights, which happens every once in a long while, you have two choices. the first one is ridiculous, so i'll move on promptly to the second.
you smoke, scream, laugh, smoke-
sit down in the shower,
smile
smoke
play the blues... (georgia 1933)
and sleep.
you will feel better in the morning.
i promise.