(no subject)
the beetles hudle in the stairwell when it rains out. california thrusts all its insecurities at them with a strong gust of wind and not even their glossy backs can protect them from desicration. walking barefoot from the car to the front door is never a good idea in this weather. tiny shards of trash, wet leaves, gasoline stains all velcro themselves to the tough soles of your feet.
last week i threw away my blow dryer when i couldnt find a socket that it would fit in. i've been wearing too much black. mascarad eyes soggy with the rain that keeps falling.
it seems that when it rains, it pours.
soaking though my screen, so close to my bed, draped in silk the color of the ocean that i never go to. some days i can smell it, mixing with the smell of wet cement, dirty cars, tired people. the smog in the air is so thick and heavy, it weighs me down, turning me into a slow motion addict, slothing around the city, going through the motions, forgetting where i'm supposed to be, what i'm supposed to be doing.
" You can get away with run-ons in the literary world, but PLEASE, follow directions for the class and keep them to a minimal. I'm talking to you Barringer"
In the class where i really shouldnt be. the boy i love with the too dark skin sits next to me and lingers his fingers on my thigh for 2 hours straight. he makes my skin burn. almost to the point where i want to start clawing it off. like the feeling you get when you drag a feather slowly across the surface of white skin.
huddled in my bed, wrapped in each other, discarded clothes on the floor. his plaid pants and my vintage silks. thick blue beads drapped around my collar bone, his fingers kneading into my back.
i haven't even made it half way through my list of to do's and already im too tired for anything.
there's empty water bottles piling up in the countertops and dead beetle skins breezing though the stairwells.
the rain swells in the grey clouds, threatening to drop, but too lazy to fight through the noise that never seices
last week i threw away my blow dryer when i couldnt find a socket that it would fit in. i've been wearing too much black. mascarad eyes soggy with the rain that keeps falling.
it seems that when it rains, it pours.
soaking though my screen, so close to my bed, draped in silk the color of the ocean that i never go to. some days i can smell it, mixing with the smell of wet cement, dirty cars, tired people. the smog in the air is so thick and heavy, it weighs me down, turning me into a slow motion addict, slothing around the city, going through the motions, forgetting where i'm supposed to be, what i'm supposed to be doing.
" You can get away with run-ons in the literary world, but PLEASE, follow directions for the class and keep them to a minimal. I'm talking to you Barringer"
In the class where i really shouldnt be. the boy i love with the too dark skin sits next to me and lingers his fingers on my thigh for 2 hours straight. he makes my skin burn. almost to the point where i want to start clawing it off. like the feeling you get when you drag a feather slowly across the surface of white skin.
huddled in my bed, wrapped in each other, discarded clothes on the floor. his plaid pants and my vintage silks. thick blue beads drapped around my collar bone, his fingers kneading into my back.
i haven't even made it half way through my list of to do's and already im too tired for anything.
there's empty water bottles piling up in the countertops and dead beetle skins breezing though the stairwells.
the rain swells in the grey clouds, threatening to drop, but too lazy to fight through the noise that never seices