holy cowlabungaroodadoo
1
i swear i could convince myself, that maybe we could convince ourselves, that we were really brown paper bags or that we were sour lemons. some large assumption made a truth, a declaration. it becomes funny, and one day when i was walking after a crazy stress headache i saw two guys walking with circular glasses on that hid their eyes. they were the same height and i could barely wait until they passed, just start laughing. from there, i saw more faces, and i laughed again and again at the who-it and what what. I arrived to where i was headed and was laughing so much that my eyes were letting out water.
a quick transition- from struggling to maintain a balanced breath because im scared, because im tired, lonely. and then laughter- alone, out of control, and it's raining.
a different day- i could not even get enough decency to speak to someone, to acknowledge who they are, that-- i love, but i was a monster that couldn't eat on conversation cause it was hard enough to walk with my screaming head. i was holding in my shreak , my desire to tackle down those in my way, to rip bark off the trees and to piss out acid onto the concrete. those and this that i am to do...a head full of my's and me.
transition again- to shutting my door- on the floor. breathing out the shit- holding myself, releasing sound. ok. blank head- murmurs- hums- breath. breathe, thats what you are doing, you can't stop it until it stops you. some mimicry of peace.
2
then you said- you did not have to say it. it was in your face- i read you as a sentence would read to me. all i really could do was swallow and run my bottom lip through my teeth cause its hopeless to reason, hopeless to make sense.
you- the brown paper bag, i see the resemblance. and with all predictions im the sour lemon.
3
i hate the repetition. i hate the familiar movement. your piano makes me want to pound into a floor. "fuck bach"
a response that is where i am, and what i feel. i got those damn lights set and that expectation met- a sealed deal to be there with that honor. but fuck the honor in the way it is to be reasoned. you come because its got a name and the judgement is ready....so judge (its not a passive work) cause i am active and wanting to be truthful and give you my fingers, pound out my passion so it can be then devoured and flattened. to perform- make these arrangements so that shit is set, trusted, and lacking any risk to be present in decision and in expression.
set the lights, play the music, ill dance- but really ill be vomiting up my insides for your carpet to absorb and you won't ever know the change, it will just be something to commented on- even if your insides conflict and want to punch me in the face.
i swear i could convince myself, that maybe we could convince ourselves, that we were really brown paper bags or that we were sour lemons. some large assumption made a truth, a declaration. it becomes funny, and one day when i was walking after a crazy stress headache i saw two guys walking with circular glasses on that hid their eyes. they were the same height and i could barely wait until they passed, just start laughing. from there, i saw more faces, and i laughed again and again at the who-it and what what. I arrived to where i was headed and was laughing so much that my eyes were letting out water.
a quick transition- from struggling to maintain a balanced breath because im scared, because im tired, lonely. and then laughter- alone, out of control, and it's raining.
a different day- i could not even get enough decency to speak to someone, to acknowledge who they are, that-- i love, but i was a monster that couldn't eat on conversation cause it was hard enough to walk with my screaming head. i was holding in my shreak , my desire to tackle down those in my way, to rip bark off the trees and to piss out acid onto the concrete. those and this that i am to do...a head full of my's and me.
transition again- to shutting my door- on the floor. breathing out the shit- holding myself, releasing sound. ok. blank head- murmurs- hums- breath. breathe, thats what you are doing, you can't stop it until it stops you. some mimicry of peace.
2
then you said- you did not have to say it. it was in your face- i read you as a sentence would read to me. all i really could do was swallow and run my bottom lip through my teeth cause its hopeless to reason, hopeless to make sense.
you- the brown paper bag, i see the resemblance. and with all predictions im the sour lemon.
3
i hate the repetition. i hate the familiar movement. your piano makes me want to pound into a floor. "fuck bach"
a response that is where i am, and what i feel. i got those damn lights set and that expectation met- a sealed deal to be there with that honor. but fuck the honor in the way it is to be reasoned. you come because its got a name and the judgement is ready....so judge (its not a passive work) cause i am active and wanting to be truthful and give you my fingers, pound out my passion so it can be then devoured and flattened. to perform- make these arrangements so that shit is set, trusted, and lacking any risk to be present in decision and in expression.
set the lights, play the music, ill dance- but really ill be vomiting up my insides for your carpet to absorb and you won't ever know the change, it will just be something to commented on- even if your insides conflict and want to punch me in the face.