and down.denythemuseFebruary 11 2005, 03:22:31 UTC
I can't leave a soiled tragedy where it lay in past dusty gone. It might carry answers to our riddles untold. Laws are easy to miss amidst all our dynamite pushed and pulled. Shot up brought out these thoughts to cleanse these minds we hardly follow, these hearts we chase.
Pawns cringing prayers, muttered too late to tell where the kings and queens lie in danger of our danger. Dangling like strangers stories glorified passing by.
The comings and leavings we identify as everything and all we are made up of like words we pale in thought of like when you said that this is real love real instead of empty throwing phrases, we feel it.
I can't breathe. My days are filled with pizza avacado and peanut butter. It sounds like romance but trust me, it's living by chance. Day to day to drunken afternoon walking across ice to spend the night serving policemen and cavemen and what's the difference anyway?
I can't say with the barrel of a gun tickling my tonsils. It's ugly days. And all I've got is words unheard, speaking injustices that burn me like bridges.
I stand on their ledges and all I can do without tripping is look down down down, when all I want to do is look up and see your face grinning profanities. Flicking tongues to match my imaginary fame and fortune. The distance is sweet torture.
I can't be the pedestal you dream upon but I can love and hope and be all the care and desire you feed upon.
Re: and down.vaguelygoodbyeFebruary 14 2005, 07:17:57 UTC
I think nearly everything you say is funny or brilliant, you fool. Peep this. I'm going to a pimp's and ho's party. I totally have this costume worked out. I intend to slap wenches all night long.
Re: and down.denythemuseFebruary 17 2005, 18:21:04 UTC
Woo. So. Catherine Hunter, the writer of that Rush Hour brilliance is reading in Winnipeg in April. Thank god. Finally I get to see her. I'm going out to bc. Checking out a Vancouver slam. Real slam style. Not like this Winnipeg bullshit I went to. Everybody was fucking reading. And nobody meant anything they said. It was utter crap. Soon soon. Keep in touch. And thank you to you mister_shankly. Do you have stairs in your house?
where it lay in past dusty gone.
It might carry answers
to our riddles untold.
Laws are easy to miss
amidst all our dynamite pushed and pulled.
Shot up brought out these thoughts to cleanse
these minds we hardly follow,
these hearts we chase.
Pawns cringing prayers, muttered too late
to tell where the kings and queens lie
in danger of our danger. Dangling like
strangers stories glorified passing by.
The comings and leavings
we identify as everything and all we are made
up of like words we pale in thought of
like when you said that this is real love real
instead of empty throwing phrases,
we feel it.
I can't breathe.
My days are filled with pizza avacado and
peanut butter. It sounds like romance
but trust me, it's living by chance.
Day to day to drunken afternoon
walking across ice to spend the night
serving policemen and cavemen and what's
the difference anyway?
I can't say with the barrel of a gun
tickling my tonsils. It's ugly days.
And all I've got is words unheard,
speaking injustices that burn me
like bridges.
I stand on their ledges and
all I can do without tripping
is look down down down,
when all I want to do is look up
and see your face grinning profanities.
Flicking tongues to match my imaginary
fame and fortune.
The distance is sweet torture.
I can't be the pedestal you dream upon
but I can love and hope and be all
the care and desire you feed upon.
Reply
Reply
Reply
And thank you to you mister_shankly. Do you have stairs in your house?
Reply
Leave a comment