Samuel:

this isn't about love, it's about pumpkins

"You lied to me ( Read more... )

It was December. The road was damp and the moths were falling like snowflakes. He had only ever seen a perfect snowflake once. It was on the coat of another patient, and it was breathe-taking. As for the moths? Well, they were the ironic sort of beautiful that his life was becoming. The raod gave way to his inertia with a cool wet whisper as he ( Read more... )

it was summer: i remember ( Read more... )

the tighter i try to grasp the larger you expand
and you're out of reach
out of touch
out of focus
out of this world
refusing to breathe, refusing to acknowledge me, refusing to see
not everything lacks purity.
not everything lacks purity.

maybe if you had the slightest interest in hearing it.

"Get in."

( .... )

I have never been so aware of the veins in my hands,
And the wicked world
Is writhing in my grip.

It's pulsing out my veins
Out of, but not by, my hands-
And I am writhing, in my grip.

Hope is such a dangerous things and
It's tearing my walls down.

Hope is a dangerous thing.

i'm so listless and strained ( Read more... )

Oscillating circuits
Spilled guts, like prying
Walnuts from their shells
With crude utensils.

Flaunting fantasy flits
As mathamatics
Formulated me-
Ticulously, but

How are we equated?
How do we measure?
Add the future, then
Let's cut the dead weight

Potato peelers poised
Let's shed this skin, and
Paint our eyeballs red;
View with passion clear.