A friend that bleeds is better;
you need me like a bad habit
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Made To Feel Small;
He’s marked by illness, gets his syringes from a pharmacist but the pills he takes to lessen this disposition; He stands so small, you make him sit, until he doesn’t stand at all; the concept of satiation becomes a never ending hunger, and he can never get full. You’re a glass half empty that he craves to make whole; you can’t hold hands with someone who’s riddled with holes. He’s told to make the best of it but you detest what you cannot own; he’ll never be the man you want ‘cause you can’t beat him down. What you can’t feel you fake with a pen, already borrowed, twice removed; a pseudo-prophet always bended at the knee; just a step below the waist. A fool is still a fool reflected back at her, forced glamoury has its pitfalls. He wears a sweater that’s ten times too small, hangs on his frame but doesn’t wear on him, well. You’re wearing stilts, he’s made to feel small again; it wears on him. He spends his time on more trivial pursuits, like cold drinks; distant animals, ornate wall paper, and hanging his heart on his sleeve; a perpetual, real life hang(ed) man for all to see. Swollen sites and stinging bruises, he finds it hard to dream anymore; are we the dreamers or are we the damned? And the kids on the streets are they to be pitied? or feared? A fool is still a fool no matter how elaborate the design.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Reflection; Profound Curses MUTE Us
Dead flowers for a dead girl; she’s a She-thief in wolf’s clothing, thoughts for a deceased soul gone bankrupt. It’s a blank lottery every time; give your prizes to another. Visits every Sunday but you never look my way. Make me forget, I want to forget; when I see your face and hear your words I stop cold. Never have I been so blinded by head lights, dulled by low lights, calmed by black lights. You say you’re a poet, criminal; animal. Transparent like clear skies, all you bring is tears and misfortune. The craft is in the presentation; made to feel invisible so I’ll treat you that way. And I’ll walk with you in days long, I’ll sit with you and write you songs but I’m made to feel invisible so I’ll treat you that way. All tricks, no treat I should have left you on the corner near that street. Take out, make out, it’s all made out to be what it can’t. You’re only as good as you can fake it. What I can’t have, I fake for myself; why can’t you learn to love yourself? Like a satellite in space, flickering in the distance; a submarine in the ocean, drowning in distance; airplanes in the atmosphere, too high from reach; the distant flickering of a TV screen, subliminal mind flash; medication running low, it’s the days I can’t take; it’s all in the name, it’s all in the motions; are you here? My expectations exceed you and my leaving proceeds you. Keep your feet off of my shadow as I walk away. Run on free, run on free. Free from you and me.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Untouchable Passions
We're all numbers; single digits, multiplied by zeros subtracted by fear; all part of a systematic number system. You're an itch I can't seem to scratch, an infection I'd gladly take back. Heart is where the home is but who's knocking? Love is the ultimate betrayal of the heart, through it. You've come to take, break, and make what you call home. No more door mat this time; I've taken back the welcome rug. Business not pleasure, this is a business of pleasure. All love, no regrets but I regret this delayed delivery. Take a chance on me, take chances and continue to make advances but you won't let me in; you tell me this is my punishment; a life time's worth of torment. And it all comes back ten fold, both ways, all days, straight from the past through the future. My future is through you. You tell me love is to wait, that life is a game but I'm not playing. The cards that I've laid on the table are only for you to see, there are no tricks up my sleeve. It was always a battle to earn your trust but it seems you would rather resort to actions fueled by lust. And if you were mine you wouldn't have to sleep around because girl, I'd want you all the time. I want you all the time. There's a clock that's ticking in reverse off in a not-so-distant future, there is a silence there that only we can understand. You implicate that my involvement is solely based on a perceptual satisfactory gain; well I'm not playing your game. I'm trying to find my reason through your voice, sing for me. Shades of gold, I'm always blue for you. Speech is limited, words are meaningless when it comes to this but I can't say it enough; you're reflected back at me. Reflection is selfish, honesty is flattery, and truth is pity. She's brighter than the sun, but bright black like heaven; the total eclipse of a cyan aura. No one can touch her and I was burned in an attempt to bring her down.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Friday, September 10, 2010
Thursday, September 9, 2010
what concerts have you been to?
Blaqk Audio, Marilyn Manson (with HOURS) , Wednesday (I forget the opening bands lmao) 13, The Birthday Massacre (With Dommin and I Am Ghost) and The Used :D
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
What was the best advice you've ever received?
That no matter you should be genuine because even if you end up getting shit for it, in the end it's what people appreciate and gravitate towards.
What did you dream about last night?
Weird freaky things that my psyche is still recovering from that I don't care to talk about....
If you could attend any concert, what would it be?
asdfhsjfkdjkfj SO MANY<3 IAMX, Amanda Palmer, Kill Hannah, Placebo, etc.
What do you think about formspring.me so far?
It's alright, I'd like it more if people actually asked me shit....
How would you describe your style?
Modern, un-generic, and not like anyone else :} I'm not saying it hasn't been done but I can do it better than you.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
What was the happiest moment in your life?
When things were simple and before feelings complicated things
Monday, September 6, 2010
Do you still want that red head?
Don't they? ^\\\^ I think I might become a red head just for a hell of it; it's always been a guilty pleasure fantasy of mine X}
Friday, September 3, 2010
If you could be a vampire on the caveat that you could only drink menstrual blood, would you do it?
...that would be kinky, no lie.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Friday, August 27, 2010
A Promise
I’m happy because I finally found out who my real friends were and they weren’t you. I’m happy because I’ve come to realize it was more than I had originally planned. Too much, too late; no regrets except for one: not making you mine when I had the chance.
This was a bitter sweet victory and I expect the prize without having to fight the battle.
But you’re worth every struggle I have made.
And if it was within my power I’d do anything to stop your pain, to prevent further harm or hurt.
Pre-conceived notions; fate came too late.
You hold the keys but I’m still sealed shut and I know you would do anything to pick that lock.
The answers are clearer than you think, you hold my key; use it.
I would give anything to be the reason for you to smile, to call you home, to step in time.
To have a chance at some sort of sordid role reversal, the vines are forever twisting.
Thorns in palms, images and symbolism taunt me; I dream of you when others are on my mind and in my presence.
Jealousy rears its ugly head but I know that he’s merely a doll for you to shake. Deep down you’re starving for something, for anything.
This helplessness drives me crazy; distance hinders my aid.
Scars represent things I can’t fix, physical and emotional, even ones that extend my own creation. But I’d still like to try, in vain. And if I had the chance I’d like to take you pain away<3
This was a bitter sweet victory and I expect the prize without having to fight the battle.
But you’re worth every struggle I have made.
And if it was within my power I’d do anything to stop your pain, to prevent further harm or hurt.
Pre-conceived notions; fate came too late.
You hold the keys but I’m still sealed shut and I know you would do anything to pick that lock.
The answers are clearer than you think, you hold my key; use it.
I would give anything to be the reason for you to smile, to call you home, to step in time.
To have a chance at some sort of sordid role reversal, the vines are forever twisting.
Thorns in palms, images and symbolism taunt me; I dream of you when others are on my mind and in my presence.
Jealousy rears its ugly head but I know that he’s merely a doll for you to shake. Deep down you’re starving for something, for anything.
This helplessness drives me crazy; distance hinders my aid.
Scars represent things I can’t fix, physical and emotional, even ones that extend my own creation. But I’d still like to try, in vain. And if I had the chance I’d like to take you pain away<3
The Truth In It, Is The Trick In It
Admiration is a bitter pill, so shut your mouth and swallow.
Take a deep breath, gulp, and ignore the stinging in your eyes; gasp, the stinging in your mind.
You will become well accustomed to the after taste soon enough (everyone does). There are truths in the tricks you play on others.
Shut your mouth and open your eyes, the life you’ve “lived” you’ve found to be a lie; no surprise.
We don’t want affection (hold your tongue) all we want is satisfaction (curb your impulse).
Take a gamble (sell your soul) no commitment is needed (keep up the charade if you can’t play the game).
You’ve plucked my strings and strain my vocal cords.
Was that the reaction you were expecting?
Take a deep breath, gulp, and ignore the stinging in your eyes; gasp, the stinging in your mind.
You will become well accustomed to the after taste soon enough (everyone does). There are truths in the tricks you play on others.
Shut your mouth and open your eyes, the life you’ve “lived” you’ve found to be a lie; no surprise.
We don’t want affection (hold your tongue) all we want is satisfaction (curb your impulse).
Take a gamble (sell your soul) no commitment is needed (keep up the charade if you can’t play the game).
You’ve plucked my strings and strain my vocal cords.
Was that the reaction you were expecting?
Gluttonous Aftermath
I wake only to be engulfed by sleep, a decrease in consciousness due to a lack of perceptual awareness.
White lights, bright lights, bright black light engulfs all.
And that’s when my medication starts to kick in; as the hours pass dwindling with time, desires for what I cannot possess haunt me.
Rewind and then fast forward to the present; yet another drink in hand, all ambition gone.
I’m starting to lose my grip, I’m running on empty again but I’ll never learn from its scorn.
There’s dryness in the back of my mouth and in my chest.
I used to feel things, I think.
I drank from a glass that was half empty and I felt guilt for not being entirely whole upon consumption; I never aimed to be full.
I felt guilt for what I had taken, what I had left, and when there was nothing left to take at all.
I’m on an insomniac high that I never want to come down from; reality only brings me further toil, scenes of human passion(s) flickering behind my subconscious, painting my wants vividly.
And sometimes I think it’s better to hold off.
To just close off entirely; shut down for business, no one lives here anymore.
Don’t come again, you’re not welcome.
But my emotions seem to be running rampant run on’s I can’t fix.
I seem to be blinded by the glow of others…and I tried to steal it for myself.
All of the hallucinogens in the world could not confirm the confines of my mind; however I too am confined.
White lights, bright lights, bright black light engulfs all.
And that’s when my medication starts to kick in; as the hours pass dwindling with time, desires for what I cannot possess haunt me.
Rewind and then fast forward to the present; yet another drink in hand, all ambition gone.
I’m starting to lose my grip, I’m running on empty again but I’ll never learn from its scorn.
There’s dryness in the back of my mouth and in my chest.
I used to feel things, I think.
I drank from a glass that was half empty and I felt guilt for not being entirely whole upon consumption; I never aimed to be full.
I felt guilt for what I had taken, what I had left, and when there was nothing left to take at all.
I’m on an insomniac high that I never want to come down from; reality only brings me further toil, scenes of human passion(s) flickering behind my subconscious, painting my wants vividly.
And sometimes I think it’s better to hold off.
To just close off entirely; shut down for business, no one lives here anymore.
Don’t come again, you’re not welcome.
But my emotions seem to be running rampant run on’s I can’t fix.
I seem to be blinded by the glow of others…and I tried to steal it for myself.
All of the hallucinogens in the world could not confirm the confines of my mind; however I too am confined.
Violent Acts Of Passion
Love is healing one another’s wounds; to create new ones in return and heal them too, in time; to mend the unbroken and to break the unbreakable.
My heart has been an open wound for years and could use some mending.
So please don’t refrain from cutting it open for all to see.
Split the artery in two; you’re just opening old wounds, picking at capillaries. I’ve bled and I’ll continue to bleed for you; a crimson promise never to be broken despite the broke person that made it.
Just say the word and I’ll commit violent acts of passion for you.
I’m content bleeding just for you.
Like Evan and Brian, hold your dagger high because this too won’t end without a fight and let’s seal this with blood.
Mutilation never looked so flattering.
My name in your skin never looked so tempting.
You’re blushing at the prospect of this violent elation; stop being so careless with someone who isn’t at all careful.
In the end, we only mirror each others actions and I can see your cracks; those are the acts we always fall to commit.
You should be more careful, I’d gladly bleed for you.
My heart has been an open wound for years and could use some mending.
So please don’t refrain from cutting it open for all to see.
Split the artery in two; you’re just opening old wounds, picking at capillaries. I’ve bled and I’ll continue to bleed for you; a crimson promise never to be broken despite the broke person that made it.
Just say the word and I’ll commit violent acts of passion for you.
I’m content bleeding just for you.
Like Evan and Brian, hold your dagger high because this too won’t end without a fight and let’s seal this with blood.
Mutilation never looked so flattering.
My name in your skin never looked so tempting.
You’re blushing at the prospect of this violent elation; stop being so careless with someone who isn’t at all careful.
In the end, we only mirror each others actions and I can see your cracks; those are the acts we always fall to commit.
You should be more careful, I’d gladly bleed for you.
(Im)perfect Perfections
Conceal the imperfections and cover-up the flaws;
painting over what we have come to know oh so dearly.
“Why bother with this painful process? you’re merely a façade lacking any interest.”, he said.
Her response was, “I’m just putting on my face.”
Create, cut, and paste yourself into a newfound tainted identity.
Manipulate yourself a new soul.
And her response was, “Don’t mind me; I’m just putting on my face.”
Applying your own sanity back piece by piece;
oh, it’s what you’ve com to know; an infinite disguise;
a blank canvas so very hollow but equally as transparent.
Accentuate your imperfect being and try to take away the empty.
The pieces never quite stay together.
painting over what we have come to know oh so dearly.
“Why bother with this painful process? you’re merely a façade lacking any interest.”, he said.
Her response was, “I’m just putting on my face.”
Create, cut, and paste yourself into a newfound tainted identity.
Manipulate yourself a new soul.
And her response was, “Don’t mind me; I’m just putting on my face.”
Applying your own sanity back piece by piece;
oh, it’s what you’ve com to know; an infinite disguise;
a blank canvas so very hollow but equally as transparent.
Accentuate your imperfect being and try to take away the empty.
The pieces never quite stay together.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Vogue Consumerism (Don’t Believe The Hype)
If you don’t believe it buy it, you’ve already bought the lie.
Conceal the circles under your eyes and deny all hindrance on your previous life. Why waste time with realism when you can fake it?
In reality, you’re a product of wasted time.
False advertising at its best.
Sales at an all time high, egos at an all time low; satisfaction guaranteed.
We’re at an all time “high” of hit-or-miss counter culture where our over-the-counter prescriptions speak for themselves.
Artificial drugs for manufactured and pre-fabricated dreams.
We wear our emotions via status updates and through the labels on designer clothes; online portals into boredom.
We destroy for the pursuit of re-creation.
You are what you feel but where is the validation in that when all you do it steal. Do you feel special?
You’re only as good as you make yourself out to be.
Conceal the circles under your eyes and deny all hindrance on your previous life. Why waste time with realism when you can fake it?
In reality, you’re a product of wasted time.
False advertising at its best.
Sales at an all time high, egos at an all time low; satisfaction guaranteed.
We’re at an all time “high” of hit-or-miss counter culture where our over-the-counter prescriptions speak for themselves.
Artificial drugs for manufactured and pre-fabricated dreams.
We wear our emotions via status updates and through the labels on designer clothes; online portals into boredom.
We destroy for the pursuit of re-creation.
You are what you feel but where is the validation in that when all you do it steal. Do you feel special?
You’re only as good as you make yourself out to be.
The Dying Art That Is Romanticism, Is Our Only Salvation
Misery loves company but when you're with me, it's a sordid sort of apathy. All great things must come to an end; I enjoyed them at the time because they don't last forever; because in my mind they remain immortal. In my mind we are left with a reminder of a perfect ending that never came. An evening ruined in discord, a night of ultimate pleasure and a morning that never came after nor saw the break of dawn; it didn't stand a chance. And neither did we; we did as we pleased, we came and gone but we never left. What was left was not meant to be found. However, what I did find was something left uncovered; I found a voice through her but I didn't speak to her; I used it for other things. When she left I was speechless, all of my words were stolen. I couldn't get past the choking. I tried to find solace in her; I found no one. I tried to salvage what I could of my intentions; I didn't like what I found. You've stripped me of everything; my talents rendered useless. "I have little use for users that use-less," you say. You were a mistake; a mis-take on what should have been. The holes in my skin beg to differ, the fact that I ever felt complete; I always find myself in times of desperation, attempting in vain to feel whole.
Disillusionment Of The Impending End Thru the Eyes Of A Viper
Put me in a paper cup and throw me out to sea.
But no matter where you place me, know that my displacement will stretch f a t h e r t h e n t h e e y e c a n s e e. You come and go; topsy turvey deliriums running rampant.
Your personality changing like wall paper; you shift to blend in with the trees.
The bi-polarity of it all peeling from the walls and breaking—at—the—seams.
As you cast me away to a distant detachment,
know that if I drown you won’t find me where you dropped me.
Rock bottom never hit so hard.
Short of breath and the originality to make that ailment genuine.
No more cards to lay out on the table;
no more tricks to pull; you think that you’re going to be able to convince me there’s a rabbit in that hat. However, the tongue of the serpent runs thick.
You are what you hate; hate who you are.
Your own disillusionment has backfired like a misaligned train track.
The road to nowhere was distinguishable long ago.
So throw me out to the sea, and as you watch me plunder with clarity know that my dissatisfaction will stretch farther than you can stretch for me.
But no matter where you place me, know that my displacement will stretch f a t h e r t h e n t h e e y e c a n s e e. You come and go; topsy turvey deliriums running rampant.
Your personality changing like wall paper; you shift to blend in with the trees.
The bi-polarity of it all peeling from the walls and breaking—at—the—seams.
As you cast me away to a distant detachment,
know that if I drown you won’t find me where you dropped me.
Rock bottom never hit so hard.
Short of breath and the originality to make that ailment genuine.
No more cards to lay out on the table;
no more tricks to pull; you think that you’re going to be able to convince me there’s a rabbit in that hat. However, the tongue of the serpent runs thick.
You are what you hate; hate who you are.
Your own disillusionment has backfired like a misaligned train track.
The road to nowhere was distinguishable long ago.
So throw me out to the sea, and as you watch me plunder with clarity know that my dissatisfaction will stretch farther than you can stretch for me.
Foolish Little Girl
Let’s put voyeurism to shame and silently watch one another asphyxiate while the other isn’t looking, and for once I’ll finally give into the warped role play.
I watch trains at night, their wheels spinning like long forgotten clocks on cubicle walls.
I try to get away from the lucid nightmares conjured by my sweet—turned—sour Lolita pipedream;
but my means of coping have proved to be old escape route, closed off and forgotten.
Bordered up and devastated without remorse; only a few traces of graffiti as evidence of what was.
It’s a sign of the times.
Do the holes in your hands make you feel any better about the hole in your head?
A-void infinite vacuum soul suck (turn off and unplug)
Does filling the hole in between your legs make you feel whole?
You’re just foisting a bed of forget—me—not’s and thorned roses.
I was not yet aware of being part of this circus but the constant focus is on you under a spotlight and it’s become quite clear that you’re the main attraction.
You’re childhood innocence had me bound like a bundle of tightly bound bricks;
carelessly tossed to the bottom of a well that I c o u l d n o t l o o k u p f r o m.
Well worn but function doubtful; dubbed utterly useless.
Little girl’s small hopes bring about large problems that go unsolved.
And as fixation came to possess you to the point of delirium you dared to call it adoration.
You only ended up puppeting me under that guise;
you haven’t changed at all, you still strain to call it “love”;
you’re a foolish little girl.
I watch trains at night, their wheels spinning like long forgotten clocks on cubicle walls.
I try to get away from the lucid nightmares conjured by my sweet—turned—sour Lolita pipedream;
but my means of coping have proved to be old escape route, closed off and forgotten.
Bordered up and devastated without remorse; only a few traces of graffiti as evidence of what was.
It’s a sign of the times.
Do the holes in your hands make you feel any better about the hole in your head?
A-void infinite vacuum soul suck (turn off and unplug)
Does filling the hole in between your legs make you feel whole?
You’re just foisting a bed of forget—me—not’s and thorned roses.
I was not yet aware of being part of this circus but the constant focus is on you under a spotlight and it’s become quite clear that you’re the main attraction.
You’re childhood innocence had me bound like a bundle of tightly bound bricks;
carelessly tossed to the bottom of a well that I c o u l d n o t l o o k u p f r o m.
Well worn but function doubtful; dubbed utterly useless.
Little girl’s small hopes bring about large problems that go unsolved.
And as fixation came to possess you to the point of delirium you dared to call it adoration.
You only ended up puppeting me under that guise;
you haven’t changed at all, you still strain to call it “love”;
you’re a foolish little girl.
The World Is But A Stage For Our Mutilation
Joystick genitals, pressbuttontocum.
I want sex without attachments but you’re pulling my strings; puppeteering my ego.
Our intimacy is staged for all to see so here’s to the curtain call.
Solitary pleasure for the sole needs of one.
Mimicking faked forms of union we see up upon the silver screen.
You want affection, all we want is satisfaction.
Dining on an illusion we can’t seem to discard,
only thrown away for the promise of a quick—fix—pleasure—binge.
Faceless euphoria when I have you with your back turned, blind attraction with thoughtless submission. I loved you best with your ankles shackled and your arms sprawled across the floor;
like a stranded sailor headed towards their newly found paradise straddled by a born again Christian reaching_for_Jesus.
Together our revelations screamed betrayal.
{Your possession makes me feel like I’m needed.}
When left with your selfish selfless desire I’m charmed.
Lights on us, who would dare questions this private role reversal?
No flowers will be thrown at the end of the act so save the bouquet.
I want sex without attachments but you’re pulling my strings; puppeteering my ego.
Our intimacy is staged for all to see so here’s to the curtain call.
Solitary pleasure for the sole needs of one.
Mimicking faked forms of union we see up upon the silver screen.
You want affection, all we want is satisfaction.
Dining on an illusion we can’t seem to discard,
only thrown away for the promise of a quick—fix—pleasure—binge.
Faceless euphoria when I have you with your back turned, blind attraction with thoughtless submission. I loved you best with your ankles shackled and your arms sprawled across the floor;
like a stranded sailor headed towards their newly found paradise straddled by a born again Christian reaching_for_Jesus.
Together our revelations screamed betrayal.
{Your possession makes me feel like I’m needed.}
When left with your selfish selfless desire I’m charmed.
Lights on us, who would dare questions this private role reversal?
No flowers will be thrown at the end of the act so save the bouquet.
Unrequited Mix Tape Romance
Look what has happened to our mix-tape-love;
we can no longer record, we've finally run out of tape.
There is nothing left to document.
Push me, play me. Pause me, rewind me.
But once the tape is full, I no longer have use.
Modern advances concur with me.
Why are you playing my tape forever on repeat, when you could have some shiny new development?
Maybe a record if you're feeling reminiscent.
But out mix-tape-love is undownloadable.
It may be outdated and it might not be efficient but it's special.
Mix tape please don't break on me in a world of iPods and radios.
My faith in you is unmemorable.
Transmit this wish because we don't want to bother with digital.
You bring meaning to my obsolete existence; don’t stop playing me.
we can no longer record, we've finally run out of tape.
There is nothing left to document.
Push me, play me. Pause me, rewind me.
But once the tape is full, I no longer have use.
Modern advances concur with me.
Why are you playing my tape forever on repeat, when you could have some shiny new development?
Maybe a record if you're feeling reminiscent.
But out mix-tape-love is undownloadable.
It may be outdated and it might not be efficient but it's special.
Mix tape please don't break on me in a world of iPods and radios.
My faith in you is unmemorable.
Transmit this wish because we don't want to bother with digital.
You bring meaning to my obsolete existence; don’t stop playing me.
The Deadliest Sin
I drank the river dry and I felt no guilt no remorse for my actions.
I plucked the feathers from the gilded bird and felt nothing but contempt for my consumption.
You waited for what was promised but I never conceited to giving in, I only took away.
You should think twice before trying to possess what is already consumed and accounted for.
I am forever golden.
I plucked the feathers from the gilded bird and felt nothing but contempt for my consumption.
You waited for what was promised but I never conceited to giving in, I only took away.
You should think twice before trying to possess what is already consumed and accounted for.
I am forever golden.
Epitaph For The Blind
I want to recreate the perfect moment; give a new meaning to the word “cinematic”. I want to capture the innocence of a first kiss and bring back the dying art that is romanticism. I want to steal all the color from your photographs and make you learn to appreciate the black and white in your life. I want to breathe that last breath you give when you meet you’re demise and cease to exist. I want to take the light from your glow and keep it for myself. I want to pick at old wounds for comfort and convince you to never question my motives or the consequences. And I want, and I want until I become sickened with myself. But I’m greedy, I’m greedy and what I crave is to be consumed. I want a void where the soul is infinite and the pathways endless. I want to be comfortable in my confusion and mad with my sanity. I want stagnant and stasis to be dismissed and hunger and longing embraced. But I’m greedy, I’m greedy and what I crave is to be consumed.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)