CareerCorpulent and repulsive, he licks his lips. Small eyes focussing on me in an intense stare. "You know why you are here?" He says. He knows I do not. He does know things this man. Under his thinning straw like hair there is a brain.Career
He spits as he speaks "Would you like to, sonny jim, like to know why you are here?" I do not, I want to get away from this creature. "Yes, sir." I say, "I would" the words that come out are not truth His face moves in ripples. His multiple chins wobble, and he continues to lick his lips as he tells me. I do not listen. This man has no worth to me.
Bittersweet NothingsI want to talk to you and say nothing. I have a desire to communicate with you, but a worry of appearing stupid. I think of you and smile. I worry I do not make you smile. I want you and me to become a we. I think. Perhaps. It is insensible. My mind is conspiring against me. Flooding my body with chemicals. I cannot trust my own thoughts, Not when it comes to you. And I do think of you.Bittersweet Nothings
A lot. What is this? And why do I feel I must fight it. I am confusion and emptiness, apprehensive and worried. I am joy and wonderment. You are amazin
Spilt MilkShe smiled at me, The words she said remain with me to this day. That old lady, her eyes hollow. “Don’t be silly dear, there is no such thing as a soul.” Her paled face could not be described as kind, but it held the handsome grace of an aged beauty and was set in an expression of proud assurance. Her skeletal hand raised a tall glass to her lips and she took a sip. My eyes focused on her wrinkled gin covered lips. This was the sound that escaped them. “Poor thing, your naivety would be sweet, if you weren’t so fat as for it to be just plain ignorance” A tearSpilt Milk
- My Movement -Like the movements of fashionable humanity: punk rock, hippie, and straight edge among others; my movement- My Movement -
encased in egg shell-japanese writing upon an open flame for all to see
begins anew. Thrice whipped lashed, slapdash a cry under the notion of judgment through fashionable eyes, who have no
understanding of personal coolness. Was fed up a while ago when things were fed down my aching throat. Unfavored like
the goat unable to drink and dance, shanked my front and then my back before I realized I was in an inaudible clash
of idiots. Que ruido tu
--
"There is Still Hope"
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Invisible Children
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