You know I could be wrong but I really don’t think I am; at least in this instance. I done gone and assumed that when a person, you know calls you almost every single day, hangs out with you, goes out to dinner with you, call you every single night for the most part and intermediately throughout the week just to see what you’re doing.. after all this I would assume that it’s not a to far of a leap in logic that this person likes you. (Let’s not even mention that she said she liked me and was jealous that I was going to see other girls at Easter but after dropping that comment she refused to comment on it or talk about when I tried to bring it up.)
I honestly think I’m a great person and would something not worth losing once someone discovers me or I find someone that wants to be with me. Yes I do realize that some narcissism is shining through here but you know what.. stfu.
FML.
Reached into the abstract like grip less hands falling through the cracks; I walk through solid objects as if I was transitioning between stage acts.
I lie; I contract dirty looks like STD’s found in the back alleys where time lacks the concern to age appropriately; the people shelter themselves in the shadows secretly selling suicide pacts holding genitals but standing back to back .
A dirty world contaminating souls by doing everything the church forbids placing pure thoughts on track to fade to the perfect pitch black before pulling curtains over closed eyelids.
Note: I guess this would be my first attempt at writing what is called “Slam Poetry.” Not that I ever read it out loud and not that I wouldn’t, there isn’t a place in this town that supports poetry/prose readings in front of audiences in a open mic format, sadly.
happy new years to all my non-existent fans.
Hey now I think I know your face, I saw you walking by yesterday or maybe you were running by in frantic haste; I’m not so sure my short term memory works anymore; anyway, how are you this fine and glorious day?
I hope that the sun that rose today and yesterday the same found you in the most peculiar of way; maybe blaspheming the house plants because they didn’t answer you when you prayed, now that does sound familiar but I can’t even wrap my mind around such antics, sort of like wrapping my fingers around this hand grenade. Hey! It’s okay, okay! I promise, it’s not for you but instead I brought it just in case… in case pesky aliens invade or some other such crazy masquerade!
Where were we again? Oh yes something about a promise… never the mind, I forget… Say do you know that guy, Saint Thomas? I believe he was the patron saint of the architect, which to me at least makes no sense because he kissed necks so do I believe despite what say those crazy catholic’s, this particular veneration as a saint is absolutely incorrect.
Which leads me to my next point because they have everything to do with each other, you know how holy words and how more than two thirds of this world sway in unison when it comes to following some sort of faith.
How often is that you find the rays of the sun or maybe just a brightly lit up prophet affecting everything you do, make, think or say? Sigh! Just another dude trying to make his mark by making it hard to keep hidden all those things you didn’t want on public display!
Something just threw us way off track and now I don’t suppose we’ll ever get back. We are stuck going down with the ship’s captain, spiraling into a whirling pool of nonsense belonging to some literary hack.
Contrite it seems that I need to find a space in which I can breathe with lungs that don’t quiver when I freeze; a spirit crushed like the powdered inks mixed with water to paint the lines of separation in grids and degrees.
I ask was I; I was not ready to deal will all the distant things stuck in time like a painting of sickly trees each with one green leaf sorely out of place simply craving to be.
Secretly wishing to make an amends with all the spirits that too soon found their ends, I stand; I demand ghosts half there and half aware to let go of living infatuations with having elations attributed by a special who, what and where.
I become just like a lonely dog lost in the streets with a home in its heart that seems so far apart from where it is now and where it needs to be.
Christ became my scapegoat, my whipping boy; I share disdain for skyward patriarchal godheads and time with self reflection makes for jaded faith; I’m losing interest like a kid with their favorite toy.
Even self-destruction is self perpetuation of our own sickening self residual imagery that has us sifting the remains of what’s left; as if this will save us from cold isolation.
In our heads we see a group of friends holding hands singing campfire hymns in hopes we can erase our sins or at least find resolution as the water rushes in, fills to the brim whilst we decide if we should sink or swim.
I try to break my own heart, I try to wear myself thin, and I try to start all over just do it all over again. I do realize these analogies are truly, truly all of me; I am of a blind congregation playing my part.
We shovel with red hands filling the holes in our souls with the holes in our soles from running in circles instead toward far away goals.
My predictions are the only things I have and the only soil I can grow in; it might take one hundred years before I see the first budding seed but at least I know that it did come from me.
