you need to sing out or put something down on paper. you need to write. paint your world. someone somewhere out there will be drawn to it. it will be beautiful to people. you have to take your own thoughts and ideas seriously if you ever want anyone else to. i’m here. i’m listening

I can’t remember
what I said, only how you looked
when you laughed at me

I felt ocean waves
at low tide when wet sand
is a mirror for the sky

I felt love
again.

i’ve spent my life avoiding life, through analysis, through sleep.
it’s not that i think i’m better than this place but i don’t think i belong here and that frustrates me
i’m sick of finding ways to guilt myself to stay.

“he seems to go out of his way to make himself useless”

too lost inside my own head to do anything outside of myself i create my own world of imaginary stresses
from time to time, the real world leaks in whether or not i remember how it got there or where it came from.

reality manifests itself in form of patterns, repetition
screaming for attention
that i cannot give.

there are far too many things to do.
too many things to say
too many ways to say it.
i want to be beautiful
i want my life to be a work of art.

and i am always stuck either in a state of resigned apathy—unable to do a thing and even when i do something it never feels good enough—
or i am thrown
into a state of overwhelming motivation, when finally,
just this once i have all the energy and actually want to use it. i want to do everything. i CAN do everything

on top of the world. i am invincible

i breathe the earth in. i feel everything now. i am all things around me
and everything is alive in me.

and when i (inevitably) can’t do it
all of it
right now
just the way i want

i get frustrated. discouraged.

       i spiral
    down,
completely motionless

again.

01. It gets easier
      to look back and think “he was
      a dick anyway”

02. Sun spots dance in drops,
      Mom sings over the vacuum.
      Don’t nap for too long

03. I think this is my
      favorite time of the day.
      Lake twilight serene

(Source: flyingfish)

over you: easy
getting over myself is
another story.

“I don’t want to go.”
so sing one last song with me
stay here, and come close.

With the wink of an eye and a flick of your flame, another Marlboro finds its way from your pocket to my lips. Breathing and burning, smokesighs of relief—

I am too far gone to remember your name.

     But the warmth fills and soothes with every intake of breath. Have another shot—or two…from who? Well now I am ready to take a shot at you, Cute Boy—also known as Law Student From Argentina—and although a small something-someone begins to question me, voices just drown in the buzz towards the back of my mind…where everything sinks. sinks. is siiinnnnking. I feel the full force and am loving the fall. So instead of worrying myself over the (now incoherent) blare of your accented voice spilling questions to my ear…
                                                 (Flash another stupid smile, giggle just
                                                   a little louder.
                                                   It’s too late now for the answers to matter.)
I let my head turn over ‘til our noses touch.
I brush too close,
you’re warm and dark…
And I’ve already
   given
           up.

”I admire you.”
—your words that stick out. The last I remember of—oh, hey now…
(a darkly pleased smile currrrls upon my face):

     Let your hands hold me steady at the small of my back while I lean, a little sloppy, into fresh new lips and learn your strange kiss. Somewhere along the way my fingers comb through your hair…it’s almost automatic, the way I move; and I feel the same overwhelming loss of control. The only difference is that I don’t know you. Nevertheless, in the next few breaths your lips look to my neck in a soft caress…but for only a moment.

     Because perhaps that’s when my sister at last pulls me away; oh, she takes such good care of me. I almost forgot just how much I have missed her…ah.
only
in
passing. because—

     For tonight, my dear, I am far more concerned with guiding my tongue back to yours. (So I do.) And darling, that lovely bottom lip—you just might find it caught in my ravenous bite. (Gentle, now.) These teeth will make you mine. Oh, now if only we were somewhere else, I’d let you—

twenty-nine?
oh.
“eighteen? wow,” (and that was a lie…)

I guess, I guess this
should feel wrong?
but still
my smile remains for a while…

     and so do you.

I’m throwing a tantrum inside my head. Flipping desks, breaking shit. Screaming ‘til I choke.
These days now that is all I can do.

I’m playing back your laugh just to keep myself
above ground
in my ringing ears
and the scent of your skin.
Peeking out from under my lonely bed sheets
spring paints my twilight,
semi-evening bed
room with warm and
I breathe you, just barely.

Get back, forget the scar
under the hoods of my eyes
and dazed dream fog, cloudy haze.
Here, missing you doesn’t seem so hard

(Source: flyingfish)