curbdrop out of grace

if we became strangers would we be in danger of falling in love all over again,
i think about it some days,
i hope you do.

i would do anything for you if it would bring you closer to me,
i think about it some days,
i hope you do.

when things go wrong each day the trouble of time floods a million voices and images half blurred in time and half hurried from disasterous pain. utterly, unspeakable, predictable human flesh filled nerves pin needles and screaming lights blazing your trouble young mind.

your one chance, my gift to you, i retract. you cannot have me back for you cannot make things whole again. things will never be the same. sin and sun have bled into one.

i keep tonguing the wound, the crack in my smile. as if there will be something different there this time. maybe a different outcome. a suprise? no suprise. but the possibility of result is the reason behind the action.

potential = action = reaction = assessment = hope = potential

take the time to smell the roses and when miss winter comes, you will have your memory to hold you company when no natural flower blooms for months counted with huddled cigarette butts at the sidewalk cracks outside of your front door.

in the secrets buried deep
rise from ashes in my sleep
the desire i can't keep
or bare to look at

naked love run underneith
convicted with each one i meet
the hour moans in willed defeat
as i stand laying down

fuck you and my intentions you rode in on

rape me in the morning

If I or someone else were raping a girl and she screamed "get off me", wouldn't that encourage you to want to have simultaneous orgasms?

Maybe I'm retarded but "get off me" and "get me off" seem awefully similar.

Teenage Wet Dream

the christmas lights all the same to me
hanged expectations on the tree
the house filled with moments i will not repeat
wrapped up like presents underneith

somewhere a girl must be missing me
so long ago a memory
someday i'll make something comforting
pills girls jobs a family

my memories are downing me
blacked out months and oh my god
the smiles i bleed cheap scenery
the only things i've got
where i want to be i'm not

my mind on fire so i'm drinking now
call up a girl i never see
no words exchanged now i'm lonelier
closed eyes imagine you and me

my memories are downing me
blacked out months and oh my god
the smiles i bleed cheap scenery
the only things i've got
who i'm with is not who i want

Corporate Zombies

I woke up this morning feel ill. It wasn't the normal illness that overcomes once realizing that I am no longer allowed to lay in bed, rubbing toes and inching towards ecstasy. It was the sort of illness that comes from making out with an asstray.

At first I didn't notice but as I stood huddled underneith the showerhead, warmth flowing in the shape of gravity, I realized something wasn't right.

When I got out it was far worse. Sidenote, one of my biggest pet peeves in life: being rushed out of the comfort of a hot shower.

I gathered some clothes off my floor and walked into the living room. The place a grave of a pizza party the nite before. The smells of rotting cheese which in itself is rot didn't hurt. I was already badly wounded.

I put on my snowboarding coat. I put on my winter hat. I walked back to the bathroom to look at myself. I looked like a kid who had just come in from a streetfight. My nose was flushed with blood, although temporarily contained within.

I walked down the hall which always reminds me of the Shining.

Open
Step in
Button
Close
Open
Step Out
and so on.

I stepped outside and felt my desire freeze with my nostrals. Man. I hate my job yet I'm willing to walk in Siberia for a fucking bus to take me to a 12-hour session, trying my patience. Soon I will quit. Or else soon I will die.

And I walk in, flip on my laptop and sweep papers out of the way. Finally I find some tissue paper. And I blow like a sperm whale.

Boom goes the dynomite.

Work passes. There's nothing much to say except it was my typical anger taking over my body. There was much cursing. There was much fist pumping but not in celebration of rock n roll.

Suddenly it's 7:30pm and I decide it's time to leave. I don't feel well. My eyes burn like an STD. My fingers are sore like a finger puppeteer. I am ready to go [home].

I wait for a train this time. I sit next to a van who sweats nicotine. I close my eyes and slide into my music. I drift until I get up to leave. And I step outside and the cold hits me. Bitter. So bitter.

I begin the walk towards home, stopping in to a Jamba Juice to get a smoothie. It's not the smoothie that I crave, rather I'm longing for the immunity boost that I hope will kill the evils terrorizing my senses. I walk out.

Down the dark street. Further like a tunnel. Gaining ground on the lake. Each way I face the winds slashes my face. I see a car speed on by cutting me off at an intersection. I would curse but I must save my breath for breathing. I am tired. And I am wounded. Finally, I'm in the building.

Open
Step in
Button
Close
Open
Step Out
and so on.

How many times have I gone through the motions? How many actions could I do blindfooded or drunk?

So this is my life.