Do The AA Stutter!

Down on your knees, a slave to authority, don’t pull it down, let them wait a little bit. Join the vocal majority, join the realm of insanity, with more mental cuts, more mental silence, then all your fucked up ignorance cults. Boy know what I could do for you? Girl know how I could make you? Worked in a small town, for a effeminate man....with a family. Angry Americans, scare me, like snakes in a bed, like badgers instead. Broken poison butterflies. Broken monochrome families. You’re a what, a what? A real man. A real manly man. A skinny girl. A short skirt girl. You’re what? Hollow heart, you’ve been with too many sickest sons, too many burning like gasoline. I’m no mad man, but I’m all for insanity, not your insanity. Insanity. What makes you eat their shit. Everyday. You eat their shit. What makes you eat their shit, and love it?

I'm No Poet

I'm No Poet.

I'm no good with words or structure. I'm no good with rhymes or rules. I'm no poet.

I'm no poet. Instead these are observations and confessions, assertions and lamentations.

We

All of our beauty is ugliness, and all our ugliness is beauty. The secret of the world is that in each of us is both, to be alive is to hold everything inside ourselves at once. To understand and be. A fleshy conduit of suffering and ecstasy, violence and love, hideousness and lust; to be at peace with the war all around us.

Junior

Cities are washing out, and you’re chewing on teeth leadings, praying that we’re wrong. You don’t say anything because there’s power in words, but it feels like even your mind is screaming out loud, still clutching a brass idol to your chest, you swallow it all down because you’re to proud. And now a plague has reached the gates of your heartland, it’s borne in the blood, carried with love; you get scared and cut love, you shut it away, and let the rest bleed out in the sun. Of the old world, so you fight against change, you bathe in the stained glass light of a broken home, and wet the sand with our children’s lives.

Elizabeth: Reprise

Every time I drink words run like a river from my limp lips. Maybe they're the tears that my eyes never shed, maybe they're the thoughts I thought were dead. I don't know anymore. Maybe you would, if you could. If I could say...I don't know maybe I would know. I love you he said, she said nothing, maybe I don't know. Or maybe she doesn't know and hope is worth waiting for, but under these orange street lights everything is "No". I hope I don't know, I hope she doesn't know. Every time I drink words like this run like a river from my limp lips, my finger tips tap clumsily away above my loose hips. I think that maybe they're the tears that my eyes never shed, the words left on my tongue...dead. I don't know maybe its all in my head, swimming from bank to bank, wandering across deserts, unprepared I'm wandering hurt and fake; drowning in front of you in your lake.

On Falling

People try to figure out problems like me, to draw a diagram of something simple, something we can all understand, so you’ll all understand. So you can say I knew it all along. So you can say “this is your song”. That bird doesn’t sing though. Not songs for you. They asked me to take a pencil and write the last time I felt something, they gave me “safe” and I gave them nothing. I sat there staring; a revelation surrounded by one hundred others. I think some of us are always falling. Like at the start, we were pushed from the nest before life taught us to fly.

Dark Days Came

Spill and shatter into the street,

Like broken light bulbs,

Fallen from grace, fallen from right

From the light

Crushed like so many paper cups,

Water cooler talk for the caffeine hogs,

Emptied and pourn out, and left to be destroyed.

Falling tenderly into graves.

What women will weep,

When we’ve fallen into the streets,

Into the streets

Morning

Passing out like no one ever saw,

Turned into your shadow,

Drawn into my shell,

My hell,

I’m out of my head.

In through the window,

Green, gold, and white,

Come to wash the dark away,

Replace it with light,

Wind chimes and birds,

Sweet breeze and words,

Make me forget those yesterdays,

Make me remember today

Refugee

When all the beauty is gone and only ugliness is left, I will ask where have all these sheets gone? Where has my youth gone? When this contract is aged, and the sex is done, where will you be when we’ve all gone wrong? These dirty sights, they’ve all treated you just the same, sides split bleeding on the street, and I’ve come to leave here; to leave me. It’s hard to speak, when you have no words, when every syllable is a trap in a stall. I say jump to the road side, we’ll lick our wounds, leave all the sheets, in the streets, and they’ll be gone. We’ll run away, if only you could see it. I wanted love, you wanted it all. Forget it all, let them sit on their gawking throne, seeing nothing at all.

Who will heal all these souls of young mistakes?

Pour Vous

...et même les prostituées ont pleuré

Elizabeth

We were in love until we said it.

A Lover in Père Lachaise

This world it didn’t love you like I did. Like a jealous lover, it took from you then tried to bleach your beauty. It defiled it and nearly ruined you; but I know you, I knew you. No one understood a love like ours; there are some people that don’t understand love at all. You know I still love; I still love you like I always did. I raised your stone; it was beautiful like I said I would. The world will know you I swear, I’ll make them see. Times will change, ends will come and they will know you I swear. I will make you live forever so you will never leave us alone again. We all need to be in love all the time. I raised that stone like I said I would. I left a space in it for me, so we can always look at each other, so I can be a piece of you like I always wish I was. I still love,
I still love you like I always did.

Us In the Middle

The world needs more of us in the middle. It needs dreamers and lovers, not sides and rules. We'd be better off if we started to kiss instead of kill. The world needs more of us in the middle; pink boys and blue girls. We don't need flags or symbols, all we need is the symbol of you and me and them and us all together; the same. No one needs their sideways glances. The world needs more of us in the middle. We need a quiet revolution, the sound of lips and smiles, pressed and searching. We could make a world where everyone was beautiful; where love was free and we were too. The world needs more of us in the middle.

The relationship with my home seems to have become strange, I both despise and love the subtle, ignorant, and pure land I was born in. Maybe everyone's home is like this, but I feel like every part of it is contradictions and opposites. It is both everything everyone thinks it is, and nothing like what they would imagine at the same time. It is simple and complex, horrible and beautiful.

You (e-Hate)

He cummed and cleaned up, now he wants nothing to do with you. There aren’t many things in this world that hurt like that. No goodbye, not a word, not even from across the anonymous void that is the internet. Now you’re left sitting alone, and hurting just as much as you did before; but what can you do? You will take him back next time, you’ll take him when he comes a month later, you’re even glad to see him. That’s the sad part. You’re glad to because you’ve become something like a whore, it’s the only thing you know how to feel anymore; so you feel it as often as you can. It’s one part boredom and one part loneliness, and it’s become poison for you. You’re not excited by it anymore, you just don’t want to be alone and you don’t know what else to do. Sometimes you lay in bed, and it feels like you’re eating yourself as you hug a pillow. You want to die, but you know you can’t, you can’t bear what it would do to your family, what it would do to the few close friends you have. They wouldn’t be able to stand it. So you don’t, robbed of even your most desperate of options you lay there instead wishing more than anything you could cry, wishing for any release that will come and make it go away, so you go searching for one. The release that you find is only a dead end road, and it introduces you to a new self hate. You don’t even type anymore; you’ve lost count of the men that have watched you. You just copy and paste messages of your degradation hoping someone out there is just as lonely and willing to abuse you. Willing to abuse you, that’s what it is, you don’t lie to yourself anymore, that’s what you’re looking for. You're broken, You realize that now.

Seven Truths of Being

In my twenty-something years of life I've come to several realizations, some through others and some on my own. Here's seven:

3) Humans are scared and distrustful.

5) We also happen to have an immense need to share love and be loved.

1) There is no "Good" or "Evil", there are only actions, reactions, and circumstance.

7) We're all a little insane.

6) There is nothing wrong with contradiction. Life is made up of various contradictions. Perhaps our confusion comes from our insistence that everything is either one thing or the other.

2)Ignorance and the lack of empathy is the cause of most of the world's violence and suffering.

4) There's always an end.

Under Fluorescent Light

Crash and stain inside your mind, screaming quietly in pain. Inside a bathroom stall, “shhh whisper it low, we’re nothing at all”. Jonathon breaks into parts with another, ‘put on display for leering eyes, framed in a grainy cell phone shadow. Forced into, to be found by another, a guilty hurt, shoved against a graffiti’d wall. Hair pulled out and arms bruised.

Another late night celebrity?

Dirk

How fitting he took the name of a blade. Through a life of cloak and dagger, he spends his days fleeing the light, fighting the night inside. What better to cut with? How fitting to find him gone when I turn around; leaving only the pain of his name.

The name of a blade.

The Life, Death, and Ressurection of a Small Town Soul

I made it to the moon today, just to hang from your string. I wanted to be changed, I wanted to love you. But that’s a sad song. It’s untrue. I wanted to bleed something new; I wanted to hide inside of you. This tumble weed town ain’t worth a thing it hasn’t seen. And I don’t know, maybe you’ve never been. Maybe you’ve never heard that one before. I’m sorry; I’d be your wooden dancer. I’d be your Mshykin. I’d be Mary Shelly’s Thing and Winston Smith all wrapped in one. Just please tell me it would make me love you.

Show me a calling, make me blind; because I’m done either way, but with this maybe…..maybe I wouldn’t’ be so sad sad sad. Maybe I’d learn to know you. I could change. ‘Be the very thing I am so sad for too. I could start a whole new life, without you; but I know I’d be lying. “Heart ache” and die, like Brian Jones did. I dreamed of tears in a pool, that you could find me in too. God’s maintenance man could take me, and you’d know everything would be like new. Spring rains would come and wash even my muddy bank. They would cover the bones and blisters under a prairie river. Then my body tricked me and it took a breath.

After what seemed like ten thousand years the ground finally shook. I feared Hell had come to meet me. I cried and screamed and I cursed; I yelled profanities and lies into the skies until blood fell like tears from my lungs. I said no, no it couldn’t be, there was no one there, but I was a fool, I didn’t even know myself.

Then with no objections or lamentations, above me gathered phantoms and spectre’s; above my grave. I knew I had been put there by no-lovers kiss, and the cut of a knave.

Hello's and Goodbyes

Welcome to "The Window and the Mirror" a pretentiously named site I've begun work on. I previously ran another blog that is now closed, this is my new project. The opening date is June 26th. I hope you come back.