This suit of armor is becoming terribly heavy. I want to tear it off and cast myself naked into the sea, to be unafraid, vulnerable, and at the mercy of the elements.
I grow weary of being an island unto myself. I want to be a peninsula- to hold hands with a larger continent while remaining a separate little piece of land. Is that too much to ask?
Monday, August 25, 2008
Sunday, August 24, 2008
My Great Depression
(origionally written July 29th)
a microcausm of our economic and emotional downfall.
an emptiness in my belly
an emptiness in my bank account
a rock of tobacco-hardened alveoli in the bottom of my lungs
and a growing personal trend verging on either a great Oscar Wilde style amorality or complete moral bankruptsy.
I become my fears, my hatred.
all those jaded girls I used to envy, with all their worldly wisdom, and cool, untouchable gazes.
Now looking upon the doe-eyed ingenues with a mixture of distainful snobbery and admiration. So innocent and full of hope. I can't go back to that, I don't know how to rekindle the belief in magic and miracles.
I check my online banking and sadly settle on a parliament and a glass of 2 buck chuck for dinner. It's 2 am and I sit on my porch half hoping the boys next door don't emerge to wonder why I'm perched amid a pile of furniture in only an oversized t-shirt I keep having to tuck under my ass... half not caring at all.
Part of me contemplates a trek to Del Taco, but hell, I'm to lazy to put on pants after moving furniture half the night, and I don't want to lose my primo parking spot. so I watch the glow of the butt ashes attract moths and contemplate a leafhopper that has landed on my t-shirt. Feast or famine. Mostly famine.
a microcausm of our economic and emotional downfall.
an emptiness in my belly
an emptiness in my bank account
a rock of tobacco-hardened alveoli in the bottom of my lungs
and a growing personal trend verging on either a great Oscar Wilde style amorality or complete moral bankruptsy.
I become my fears, my hatred.
all those jaded girls I used to envy, with all their worldly wisdom, and cool, untouchable gazes.
Now looking upon the doe-eyed ingenues with a mixture of distainful snobbery and admiration. So innocent and full of hope. I can't go back to that, I don't know how to rekindle the belief in magic and miracles.
I check my online banking and sadly settle on a parliament and a glass of 2 buck chuck for dinner. It's 2 am and I sit on my porch half hoping the boys next door don't emerge to wonder why I'm perched amid a pile of furniture in only an oversized t-shirt I keep having to tuck under my ass... half not caring at all.
Part of me contemplates a trek to Del Taco, but hell, I'm to lazy to put on pants after moving furniture half the night, and I don't want to lose my primo parking spot. so I watch the glow of the butt ashes attract moths and contemplate a leafhopper that has landed on my t-shirt. Feast or famine. Mostly famine.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Less and Less
this is how often I will be seen
this is how often I can be there for anyone
I am going to implode
in on the night sky
and inward on myself
like a black hole
and become anti-matter
losing mass
gaining density
so heavy, so heavy
this non-existence
this lack of substance.
my heart is a vacuum
my mind is a dead star
still emitting light
from it's past glory.
my soul is a lost astronaut
my body a moon
riddled with craters from
kamikaze comets and
careless collisions
caught in the pull
of lifeless celestial bodies
becoming antimatter
this is how often I can be there for anyone
I am going to implode
in on the night sky
and inward on myself
like a black hole
and become anti-matter
losing mass
gaining density
so heavy, so heavy
this non-existence
this lack of substance.
my heart is a vacuum
my mind is a dead star
still emitting light
from it's past glory.
my soul is a lost astronaut
my body a moon
riddled with craters from
kamikaze comets and
careless collisions
caught in the pull
of lifeless celestial bodies
becoming antimatter
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