Hungry

Most definitely racking up caloric deficit,

Overdrawing on my body's credit,

No time, no god damn time to catch up,

My appetite fled with the season,

Fled with the season

Fled with the season

But when can I?

The things I'm made of now, like

a draw towards the aesthetic, a

tugging for something real yet vague and

undefined,

it has my name written on it, it was

in my dna, my blood

22 years now it's been waiting but I

haven't manifested its

ism.

I haven't done it, I haven't

been

it.

I have to wait.

I can't die yet.

Nearly Constantly Misguided or A Flawed Perspective

Halting the ark,

when you fuse my sadness with lips,

touch hands with fingertips

and pray that mother don't succumb

Halting the ark, the arched back

upon my mattress sends shivers through my spine

and I, I, fuck with dispassion and furious strength

all at once

Halting the ark because I'm drunk and I need to vomit,

the world spins against itself, orbitally clockwise

while the liquor spins counter-

this truth is cruel

Woman

Friend

Where are you tonight?

Why have these four years been so wrong?

Because I am not pathetic I've been strong.

But strength misguided faults everything.

For Myself

As if the Ocean chewed the stone to make the cliff,

and battered everything and everything,

we came to the water's edge

to find our own truth within the romantic.

It turns out that they told no lies,

and all I know is

they told no lies.

1:27

I like a heavy scotch glass

rum, coke

the absent stillness marrying frantic silence

and wrapped in a blanket of foam liquor insulation

Real emotions actually rise for once

but bloom too early, never reach the surface

fade

I'm indescribably grey again

2010 Version 2.1

I have to tell you something.

I'm sorry.

Because I was masturbating while you were pouring your heart out to me last night

on MSN.

I'm sorry,

that this computer screen in front of me is a fogged window that I control,

that I use to keep you at a distance.

I'm sorry, that you only see what I want you to.

Profile: polished.

Stats: carefully biased.

Likes: tailored to help me

fit in.

This mask is powered by Google.

This multi coloured cloak was designed on Facebook.

My soul is a One and a mother-FUCK load of Zeros

stored on a server somewhere in California.

I'm [not] sorry.

10:40

When I couldn't stop the water from falling from my hands

and I couldn't keep the carpet dry

I had no place to sleep, I had no place to sleep

The cigarettes burned themselves to peaceful endings

my lungs were thankful but my lips pleaded

My goldfish watched