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Tuesday, 07 July 2009

Tuesday, 23 June 2009

  • Between My Lids

    Oh, lately it's too quiet
    In this place
    And I can feel
    The black between
    My lids

    I can't hide
    From cars
    And fire
    And cholesterol
    Forever
    Forever

    Forever doesn't sound
    So horrible anymore
    Come cradle me
    Coddle
    Block my black

    Stop cursing
    My worthful words
    -----------------------


    Penzu isn't working, so Xanga will have to take a semi-unpoetic entry. Sorry, those few who still read this and hate the icky emo gunk that really hides behind these pitiful stanzas.

    So, staring at a high ceiling in an emtionally and physically cluttered house, I've been cowering over the prospect of death uncontrollably.

    We don't notice it, but death gets closer everyday. I'm so afraid of closing my eyes and reopening them to a dying body.

    Fear is incredibly scary.

Wednesday, 17 June 2009

  • My Nintendo DSi is amaaaaaaaaaazing!

    This is my very first entry from my DSi. So, of course poetry is in order, right?

    Another hilly day
    "So, on a scale of one to ten..."
    A hilly day...
    That never shuts up, that is
    That is
    That is what you were
    Trying
    To say,
    Right?

    And so I humble my battery icon
    And I whisper good bye to the
    Pile of blond hair on
    The floor.

    It looks a lot
    ...
    Too much like my past

Thursday, 11 June 2009

  • Cornbread



    I may be a liar
    lying
    And speaking the way I can
    With my words
    And falling over me
    Breaking that boundary
    That breaks bones
    Breaks arms
    Breaks alms
    Breaks psalms

    But don't you lie
    Puffing out your chest
    And turning those
    Times you cried into times
    You lifted weights at the gym

    You'd die without my
    Mother fucking cornbread
    Don't pretend I don't have you by
    The emotional neck
    And muscles fade
    Your jobs with a drill are
    Lost

    But you'll still be coming home-
    to a home that I
    made


    Suck it

Sunday, 03 May 2009

  • Dumpster Dog


    And your face was distorted through the welling tears
    My fears
    Are my own, delirium
    Had hurt the kicked puppy

    The one I had salvaged from the dumpster because it had manifested itself
    In it's own
    Dirt

    Like a phoenix
    From self-crucifying
    Ashes, pushed down only
    To never come back up

    Whiling away on the bottom of
    The penny-metal riddled fountain
    Like I had just lost my good-luck
    My brown-eyed
    Metaphor