paper, on it was love poème written in french

I am a string of paper dolls clipped to a clothes line, blank as a newborn baby hanging in the sunshine. where am I going? what am I doing here? i am starting to think that the people hanging up here with me are too much like how I used to be. waiting to be snipped down and used for something. Always waiting. All waiting. we are all waiting.

for 3 years I have screamed at the heavens, for giving me paper-cuts. what are we supposed to do with these, i asked. i cursed myself for drenching my already fragile skin with alcohol, make-up and lighting on fire rolled blunt tips.

my paper throat burned with a New Year affair and a knife named lust. I was dead before the first slit, drunk off the first sip, and lecherous at the first thrust. delirious and masculine. he was masculine and I was delirious. but only for a couple months, a couple hours, just a seasonal fancy.

I woke up today and I was no longer hanging by myself. A broken flower came and snipped me down. placed me in her backpack and pedaled me around. 

Dreamdust

The dreamdust we create is unlike anything I've every had wrapped me in its haze and send me drifting off in the minds sea.

drugs

Someone get her another line.
As she inhales through crisp 20 bill
the thought of life being a little
complication, justifies the burning
in her nostril.

World please be mine.
It is such a fast rush to know you
love me so much!

She becomes so needed when
we get high together.
Its almost endearing.

But she still wont let me into her
bloodstream as I snort the dust
off the skipping record.

She will only let me dance with her
Foolishly thinking it will protect me.
Its easy to forget to breath
with blood dripping down you lip.

tristful (meaning sorrowful or gloomy)

I only wanted to pull your halo down
not watch it slip around your neck.
You burned not just you but us
and your smoke rose to make a cloudy grave
in our heaven.

Even as I choked on your embers,
I still wanted to bring you back to me.
Except you hovered too high
above the ground instead.
Just out of my reach.

Your mouth tasted too hollow to speak
Anything besides half-truths and empty lies.
So I turned my face into your palms to kiss
your cold wrists and cry
under your dangling dirty feet.

So far away cant even come up with a proper title

I feel as though am sitting on a swing above everyones head. Just swinging swinging swinging away. And obviously no one knows I am here. But I can see their thoughts as I am spinning and whirling in my lone delight
but is still forgotten
all the same.

Searching for meaning,
noticing what is missing, and what is there. Feelings of melancholy and nostalgia,
and longing for the unavailable.

I got so high the other day I forgot, who is me? what I think I am. and where I thought was. Laid strung out on the grass for everyone to see this different world.

I gave the children a brief look into reality. We are not all fucking perfect, I know this to be absolute truth and I basked in it. But everyone is so damn dull in this place. 2D, in what it is to feel. I feel it was my purpose to remind them that they were sheep.

You appreciate the special, the humane and the beautiful. beautiful. beautiful.
You like to put your personal signature on everything you touch. Its the nature of a creator. Change, change, change will capture us all.

Moist and Damp

I went swimming and stayed there for days.
Laying on my back
with just my face pointing towards the sky.
With gravity pushing me up, never letting me down.

I heard my heart beating and
I felt, even days after
in a drifted high
the rhythm of me drowning.
It put me to sleep at night, gave me
a tune to walk to and
a song to capture.

Its a coping mechanism that I
switched on to reassure myself that I still had
...sorry have,
a heart. A beating red popper
that is still whole, all mine, and alive.

I go under every once and a while.
Just to be reminded what still lives on in my chest.
Long ago had
I gotten used to the dull ache
located just under my ribcage.
Now, it just tickles whenever I sneeze,
acts as suppressant, and
clenches with each breath.

I have learned
not to trust the people I meet,
for they will easily tie rocks to our
wrist and watch us sink.

sick withdrawals

The highway stretched far, and I have yet to see an end. My feet hurt and My body hurts even more. Today the angels touched my chest and praised my heart. But they refused to chase away the cough that runs after me tonight. Or the drowsiness.

Or the headaches.

Temptation was thrown at me. But I see no point if the nausea wont let me keep them down. No point at all.

Ladders

Her want was so deep tonight that I fell in and kept falling. I looked up in between the silver lining of her sky and felt like crying out in frustrations. It was because I kept falling down, over and over scraping my knee on the sides.

I keep my head bent back. eyes staring far enough upwards to not see whats in front of me. Once there is no more drugs I feel like dying anyways, So obviously there is no point.

No forward for me. My only goal is up. And I will climb forever into tomorrow, but tonight. Tonight I remain so sober it hurts. Whatever I choose to fall, this is my choice and keep falling into her want. Until I cant anymore.

Drugs are your friends!

Coming from the lungs of a seasoned poet, minus the 'E' head , I will speak loudly! Than cough.
Then smoke up more of my fire to ignite the blaze.
but then I may cough again but this time a stanza or a prose may come up because of all the
Words, deep inside my- What is this sticky shit sticking to me!

Its black like tar and I cant
Seem to get it off completely as its messy like honey. Sweet
tasting honey. On a gooey bread of goodness.

-
Because if I had a choice I would
Most definitely smoke with every inhale.

May 17,

What should I read next?? The street by Ann Petry

What it is to be a
Fuck up?

Cunning and emotionally destructive with lies thick like honey. Too sweet to resist. We cant even restrain ourselves. But it is especially alluring to the newly made butterflies, who unlike us is not used to the flith. Whom are the easiest to corrupt.

We fuck up are addictives, the glorfied heroine and drunken escapes of the gutter world.

Pills and Skills

This poet held denial in her trembling hands as the doctor said
she have to be under for the rest of her life.

That what she was giving me was not a cure but a clutch.

I felt reluctant to accept. I can break under the side effects.
Loose myself with each and every one of them.

And clutches can be broken just as easily as many pencils. Which
was my existing dosage The one thing that do help but just
isnt enough any more.

But the symptoms at the moment are too great and
I cant ignore the signs anymore. Even if I write it all down.
Store them in a box on the back shelf, and bottle it away. I
still would not be cured, like I used to be.

The words I write are still going to be there. Unreadable to most
due to the shaking from fingers that refuse to sit still and the elaborate
mind of an introvert.

Tremors versus Anxiety.

How was we supposed to know there was something wrong?

Crying

Is it feasible to smoke the day before my doctors appointment? Well, seeing how this crappy ass week has been going...fuck it why not.

Father dearest wrote me a poem. God, what a dicky thing to do. Knowing I am going to fall for it...damn i wish I could just tell him to fuck off.

But as usual I wont.

Sometimes I wish things wouldnt affect me so much. Im already a mild tempered person, at it takes a lot to upset me. But its the little problems that I keep bottle it all up that turns up sometimes and explosion into emotions so overwhelming...

I dont see crying as a weakness. I know it dont help things by crying but it do make me feel better. Its just I get so piss off at the reasons I am crying about. Like really! I am shedding tears over this!

Drunken fathers dont deserve my tears, nor does hurtful pictures, heart breakers, or loud silences, loneliness beyond words, or cruel sentences.

And I feel foolish.

Sigh, yeah smoking sounds lovely right about now.

Sometimes I really really just want to say

Fuck you
Fuck this job,
fuck your face,
fuck dumb asses,

fuck growing up,
fuck smart ass lil brats,
fuck expensive ass school,
fuck stereotypes,

fuck fake friends,
fuck relationships,
fuck the retarded ass dog
and weird ass cat,

fuck money,
fuck shitty weather,
fuck pms'ing,
fuck deadbeat fathers...

then I just toke a bit and everything becomes tolerable again.

incomplete

What it is to be a
Fuck up?

Cunning and emotionally destructive, with lies thicker then honey but too sweet to resist. We cant even restrain ourselves most of the time.

But it is especially alluring to the newly made butterflies, who unlike us are not used to the sugar coated filth. We fuck up are additives, the glorified heroine and drunken escapes of the gutter world...

Words

Her body didnt feel like concentrating, it was stuck in her throat. Conversation were following her around like a pathetic cough, filled with cigarette smoke. Swarming in word pollution, she is carried over the bridge and spread all over the terrain of vast places and faces...

Quiet and mellow thanks to the hit after hit. She is indifferent.

Feels at times tongue tied so its best to keep silent.

Broken windows

It was another accident
Something she couldnt quiet comprehend,
With the shade stretch pass her eyes
Blinding from the world her bends and cries

Giving up understanding
The cracks in life she often felt
love them but then love them not
As they leak in more sunlight

3 days of haze

Light fingers weep into her skin as she sleep. The world stopped its revolution and stood at a standstill. She woke and it was 3 days into the future, the unconscience rebel. When did she fall asleep again? Its hard to tell.

No regrets and she feels better for the time being. Smiling no longer takes up too much effort. Enjoying the moments when she is not sleeping. Body so heavy falling in to the mattresses. Secure arms wrapped and graze her back. Soothing and luring her to rest more. But wasnt she just awake?

Hush, just close your eyes.

Did she really want to? Its hard to tell once again. What time was it? The night feels like morning and the afternoons feel like in between. Deny the war, it too shall pass.

3 days of dejvu.

Falling up

Pessoa the expressionist.

Past moments.

My younger self in love with life, flash in the back of my lids. We long for things that used to make our lives meaningful.

Is she in a constant state of optimism? No she is a Taurean and a pessimistic by nature.

She lay down holes to let others fall through in

and pray someone gets out alive.

what am i doing here again?

Unrecognizable

Winter doesn't know me anymore. I think I have been here for far too long and she no longer remembers her face. Flash of warmth calls my name it pricks my frustrations with little poke.

I wanted to taste it all. To feel how something besides restlessness go down her throat for once. Have I already lost my mind in the clouds? Tomorrow will come today and then we will see, if I come back down.