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| The open blinds bleed no sunshine,
as the darkness will swallow this whole place,
I can't even pick a penny to feed my addiction,
This love will eat us alive,
Taking every ounce of our self digity,
I have created a monster out of myself,
and i continue to build ontop of it's already to high body,
A secret that doesn't exist,
but screams out the remainder of my lungs,
The snow will fall soon,
and lock me into this place,
Devouring every last part of my soul,
Once the key doesn't unlock the door anymore,
I will sleep outside,
Not dreaming,
but hybernating for days,
Hopefully days,
Our bed is so warm inside,
but the blankets are so cold,
Hugging my body while yours runs
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| Our television plays in the backround like the music that always plays,
Keeping me sane,
and holding my hand into the night,
The windows hold no strength allowing the sounds of our nights into my dreams,
They swallow my lips,
Making my fingertips only as tired as my body,
It's the pink sheets that rotate to black weekly,
To keep the smile pasted along our walls,
My white skin that still holds nothing of this so called vacation,
It Lingers against his small body,
Revolving from it's hourly wake,
This computer can only remain new for so long,
Along with the heart of a aching woman,
This sunset reminds me of the taste of childhood,
and I find nothing of it surrouding me,
Like the mind that can't think for it's self,
but the heart that sings of great indepence.
It's commericals and monthly rates only rise,
Creating a colorful reflection against my pillows,
It's drastic yet known,
It's the smell of love making,
That never makes anything but releaved tension,
Beautiful yet mistaken,
The windows can only live through so much,
and once their broken,
So is this home.
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| The calendar that doesn't belong to me counts down the days,
that lead into our eternity.
An open window and two computers, we can only hope for a life with luxury,
It's the bright pink nail polish that only covers half my nail,
and the smell of left over love making,
Lingering into the hall ways and out into the waves of oxygen,
That in one moment i will replace with my smoked nicotine,
It keeps one sane,
and for the rest of the night i will try to remain that way,
Keeping the selfish heart as a reminder,
To paste post-it notes on my lips before i speak,
What i should and shouldn't say,
but the silver machine will keep my mouth from moving,
Awake my creativity,
and find nothing but the same shit,
Over again,
Once more,
and again,
It's simple like the weather,
I should know this,
but when the words form into sentences that never seem to finish,
I would say nothing at all,
and find it all lying on the bed before i dream of it,
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| I'm trying to rearrange my thoughts and keep getting the same thing over and over again. I can't find the anxious cause, and i can't find the release i've been looking for, for far to long. The sound that led me to you, is still repeating out the speakers and into my ears. The sound blends together and forms some kind of abstract type of creative writing, which really is just a more safisticated name for emotions. They keep swelling to the top of my tounge, and never seem to free themselves for the fear that maybe you will leave me wet, and out to dry. It's the door bell that never rings, and the cellphone that stays one color for only so long. I cant keep typing on this beautiful mastermind of a computer, and find nothing out of it but a restless night, and an open window. Only if the rain fell a little harder, and my heart beat a little lighter than maybe i could fall asleep. The paint that has been brushed on my nails, begins to chip and it's only been a day, or two. I continue to lose track and the weeks begin to become one another as do we. This sectional is the home for a body that never touches the other. If i found a million reasons to hate you, i could find two million why i love you. It's a electronic device to destory one another like the start of a massacre that consists of only two. My stomach aches against its self and my medicine can't fix this any longer. The retirded rain leaves the wind smelling like a wet dog, and my sheets feeling as if i had wet them hours earlier. It's sick and almost unbearable but this is home inside and out, and maybe one day the sheets will be dry and this bed will become comfortable. I know that the ink that hopes for all of this is only so far away, and my dreams can only become reality if i make them that. I have the motivation of an aspiring artist that doens't really belong, and the esteem of a prision among forced gays. It's disquisting and if i had the chance to replace it all i would. I would paint the world white, adding the colors as i go. My head spins and i can't really decided if it's because i'm tired, or just really fucked up. The options are endless and the taste that lingers in my mouth, is a pre break down flavor. I've tasted you so many times my friend, and i've felt you disappear among my taste buds plenty. It's the taste of a life that only grows, and shrinks routinely. The text on a message is so bold, simple, yet human kind can make it flash colors. When the heart sings a song and dances to it's own music, is when it knows it's finally alive. Finally bright red like the contour shapes we draw when we're in elementry school. I would draw the simple shape of our most precious human body part for days on end, and still find their diffrences. Like the black that may look gray in some areas this is a endless paragraph, ensuring that i won't sleep but maybe at least i can try not to think of you.
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| The bridge to freedom is only sleeping,
I promised myself that a dream can only last a little while,
This computer has been the community connection,
and to this outside social life,
Only a few will hide,
So hide with me.
The bridge keeps the van that didn't reach its destination,
and it holds the salt to absorb my sweating eyes,
But it will adventually wake,
The homeless man,
Built me a cardboard poster that reads,
"The end is near"
I pasted it's presence to the crack down the side walk,
It also leads to the bridge,
That sleeps like a king on the bed inside.
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