Sitting here wishing on a demons spell. I feel trapped in this city and can’t get out. Something so fucking so fucking so fucking with me. I feel like I don’t exist sometimes and can’t wrap brain spinal cord around just what I’m feeling. Old men ask me how I feel and I ask them back. Tell them that’s their answer. That’s what your looking for. Young children shake straw swords at me at breakfast and I look inside, don’t say a word. I know what they’re thinking and the answer is this: never grow up and start doing that now. Never let go of your straws, wrap them around your hearts. Start working on being young because it’s taking a lot out of me being old. And I’m not even old. I’m young. By all reality and in all definition, I’m the youngest of my kind. But you all look to me for misinformation and of course that’s what I’ll give you, but I promise I wont feel good about it. I promise I won’t be honest, I’ll promise I won’t be rubbed raw but that really won’t be anything at all. Someone get me a fucking car so I can get out. I thought about it tonight, If I just drove somewhere and slept in my car, woke up and came back to chicago in time for class. I honestly thought about doing that and maybe I should. I don’t know what I need. Maybe go for a run. I couldn’t even help move you into your apartment, my mind was so goddamn wrapped around my own existence and whether or not it was true. I’m blue. I’m shuttered and there are no christmas presents that can bring a smile to my face, no amount of money in my hand will help me eat more, no love, no care, I’m in this world and I don’t like it anymore. That doesn’t mean my soul is leaving anytime soon, it just means my body might be on the way out. Where I’ll go? I’ve got no idea, no money to push me forward into the world. I feel portland calling my name, but do I really want to be surrounded by a group of people that changed a town when they could’ve changed the world. What do I want to do? Work on a farm. I want to work on a farm, live in a different age,
Never let the world’s problems ruin what you share with good people. They do not deserve the distaste you feel for the world. The world will suffer on its own, so let the people you love know you love them. This is what I’ve learned today.
She’s dead, darling, don’t cry anymore
Don’t lay down anymore, the drugs of which you partake
Don’t love me for who I am, love me for finding you
I’ll make love with your lips and control you from hips
With my hand on ribs, I’ll breath into you such sweet delight
Baby, I’ve loved you since the first light and my sweet sight
My eyes hath never been burned as they were when I saw your hair
Etta’s dead, darlin, but she said once “There’s nothing for you to do,
But keep me making love to you”
Mmhmm
Mmm mmm mmm! Sounds for the words that don’t describe the way
My lashes grow when I see you walking down towards me
Just wrap legs round bones and give me warmth beyond measure
Then lay my head in your breast and lull me to sleep with your voice
We’ll wake up and I’ll smell you and you’ll touch chest and I’ll know
Time to greet the new day with beautiful high pitched yawns
And maybe a brown dog with a smile
You are just what you are: a woman that should be loved
You’re the pure definition of a poet’s angst,
So much so that you keep this one from writing anything
Because nothing written seems to ever compare to just how unholy,
Beloved, rectified, unhinged, erected, corky, masculine, flamboyant,
So god damn struck dead by lightning bolts that shower down and can’t even
Touch my lavender hair
These are just words, darlin, and I just know that one kiss from you amounts
To a million pictures that are worth a thousand words
