With one hopeful reach with my left hand towards my glasses on my night stand, I came to the realization that some things about me are just plain old, um, old. It’s not just that my left hip is twisted which causes lower back pain, it’s not the fact that I squint to read things that are far away and need glasses at night when I’m driving, it’s the blunt reality that I’m 22 years old and I find myself wondering why the world is seemingly staying the same age, albeit terminally sick, and I appear to be aging faster than the fictional character: Benjamin Button. The robotic monotony of Monday’s plague me; I need to feel like I’m needed, like I have to do something. Always. But only sometimes. At least in my own head, in theory, I am somewhat of a needy and insecure person. But aren’t we all? Don’t we all crave that narcissistic validation of not only our families and friends, that’s incidental, but of anyone in proximity of our invisible martyrdom? Something inside of me told me long ago that as soon as I found someone to love, I would then find my direction in life. But maybe it wasn’t direction at all, maybe I was running a relay, not a marathon, and the next person that receives the torch was me, I handed it to myself. In some diabolical sense, I am on a never ending pursuit to truly be satisfied. To be let down is as common as getting the mail every day, for me. But it is this innate ability to identify minuscule disappointments that make my life, at least to me, worth living. Deep down I know that I will look back on these days, these mundane Monday’s, god willing I’m alive, and I will laugh. Life is magic, but we’re all pretend magicians…
Last days and… Past days and… I see you… And you are viewing me through the iron door… Picture me perfectly placed under the floor… To touch you… The rush you… And my…. Last days… Past days… To love you… And the love you… Give to me… Give in to me… Give everything up… Responsibilities and… The like… I see you… And you are looking through me… To touch you… The rush you… Give me.
never ending cynicism upon a tide of sea salts…I look at everything and everyone and see myself within their faults. backwash the liquid, my saliva coated with venoms. my teeth drip and the vomit of my mouth explains why.. let’s all label each other and die by it, I made my bed but refuse to lie by it. Am I giving up and relinquishing my imagination by writing? Am I living up to the expectations of my loved ones, even though I feel like hiding? my dark room is so serene.. an observatory of nothing, stars would keep me wide eyed and I have no time for that. I’m beat. I’m sleepy. I’m in need of affection. I’ve caught the bug. The ones on my bed. Soul seeping. Alarm beeping. I’m drained like my sinus infection. Blah.
If there’s a hell, maybe I’ll see you there. If there’s a heaven, I’ll save you a seat on the third-base-line. If there’s a reason why friends disappear, leave it here. If there’s a bridge not yet burned, hand me matches. If there’s a number to call to bury the hatchet, I’d call it. I’d patch everything up, but I don’t have any patches. If there’s a young child out there that gets it, hold on. If there’s a cripple that believes in miracles, walk on. If there’s a young couple in love on the phone, talk on. If there’s a will, it might get in the way. If there’s a reason to get outta bed, maybe I’ll do that thing today. If you see me across the street, don’t bother crossing. If you have wisdom stuck in your teeth, don’t bother flossing. You need it. I need you. I’m sick of myself and others or maybe it’s just the flu. I don’t know. I don’t wanna grow. There’s a roller coaster called life but on it, I don’t wanna go. With feet planted firmly I sink into the sand that causes reverberations around my kneecaps and the ocean sounds clearer, more aggressive. I just want to have money, love, and a home……. God bless us, the obsessive.
washed up. has been’s and never were’s. mashed up cluster fucks because of me, because of her. labeling is for the non-critical thinkers. and they always love to complain. everything sucks, but saying it doesn’t make it go away. everything changes, but everything stays the same. passed up. last to be picked for softball, and all that. I forgot what it was like to be a kid with small worries that seemed gigantic at the time. where did we all become empty vessels, I gave up on my own heart, but it was never mine.
Indie rock, slave pop, psychedelic trance, electro dance. hipsters die. punks stay dead. give the devil horns. give bands head. buy merch. badmouth church. be lazy. pretend crazy. do drugs. drink to death. beer breath. ramones sucked. sex pistols were worse. johnny cash. stuck in the past. country’s for cunts. metal is for the deaf. rap is boring. same ol same ol. hip hop fucked trip hop and ejaculated nothing. drake. mixtapes. festivals. ipods. cattle prods. slit throats on stage. vegan piss at sage. lick the blade and kiss the dragon, fuck the venom out of me.
What is socially acceptable?
What is flattering, what is respectable? What is attractive, without being degrading? What is worth the trouble, and not worth the trouble hating? What can we do to satisfy our taste buds? What can we do to satisfy our best buds? What is the highest form of conformity? What causes cancer, and fetal deformity? What makes me love myself? What makes me hate myself? What makes me cry, laugh, and be a more confident guy? What makes me sick, depressed, and sick of living in a pigsty? What is there for us all, but not all of us care? What is it with the drink, that makes everyone boring? The liquor is flowing, the rain is pouring… With every drop that lands on the concrete, there’s gallons more to make you feel like your life’s complete. Enjoy it while it lasts.