Sunday, August 14, 2011

Just Aaas If


towards me, my love

hear my words;


insist upon me

aguish please

I'll bring you down,

down to yr knees

feel my heat:

my angry light,

my heaven-weathered,

livid bite!

yr hands bleed blue,

my heart bleeds black.

yr loot of angels

travel back:

back in time

when things just were,

rather than

a dizzy blur.

dizzy, lovely,

take my hand

insist that you still


man oh man.

luv yr man.

he'll leave u soon,

( )

that was his plan.

Sunday, August 7, 2011

Named After a Blues Singer

I am getting rid of a year long head ache.
I'm kicking you out.
You shouldn't be worried or scared, just feel nothin'.
Cus I've got yr back, a knife still intact.

You feel for the switch in the dark.
You can't find i(t).
I'll help you dear, move yr head have no fear.
I haven't got time like I used to.

I realized last night, in my decadent high.
(My stoney perception, made clear by two tabs.)
That nobody is worth knowing, because no one wants to know me.
And you were a waste of my time.

I am beyond this world, old friend.
I am better than anything you have ever known,
so when you see me you feel uneasy.
It's understandable.

But your lack of knowledge, be courteous,
or just plain ignorance
has nearly walked me off a cliff.
I was blind, but now I see very clearly.

The clouds have parted.
And I can't stand you.
I don't need you.
I don't need you.

I looked so hard for love
and all fate brought me was heartbreak.
So now I seek heartbreak,
not in hopes of finding love necessarily.

I don't seek anything in particualr.
I just want to learn things.
Culture, art, music, life.
Things that matter.

It makes me sick that nobody seems as open as I.
They'd rather idly sit in front of an electrical box
and watch unattainable riches and plots
play out before them.

That isn't real.
I am real.
If you don't want me,
then you are a fool.

Beyond that.
You live in a fantasy,
of mass-made appeal.
You are losing in a game you weren't aware you were playing.

I have no hopes for you.
I cannot help you.
You are completely
out of touch.

Reality is not for losers.
I feel bad for you.
My pathetic little friend.

I will live forever,
my legend will be passed down.
People will talk about me,
an angel beyond her time.

People will adore me someday.
People may adore you today,
but those people will die.
As will you.

You won't live on.
I will live through my art,
my writing, my prose and my pictures.
Once your body decays, your cells will move on and create something new elsewhere.

Whereas, I will regenerate
but also be ressurected in many forms.
Children will read my poems out loud in classrooms;
and young, lonely, weird girls will cry in empathy.

My cries won't go unheard for long.
I will live on.
You will die.
You will end.

Leave me alone.

I don't need sleep,
do not pretend like you know what I need.
I need to forget you.
I have no right to miss you.

We are nothing, there is no "we".
So don't coming running back to me
when things don't work out elsewhere.
When we part that is it.

Don't say I am sweet.
It kills me when you say things like that.
I don't understand our relationship.
Don't confide in me.

Stop telling me your secrets, stop knowing I won't re-tell them.
You don't deserve to know me.
Don't act like you do.
All you bring me is heartbreak.

I am so stoned.
Don't pretend you know me.
Don't ask so naiively why my pupils are dialated.
Don't assume I have a problem.

Don't tap dance around me
and not try to hurt me.
You fake so well.
Don't you Cole.