flying

a breath of saturday morning air, slow down.
blue eyes open a little. blue walls, blue sky, blue shirt,
and a yellow sun.
it's late.
cold wood on hot feet.
float down the stairs quietly -
there are people sleeping like we used to sleep.

good day, copilot. it's time to warm our wings and take off. mountains wait for us out west up north away from here, real mountains we can climb and scale, mountains made out of rock instead of medicine, with a view at the top instead of guilty nights alone in the bedroom. tie your boots, copilot, it's time to fly. it's time to get out of here. it's time to finally feel that beautiful blue saturday morning sun on our backs instead of seeing it through dirty glass like we've been doing for weeks. are you ready, copilot?
are you ready to get away?
are you awake?
do you want to be?

my mind

instead of thoughts there's this weird music in my head that sounds like nothing but feels like everything, a melody of forgotten words and quiet lullabys. nothing changes but everything moves in a constant turmoil brewing beneath the scattered stars, clouded and dusty from the sunlight never touching. the glass dome holds it in so easily broken, cracked, blown from wind, gentle air on a lonely zephyr or an angry typhoon of blistery gusts. we are born in side the dome, and everyone dies in side the dome, and nobody lives forever, except the lucky. existence is an impossibility outside the opaque window but we live on, working and suffering and hurting, and only the ones inside the fire give up (but some can come back from the grave). it's forsaken, it's ungodly, it's terrible and crude... but it is my life, and it is a very lonely place.

summer

Sixty miles an hour, driving towards a wall
Running to the sunset, bracing for the fall
Lighting up a cigarette, forgetting to inhale
Walking through the forest, looking for a trail.

Sunglasses and sunscreen, to cover up my face
Cover up your ashes - we can't leave a trace
Of any of our lying, because they can see us here
Waiting to find on us the tell-tale scent of fear.

I've got one twenty-seven, take it and we'll share
We can love each other, but we have to stay aware
Listen for their footsteps, I promise they'll be loud
Sing for us, angel, I promise I'll be proud.

Just past the sunset, somewhere in your eyes,
The whole world's lit up with all the fireflies.
Dusk has passed and we're all alone,
In the loudest silence that we've ever known.

We need to find some fire; it's going to get dark
And we can't stay out past curfew, here at Cherry Park.

--------

I really should stop wandering through people's old blog posts. I'm tired of feeling nauseous over shit that doesn't even matter anymore.

it's almost three am

and I can't believe I missed your call.
the hours slid by on a rollercoaster track, racing through my mind, blurs of colors and loud music with no end. my heart raced all night and you were nowhere near me.

I fell asleep listening to my own chaos, instead of your voice like music in my ears.

I was young and stupid then, but I'm older now - please still need me in the morning.

_____

2:22 a.m. You have four missed calls.

9:16, 9;17, 9:21, 9:58.

For an hour, you were missed, but you wouldn't even pick up the phone. How could you be so heartless...

You have three unheard messages. First unheard message. Second unheard message. Third unheard message. First skipped message...

hypothetically

maybe if we aren't god's favorite universe, and there's one better than this and one worse, well maybe those other two are heaven and hell.

maybe hell came first, then earth, then heaven. because after all, practice makes perfect.

this is all if I believed in god, of course

and didn't care about capitalization

tonight

was fucking beautiful.

backward into thought

So last night I came to the realization
That when I was a child I used to dream about what being a teenager was like. And right now, at this moment, I am experiencing the future that I imagined.

It was as if I had regained my childhood psyche, and was perceiving the present as myself from the past.

Seth made fun of me when I told him this. I wish I could explain it better.