the wall |
Let's start with innocence and build-up towards guilt. Let's act like they have absolutely no connection. And than let's connect them. I haven't found imagination to be too imaginative lately. Stu...
Posted by on Thu, 03 Jan 2008 13:37:00 GMT |
yes, we fake things |
Id congratulate you if I saw you do anything worthy. Even hold open a fucking door. This is what they meant when they called you self-centered. I've never cared for anyone like I cared for you and ...
Posted by on Tue, 30 Oct 2007 13:24:00 GMT |
what i really mean sometimes (im mean sometimes) |
I don't have feelings. Whatever this closeness is is drawing me farther away. I've got a spine stretching farther than the equator. It holds me up when I'm feeling down. It always holds me up. The...
Posted by on Sat, 20 Oct 2007 08:32:00 GMT |
i’m happy to know you know nothing |
Constant deliberation of who we are. How'd we get so far? What made these feet follow motion? What thought set me off? That's all I can think about. Those questions of how and why. I look to the sky ...
Posted by on Mon, 24 Sep 2007 21:53:00 GMT |
Spotlights on the Insignificant THings |
Knife wounds are where the stitches pass through. Sewed up vengeance which resolved nothing. I'd never turn my back on a friend so I don't know what I call this. I'm knee-deep in a s...
Posted by on Fri, 07 Sep 2007 12:28:00 GMT |
Exactly Where I Was Before |
Cleaning solvent, tile, and too much of something red. This is a mistake we're repairing. As they slip out the door I only wonder when they'll be back, not where they're going. Unconcerned with the...
Posted by on Thu, 23 Aug 2007 14:12:00 GMT |
overdone underappreciated |
Facial expressions meaning the exact opposite of what they should. Your smile tells me you're crying. I've stabbed angels in the back for something I thought was glory. The style got old, so I simp...
Posted by on Mon, 20 Aug 2007 15:01:00 GMT |
The Good Guise |
They smile like they're happy, the good guise. They never give way to a feeling of truth. Stained basins where our sins run free. Tall glasses fall short of our expectations. I've drained this tow...
Posted by on Tue, 26 Jun 2007 13:43:00 GMT |
Somebody Hates You |
Decades of decadent memories. I can't remember who I used to be. Tied to an existence I didn't have a part in. Brand new razor blades to open old wounds. This is how they get through. Days you do...
Posted by on Sat, 09 Jun 2007 13:08:00 GMT |
They Shoot. They Score. They're Lost. |
Places you can't get out of. Parallel parking. Revolving doors. This constant routine. Still stuck in the quicksand. My arm is a branch no one is willing to grab. In different towns people are do...
Posted by on Wed, 09 May 2007 18:06:00 GMT |
