Fear packaged into your sandwich. Eating, engulfing fear

Impromptu and unedited thoughts


Arm’s length

We grew up an arm’s length apart. I watched you
Make a mess out of your life, although I never participated. I just found out, ultimately.
But there you are, wearing that shirt in which you shine. God, you are so handsome. Being around you makes me feel insecure; it feels like you’d slip out of my arms any time. And there’d be no point in prolonging any courtship, because it’d take a million ton of weight
To keep me from not liking you
I’d hate this repetitive and cursed beautiful song
In which I’d been a victim of
A burden for you to have to drag a girl so giddy
And a trap for me ’cause I could never think clearly
It’s something in the winds that influence my colors
I helplessly dance along its trail as it combs my hair
I spin while it wraps me with intoxication
In a bundle, a fabric of some sort of love
What you’re left to see is a girl who’s a bit dull
So I beg you
To break it all
I’m not myself when I’m with you I lose it
It’s in your virtue to seek that what makes you shine
And when you’ll find her
You’ll always
Break this ghastly heart of mine
To not to love is a curse and to do it will kill
We’ll live in this amnesiac, half dead dream
At arm’s length
Looking elsewhere


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This is how I look at my worst, and I could show you how I look at my best
But for some reason I want to stop right here,
Because I want you to only love me at my worst
Because it feels the most real

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Yin Yang

Maybe it’s time, I don’t know, it happens every late morning
And once in a while before bed…
This feeling of total control over my life
It’s like magic, with tricky hands
I can see where the ball strikes next
And wins.
It’s like that in your harried presence
It’s your commanding glare
Looking at my
Dirty skin and hair
But I didn’t fear that one time
I looked at you
And once more, it was an empty room
Full of eyes
Fire on fire
Ice on ice
Yet you behaved oblivious
And I used to wish that you’d know it
But now
I can feel the humid summer night breeze that strike
And resonate like the way of stringed instruments
Whose sound move to the flow of the ocean waves
And indicate
Somewhere in the depths of your holy soul
The dirty scumbag
That you wanna scratch clean with your finger nails
And get down and dirty on the ground with



The hazy blue world in Europe

She was a blonde high-school classmate who wanted to become a missionary one day. On the bus ride home, she told me about a time when someone she knew got into a car accident and almost became decapitated, or was decapitated. I eventually learned what that meant. Those days were cold and grey from what I recall. Sports jackets and pathetic blue jeans. Rice paper powder face and straight long hair. Cold wet basements and visions of a blue house along with thoughts on what it’s like to be grown and to be so far away from all this darkness here. Across the seas and straight to Europe, people probably lived a better life. Riding a car around blue hills with headphones on. From the basement window, the bleak daylight used to shine where I stood. And my heart would skip thinking about the college guy who could save me. He sat at the dinner table with a pack of cigarettes. He had a checkbook and a history of love affairs. I keenly listened and made glamorous assumptions about the adult world and was jealous of him and his freedom and all that. It was sad thinking about what could have been in those times of eye liners and flare jeans. Maybe weekend trips to California and a dark haired boy to go out on dates with and to brag about. But those were tied to dreams with the blue hills and convertibles; far out of my reach. In order to live you have to have cheap thrills so that’s where his cigarettes and stories came in. Those were hopeless cold times and my skin was pale and the clouds were grey and my eyes twinkled at whatever that flickered before me.


Emotional apathy

It’s not you. It’s how much I was into you. How I soaked in each layer of your skin
How I was blind
towards everything else
besides your face
That now comes in my nightmares sometimes
It scares me, this lack of care in your eyes
When to me, they were your most wonderful of features
I wanted to own them, own you
But there they were; never deceiving
Nor were they eager
They just always… were
As they still must be now
Whether you’re sleeping or awake

Toshiba Digital Camera


Boxed shell

How real is this fact
That I’m out here, able and intact
Underneath shelters and shelters of
Clothes, blankets and thick walls
Preserved in like a specimen
Segregated and closed off in a pitch black cellular chamber
That’s silent, faraway, and forgotten
Awake, with a buried heart that wonders
Whether there’s a man in a forest
Who could hear