Mindset.

and sometimes, i'd like to think i'm something great.

something wonderful. and internally beautiful.

but what am i really?

how many people pretend to like me when they really hate me?

how many people think i'm fake, bitchy, negative?

i don't know.

but i often feel that i have no friends.

everyone only pretends to like me.

and because of that idea,

i'm always trying to outdo myself.

trying to make myself up to be something more.

and when i finally am myself around people.

i feel annoying. like they don't want to be around me. but they're

too afraid of offending me.

how many real friends do i actually have?

that like me for who i am and see me as a person that can learn from

and enjoy.

i don't know.

coma.

awaking from the sunken bed

slowly missing the sweet soft slumberz i once enjoyed

but having my eyes open feels so much lighter.

Automatic 3/31/09

This glass is empty. My soul is empty. Salt bearing away all the water. His oceans I long for. To love and this stinging distance. I want him closer. And when the shores have flowed into my mouth. I can only taste the fresh liquid. Though I long for the brackish taste. The blood had drained from my heart and I am searching for someone to fill and spill throughout my veins. But there is only one. A puzzle piece. Perfectly fit into the glowing crack. But your heart is blind. That space is empty. My dirty hands dwell upon it. Ordering the sea to herd you in but I am lost. In finding myself, I found you first. I am restricted. I am broken. And as much as my voice echoes and screams, you will never hear it. Jupiter bring me to shore. Sand is receding and the salt burns my eyes. Equilibrium fails to clear me. I am waiting but I am afraid you will never come. Experience your glow. Feel your everlasting soul. Your feathery touch will never harden. I envy those who drink from your saltbed. I pretend to proceed when I know I want to be them. I just want to be free of knowing not.

Don't think about tomorrow morning.

anything can happen as we make our way home from the club,

we could both be flattened by a double decker city bus,

otherwise a perfect night if we're not dead before it ends,

we could live forever but we'll never get this chance again...

don't you worry,

don't think about tomorrow morning,

what's your hurry?

just focus on tonight.

we could fall in love and trade this city for a change of pace,

find our slice of paradise and give our babies hippie names,

maybe we'll both hate each other,

shitty sex 'n seperate beds,

we could get restraining orders,

vow to never speak again...

on second thought let's not say names,

I'll just be me and you be you,

two perfect strangers being sneaky with a flask of booze,

no need to think of any clever pick up lines to use -

i've got a stack of records

you just bring your dancing shoes -

tonight

i'll drop the needle, pop a bottle,

sit back

and just watch you dance...

i'm a hypocrite. my life is gonna change for the better. very soon.

and it all starts with the changes i make, myself. plusplusminus.

XOX

-a.

Saturday.

when the red turns to black

the wounds are reopened

i fear the worst

the lights have run away

and my skin begins to boil

these cells are nothing but

a nucleus of waste and flesh

the water will not dry

sea streams have stolen my salt

these pieces are broken,

a secret mosaic

still secret to my eyes

i will not find you

and i can only feel scared and unsure

of what will happen tomorrow.

Afraid.

I haven't written in such a long time. I think I've lost my touch.

I've been reading the things I write on here,

and its all so horrible. I wasn't that great before,

but never this bad.

I think its because I'm trying new things.

I've never written in this "style" before.

I was afraid of always sounding the same.

Afraid of repetition.

I want there to be diversity with my writing.

But I guess I suck at doing that.

I only have one way.

And I'm not quite sure I remember how to do it...

I said Sheepz

my thoughts roam around the outskirts of their city

walls so tall and strong

like a bullet through iron

my ghosts cannot speak

throats torn and scratched

coarse-grained sand became a friend

on those lonely days

trapped inside a box of terror

sheeps locked inside their pen

hidden behind the iris

the sound remains a secret

and the hinges have squeaked

but no one can find their way

freedom has lost its sense of direction

the orbs have run away to the countryside

kicking up the dirt

but even that has broken

there is no open door

no exit