Days become years,
the past gets more blurry every day.
Sometimes,
my dreams forget.
They go back to you.
You're not the you I'm dreaming of.
Sometimes,
my heart forgets.
This happens less and less.
I live.
Memory is a rotten beast
like a cat, it does what it wants.
It doesn't care how you feel,
what you want,
as long as it gets what it wants.
Maybe I'll never feel this way again,
maybe I'll never get past this.
Maybe tomorrow,
I'll throw your pictures away
like I've been meaning to do.
Culture shock!
Making the whole body hurt,
someday, I'll be used to it.
One can only hope.
A thousand little sufferings
slowly turn my hands to leather.
I guess I don't need them.
What good are nerves anyway?
There's money involved.
This culture is foreign!
These people have a pecking order,
a language and a currency
all of which I don't understand.
I, like Dian Fossey,
lurk among them, but am not one of them.
Oh no!
They say it's gonna be a train wreck
they say they want to see the gore,
the carnage, the massacre, the failure.
Fuck them.
I don't care, whatever.
They can watch this.
I hope they find it entertaining.
I'll take this ride if you will
and we'll go screaming into
that inky blackness
that great unknown.
What lives there?
Hold my hand
and we'll go off in the dark.
To crash and burn?
To success and joy?
Don't ruin the surprise.
I found it today,
that picture of you I
always kept so close.
The one that lived in my wallet
sometimes at my bedside
sometimes in my hands.
It's in my hands now
I'm staring at it
almost glaring at it.
Hating it.
I turn it over and see your note.
I swallow.
Choke it back.
I'll never admit it.
I should call you.
You are a silhouette in the fog
and the shit's getting thicker now.
You were once so brilliant
so clear and clean,
but now it's all murky.
I'm sick
INFECTED!
The smell of you,
the feel of you,
the taste of you,
this is my contagion.
Our brief life, our time
was no fire, no great blaze.
Barely an ember,
barely a spark.
We lived in moments
of brilliance, of bliss,
of something like clarity.
You are an angel,
a goddess,
and never forget that.
Even if you add tears
to the rain of black feathers that
envelopes me.
Never forget.
And as you ascend, I'll live
with the specter of these feelings,
not knowing whether they'v
If I left, would you go?
If tomorrow, I set out
to manifest my destiny
would you come with me?
Would you hold me?
Catch me when I fall?
Put me together when I break?
Help through all
the perils of that dark
road of terror.
Or, will you wait?
Be here when I return,
a broken mess,
a complete failure,
my dreams left out of my reach.
If I come back,
will you be here?
I am not a free bird.
My wings lie bloodied,
my flight is stopped.
The world is out of my reach.
I have been chained
and I will wander
no more.
Forever a slave to
cruel gravity.
So, I stay, and I hate,
unable to move on.
Days become years,
the past gets more blurry every day.
Sometimes,
my dreams forget.
They go back to you.
You're not the you I'm dreaming of.
Sometimes,
my heart forgets.
This happens less and less.
I live.
Memory is a rotten beast
like a cat, it does what it wants.
It doesn't care how you feel,
what you want,
as long as it gets what it wants.
Maybe I'll never feel this way again,
maybe I'll never get past this.
Maybe tomorrow,
I'll throw your pictures away
like I've been meaning to do.
Culture shock!
Making the whole body hurt,
someday, I'll be used to it.
One can only hope.
A thousand little sufferings
slowly turn my hands to leather.
I guess I don't need them.
What good are nerves anyway?
There's money involved.
This culture is foreign!
These people have a pecking order,
a language and a currency
all of which I don't understand.
I, like Dian Fossey,
lurk among them, but am not one of them.
Oh no!
They say it's gonna be a train wreck
they say they want to see the gore,
the carnage, the massacre, the failure.
Fuck them.
I don't care, whatever.
They can watch this.
I hope they find it entertaining.
I'll take this ride if you will
and we'll go screaming into
that inky blackness
that great unknown.
What lives there?
Hold my hand
and we'll go off in the dark.
To crash and burn?
To success and joy?
Don't ruin the surprise.
I found it today,
that picture of you I
always kept so close.
The one that lived in my wallet
sometimes at my bedside
sometimes in my hands.
It's in my hands now
I'm staring at it
almost glaring at it.
Hating it.
I turn it over and see your note.
I swallow.
Choke it back.
I'll never admit it.
I should call you.
You are a silhouette in the fog
and the shit's getting thicker now.
You were once so brilliant
so clear and clean,
but now it's all murky.
I'm sick
INFECTED!
The smell of you,
the feel of you,
the taste of you,
this is my contagion.
Our brief life, our time
was no fire, no great blaze.
Barely an ember,
barely a spark.
We lived in moments
of brilliance, of bliss,
of something like clarity.
You are an angel,
a goddess,
and never forget that.
Even if you add tears
to the rain of black feathers that
envelopes me.
Never forget.
And as you ascend, I'll live
with the specter of these feelings,
not knowing whether they'v
If I left, would you go?
If tomorrow, I set out
to manifest my destiny
would you come with me?
Would you hold me?
Catch me when I fall?
Put me together when I break?
Help through all
the perils of that dark
road of terror.
Or, will you wait?
Be here when I return,
a broken mess,
a complete failure,
my dreams left out of my reach.
If I come back,
will you be here?
I am not a free bird.
My wings lie bloodied,
my flight is stopped.
The world is out of my reach.
I have been chained
and I will wander
no more.
Forever a slave to
cruel gravity.
So, I stay, and I hate,
unable to move on.
He lays the blueprint on the table
sorting through the pieces of his machine.
Some of them are familiar,
and he knows their function well.
Some are the same as older models,
and how they work has been told to him.
It makes sense, and he can see how.
Some are foreign to him,
pieces he's never seen before
their genesis, a mystery to him.
How they work, he may never know.
Timidly, he lines up the parts.
They don't match the map.
Some are so different he worries
he may never make them fit.
He's had the blueprint for years
but the pieces are always changing
and this machine is just so very complicated.
He attaches some, puts oth
Decided to break the poetry dump up into several smaller postings, not a big deal.
Wait a second, what are these things?
http://sacomics.com/
http://dungeonsinthekitchen.wordpress.com/
did I write these things?
Someone should check this out and see if it's true...