74. a room with a view

The following was conceived on the floor of terminal A
Always
Batting
Concealed
Destinies.
Eternally
Feigning
Greatful
Hallowed
Indecisivness.
Justifiably
Killing
Love
Methodically.
Notions
Of
Passionate
Queiries
Reflect
Stand-offish
Temperment.
Undeniably
Vexed
Without
Xenophobic
Youthful
Zealousness.

73. tangled up in flat black

I could keep you all to myself

Hanging on to waiting for moments to fall in your lap.

Left to your own devices,

a victim to your own ruin.

Others accountable for self-inflicted wounds,

I know you've got to be free.

You see in spirals that only go down,

a kaleidoscope of self-implosion.

I dream in flat black,

all these monotone memories maintain a miserable even keel.

One day they'll catch up,

to all your hiccups.

A lifestyle so inedible,

a reaction so un-incredible.

Surprise was never an option.

It was mandatory,

in accordance with the same old story.

My repulsion,

towards your compulsions.

Your pleasures for all this judgement will one day turn on you.

So free yourself

72. Cry about it why don't you?

Tonight's soundtrack

Give me back 
my pictures of me.
Me, you and him makes three.
It figures the wheezing will measure your rate of depress and i hope you know.
Like a bitch in heat,
I hope she know.

So put another penny in and turn the crank
until the frames cease to move,
and the movie turns into a photo,
a photo the size of a kiss,
I hope she knows.

Staring at this Parisian sex flick,
where the characters don't meet,
the characters don't speak,
and the characters are like mirrors facing mirrors:
Space always expanding.

So put another coin in and turn the crank
until the frames cease to move
and the movie turns into a photo,
a photo the size of my fist
I hope she knows.

A hiccup in paradise
I keep you jealously to myself,
in photos the size of a kiss
a kiss in the shape of a bullet.

On phone lines and letterhead,
I'm dying about.
I'm dying about.
(x2)

I've watched you whore yourself for one more thing, 
won't you sell yourself for one more?
There's always one more thing, why don't you sell yourself?
If I can't have you no one will.

Pushing a lover 
to love another.
Are you turned on?
Are you turned on?
(x2)

A hiccup in paradise
I keep you jealously to myself,
in a photo the size of a kiss,
a kiss in the shape of a bullet.

On phone lines and letterhead
I'm dying about
I'm dying about
(x2)

A hiccup in paradise
I keep you jealously to myself,
in a photo the size of a kiss
a kiss in the shape of a bullet.

I keep you jealously to myself.
(x4)
A kiss in the shape of a bullet.

Bring on the night

71. Never stop yelling

Polished verbal projectiles, poised to pounce on the unsuspecting masses.

 

I take the abuses of the day and make them my own.

Something tangible, fuel.

Something I can feel, fever.

Something that is going to separate me from the rest, one day.

It's never been about us, it's always been about "them"

Us and them.

I hear you.

70. Give me back

I want my life back.I want my life back.I want my life back.I want my life back.I want my life back.I want my life back.I want my life back.I want my life back.I want my life back.I want my life back.I want my life back.I want my life back.I want my life back.I want my life back.I want my life back.I want my life back.I want my life back.I want my life back.I want my life back.I want my life back.I want my life back.I want my life back.I want my life back.I want my life back.I want my life back.I want my life back.I want my life back.I want my life back.I want my life back.I want my life back.I want my life back.I want my life back.I want my life back.I want my life back.I want my life back.

69. Sluttering (May 4th)

Flattered that you think I warrant ugliness.
Gutters drain west, mud made a mess of us.
It's time to leave this place.
I'd saw through your wrist to find a better trap that fits.
I'd saw through your traps to find a better you.
A part of you that lasts.

I saw through your trap and into my own wrists. 
Saw we were through, red ribbons spill to blue:
a sight to sore your eyes.

I got this dress.
I'm hiking it around this waste of laughter.
Slow dance alone
with no one to the sound of four hands clapping.
Congratulations
to you both, I hope somewhere you're happy.
If there's a moral
to this story, then I wish you'd show me.

Hair in the blood, fly in the disappointment.
Rubber, I'm glue. I'll write the book on you.
It's sticking to my face.
You need a little less than what you take for granted.
This is the sip that's drinking back from you,
blacking out your eyes.

You need a little more suppression of you appetites.
This is your honeymoon, in separate rooms,
it's neither sweet nor bright.

I got this dress.
I'm hiking it around this waste of laughter.
Slow dance alone
with no one to the sound of four hands clapping.
Congratulations
to you both, I hope somewhere you're happy.
If there's a moral
to this story, then I wish you'd show me.

I made a word
to give this state a name, this game a guess.
I call it "sluttering."
It means as little as your little test.
You are your
worst revenge. Your very means, they have no ends.
This is a story
you won't tell the kids we'll never have.

If you hear this song a hundred times it still won't be enough.
If you hear this song a hundred times it still won't be enough.
If you hear this song a hundred times it still won't be enough.
If you hear this song a hundred times it still won't be enough.

Chapters closed on that one for good.

You warrant cowardice, your own actions and lack of discretion speak volumes of your intentions and so called "feelings".

I'll never waste another night studying my ceiling on you ever again.

Good night, good luck, good riddance.