Not If, When.

Purple paints and ticking clocks.

Are not enough to satisfy even the most practical of minds because

I'm young and dumb but eye have Is and

I've sensed the roots of recklessness.

Outstretching oceans with high tides,

and handsome men with low slung guns.

Stories that make movies look anticlimactic,

bundles of lazy days with plot twisted endings,

moments that make you reconsider that self pity that stays locked away.

 I blur my eyes and cross them a bit but then all I see is purple paint so I

Sigh

For now.

Glass Wall

I possess patience and compassion and integrity and sometimes hope and fingers.

Fingers that could entwine.

And maybe this isn't the time or the place, but I'm moving the hands on this clock.

And maybe I like to say maybe because it's better than no.

I'm standing, swimming, singing, sleeping, sighing, sitting...

And I'm living.

And You're living.

Obviously we already have more than enough in common.

But there's a truth that needs telling,

a fact that needs facing.

All we should have done is written in tear stains on your bedroom floor.

Adolescent Crisises

Take

Your

Pick

But what if this isn't your path?

And what if that's not it either?

Where's the go back ten years option?

soyoutapyourpencilagainstthedeskandmakeadesperatefacetoyourfriendbutshe'sdonealreadysoyousuckitupandscribbleitin

Ready, set, go.

Pettiness is a thing of the past.

Flip The Switch

I can hide behind my books and music and writing and

God-

-knows

-what

-else

I pour myself into when yellow is brown and purple is black.


But suddenly there are no more pages,

and the song ends,

and the ink runs out.

And then I'm right back wearing my red dress and black shoes,

and serenity is closer than I ever imagined it could dwell.

Because you can't run from your own scrutiny

your own arrogance

your own insecurities,

your own imperfections,

When you belong inside your own skin.

Old Habits Die Hard

Petal...

plucker?puller?mutilator?

Cushioned by the stems of those who didn't foot the bill.

I twist slowly,

my fingers anticipating.

Now faster,

the desired is approaching.

But my lack of...

patience?coordination?luck?

seems to overcome

ever

y

time.

That's just my pessimism talking again,

The perfect...

apple?flower?word?

is still intact.

Can we get a repair guy in here? The damn play button is jammed again.

Gold and

Green and

Ice

bring forth thoughts,

still swirling without resolve.

Ten plus

Fourteen divided by

Two months back.

Again

Again

Once more

Again

Repeat

Alright, it's been established!

The point is lucid.

I'm kaput.

Spare Key(s)

Maybe we'll just lock the door

And then throw the key into the abyss of my worst recollections.

Disintegrating, soon unrecognizable and unable to function.

It would be impossible...

And too unbearable...

To save it.

But wool is not easily pulled,

Over your own two eyes...

Unrealistic,

Dis-pic-able,

Or so they say.

Because in my top left drawer...

No, actually the bottom right shelf...

Shamefully, both...

Oh, so predictable.