asshatbrigade

Be gentle babe, let me down easy, let me down slow as the worst kind of addict. I know I have ice water veins, I know I have a comatose heart but girl you wake me up nice and warm like a house fire. I cough and sputter and nearly suffocate but I'm just trying to make it out alive. I think you know, love, of the divine -- I'm not talking god, I'm talking something primal, something so basic it neither needs nor wants words, something works its way into your every gesture and I'm not calling it god; I like it more than that and I wouldn't dream of putting it in a book.

when poets love poets words are bought and sold cheaply but to great effect. As affectations go you and I travel far on frail new-phoenix wings. But our ash is so much a part of us. Pompei. Vesuvius. potential destinations but in a way we are already there.

The goal of all I know is to grow and seed like pines -- to find oneself inside a shell and find oneself encased in spines, a cone of all we know lying in the dirt. Then we burst toward light and fight to be rid of this case we fought so hard to stay within.

The distance between you and I is like all the oil spills in every ocean; I want to set it all on fire and watch it burn so brightly, not caring who or what is harmed by the process. I could shove twelve needles into each eyelid and still find it easier to close them than when I am looking at you looking at me. I cannot capture you in words any better than you can capture me in your camera. We can each only touch our respective screens so many times not feeling flesh before we stop touching. My fingers will be bloody but I will smear them against the screen one extra time, just in case. I am a fool in all things equally,

I am rather what I am when I am. All the sunlight in the world casts as many shadows; mine is but one.

We are all brothers and sisters in pain mine has been both sharp cuts and a hollow longing. yours may be different. yours is the same. we each walk on two legs breathing with the bellows of our lungs. our eyes are furnaces in various states of disrepair. in some the coals are glowing, red and alive, some are grey and ashen, but each was once a furnace. When I dream I have wings they are white and beautiful. but I wake with dirt on my face. I am proud and noble; I am cold stone, each in turn. a lame messiah. a lovely judas. my feet are your feet. they walk on stones and sand, kicking up dust, forming tiny footprints that w

A bit of honesty never hurt anyone said the liar, cracked lips smiling a crooked smile, face like dried fruit.

I love my friends. They are all pretty people& only friends with pretty people& they love me likewise but I am the image of vanity and also uncertainty; I do not want new friends but I do want someone to love me when I am ugly.

You are what you eat. I wish I was a better person but cannot find any. moreover my stomach is not that large& I do not wish to be incomplete.