Copper Bebes And Tree Frogs: Theory, Snow and Spiders

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Theory, Snow and Spiders

This morning I resolved to do at least half of my homework, this including Theory, English, and History.

This afternoon I resolved never to take another theory class in my life.

Earlier this morning I woke up to two fresh inches and still pouring of snow.

On spirng break.

What's with that?

It should be skirts/t-shirts weather!

I don't care if I've said that before!

It should be!!

In response to an email I got from a friend I typed up a heartfelt [and quite lengthy] response.

Shortly after, a small spider scuttled across my keyboard.

As I went to scoot him away from my keys, I somehow hit a key.

When I looked up to finish my response, it was ALL gone.

That was fun.

And vexing.

And moronic of me.

So now I'm angry.

If you couldn't tell by the spacing.

I am so done for today!

Cheers.

If you're lucky.

No comments:

Puce Cloud Sun Burst

Clouds are the enigma of my mind.
Welcome to my world.
I know you think you're right.
But I also know you're quite wrong.

Broken bones, sticks and stones,
I wonder who that could have been.
Here we are again.
Playing the same war game.

Subtitles to my life would be nice.
It's as foreign as any film.
Maybe then it would all make sense.
But just because it has words does mean it will.

Normal, accepted, average, mean.
What I portray isn't really what I am.
Apparently.
Or so I'm told.

Distinguished doesn't really mean anything.
It's what you'd like to see in me.
I really have no concern to be.
I suppose stop hoping so high.

You're talking to yourself again.
Are you aware of that?
Sometimes.
Usually not unless you point it out to me though.

My walls are up.
My fences down.
Go ahead.
And watch me drown.

What you don't understand is.
Cutting is fun to me.
Running and cutting have the same effect.
Generally one is more accepted.

It's the same kind of hurt.
It's the same release of chemistry.
It's the same effect.
But cutting still leaves me empty.

That only leads to more cutting.
Endorphins are the body's natural drugs.
I hate making everyone else sad.
It only makes me feel guiltier.

Muscle strands that snap like gak.
Bones that crunch under impact.
Tissue that melts under the burning sun.
Isn't running so much fun?

Yellow Otter Heart Strings

My world has turned to shades of gray.
You already knew that though.
I'm glad gray is my favorite color.
Or shade.

Sunshine rots the grass.
Leaves slime in its place.
With the muck comes the goo.
And the goo brings along ooze.

Run, run to the zoo.
Here comes the red caboose.
Someone else knows how I feel.
There are reasons for for my friends.

Don't judge me by that.
You can if you must.
But you'll be wrong.
I can't help it if you do.

My numbness inside seems cliche.
But that's the reality of this scenario.
So I suppose I'll be done and go to bed.
Let's see if I can count the tears please.

-MBlack

Red Cricket Wing Span

I heard the traffic this morning.
Outside my window.
At four 'o' clock.
Twelve miles away.

The only things I hear are distant.
Muffled.
Supressed.
Remote.

I stayed up all night to cry.
Or I cried all night to stay up.
A figurative ice crawls under my literal skin.
A literal ice climbs into my figurative skin.

I said I'd understand.
And in logic I do.
But I don't see how it pertains.
To me and you.

All that once was.
Might be dead?
You say we're still friends.
But what's the difference?

You still want to hang out.
Which I don't understand.
Because how would that compare?
Isn't that still the same?

I just tried to call.
I should be proud of myself.
I got through the first forty seconds all by myself.
And then I broke back to tears.

I was stepping in front of an inattentive driver.
Today at the cross walk.
It seemed logical.
Maybe then I'd be over you.

Or something close to it.
Why am I asking you to pity me?
I'm not.
But the tears make me look like I am.

I just miss you.
That's all.
Other than that.
I had no reason to call.

The only songs in the world are love songs.
At least the ones in my head.
Maybe not really.
But they all remind me of you.

And now they remind me that I don't have you.
Typical teen age heart break.
I'm sure you're done hearing this by now.
Likely awhile ago.

Dance in the hallways.
Strut down the aisle.
Prance down the stairway.
Bury me in my grief.

My tears are saltier than the ocean.
Probably more numerous.
Ocean tears.
That's a new one.

Now I'm just rambling.
Because I haven't gone six minutes without tears.
Tears in my heart.
And tears from my eyes.

Love makes the world go around.
I don't know what made me stop.
From being plastered all over the road.
Probably because it wasn't certain death.

I hate crying in public.
It's never pretty.
Everybody brings out their sad faces and hugs.
It's stupid.

If I'm going to get attention.
I don't want it to be because.
I'm bawling.
And ruining my makeup.

Yesterday things were great.
Better than they had been in some time.
Then that happened.
And our world went to hell.

I suppose I'm done now.
With this any way.
As for the tears.
I will drown in them.

Who said you have to be submersed to drown.
And who said that I didn't love you?
You should know that I always will.
Forever and back again.

-MBlack

Black Hole Phenomenon

The demons in my head have come out to play.
There is now a small X burning where my navel used to be.
The soles of my feet are bloodied from rage.
The skin of my hands has eroded.

My eyes have cried all that they will.
New cuts that pass for old.
Not where I'd like them to be.
But we can't let everybody wonder.

My heart is a mass of shredded junk.
It's useless.
There's no point to it.
Of course I say that now.
Not meaning what I say at all.

Sharp objects would love to be my friends.
Yet I say "No" again, and again.
Or at least I used to.
Does this make me emo again?

Nonsense Disaster.
You'd love to be.
I'd love to be.
I'm sorry for all the dumb stuff that I say.

The dumb things I do are worse.
Sorry for those too.
My muscles are tight from undue tension.
I suppose I should stop taking things so seriously?

Red zebra stripes.
I wish I had so much time.
My normal facade is wearing thin.
What do I do when it's gone?

Sometimes I wish GPSs could locate a broken mind.
I wish, I wish, on this rotten fish.
Let my blood run freely.
I have no problem with that.

Consider it a courtesy call.
Reminding me to stop thinking for myself.
Wilted flowers make the best bouquets.
The pugnacity wreaks like the obliviously dead.

My compunctions are unsound.
Maybe I just don't have enough fluids in my brain.
Maybe I'm broken more than I thought.
Hopefully I'm just being stupid.

Tears don't show in the night.
Unless they're lit by moonlight.
I lied about not crying anymore.
For this I wear red lipstick to sleep.

-MBlack

Green Lemur Denial

Here comes the Sand Man.
Come to take your heart.
Frost the windows with ice.
Rave through the night.

Things you think you see.
Things I know I do.
In the land where tears don't sting
Or shred apart my face as they fall.

The sun will not set.
The moon stays all day.
The trees start to fall.
One by two.
The sky gets dark.

At least to me.
The ice inside makes the sky seem black.
Even though I know it's a clear blue.
I suppose we could talk this out.

But I need my space right now.
I don't care if you're hurt.
I'm dead inside.
That shouldn't be so bad.

It wouldn't be were I as well.
You ask why, and maybe what's wrong.
I'm fine with not telling you right now.

Great.
Here comes rain.

-MBlack

Orange Beetle Wind Chime

Red roses wilted from rain.
Here comes lightning.
Thunder I hear.
Grey is the sky.

The once blue abyss.
Ice forms the fear.
We used to laugh at.
Snapped line.
Soggy grass.

Shattered soap shards.
Scum the wet floor.
Shavings of everglade.
Chunks of wet snow.

Alligators, crocodiles, panda bear claws.
Shark smile, green bile, you'd love to ignore.
Hail storm.
Flash flood.

Desert happy heat.
Yellow pansy.
Purple duck.
Cards front and back.

Queen of spades.
King of clubs.
Look.
It's all gone black.

Think your way out of this maze.
Then you might be seen.
Talent search.
Broken birch.

No. You'll never be.

-MBlack

Pink Leopard Tree Sap

We talked again.
It didn't do much.
I didn't think it would.
You're wasting your time.

Being awkward.
Will it be like this forever?
Or just this week?
Last week was better.

Maybe that's the trend.
I'm tired of fighting.
When will this be done?
For reals.

Not the "I'm done" after dinner.
It's more than just that.
You thought I said this.
When I really said that.

Try to be clear.
You're coming in hazy.
More than London Town.
On a foggy day.

My Hyde Park is your dream to be.
I guess this is it?
I'm over it.
Have been for weeks.

Not really.
But I guess if you think.
That we might be neutral.
Again.

What's with this?
Fridays.
Mondays.
Thursdays.

Tuesdays as well?
Fine.
I'll do it.
That doesn't make me.

Feel better about you.
Bleed out your thoughts.
You don't get nosebleeds.
At night.

-MBlack

Black Parrot Thumbtack

Bleeding trees.
It's time for me.
I'm done with you.
My life is my own.

It's not that we're over.
It's more that our "we" is no more.
Don't be confused by the way I glare at you.
It doesn't really mean anything.

Just because I eat my pizza cold doesn't mean you have to be a jerk about everything.
You don't even have to be a jerk about somethings.
You beat me at some things, I kicked you at others.

We're even now.
Ooze out your anger like the bug ridden amber.
Don't be what you want to be.
That would be cliche.

Be more what I want you to be.
No thanks. I'll do it my way.
Life's more grey than you think.
Stop looking for silver.

Aluminum is shiny too.
Hello night time.
Closed eyes make the best dreams.

-MBlack

Blue Zebra Heart Break

My Scabs are peeling.
I don't really care.
Head spinning, feet reeling.
You wouldn't dare.

Manic depressive means.
Nothing to me.
It's what I can feel.
It's what you can't see.

Write, write, write.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
I thought this was real.
Not form.

An open wound.
You salt readily.
I don't care what you say.
Someday I'll be free.

26 36 46 10.
Blank mind.
Blank head.
Blank over again.

You're better than me.
But what does that show.
You don't understand
What I say.

My syntax.
Diction.
Vernacular.
Form.

Are different than yours.
Don't ask my interpreter.
Think for yourself.
It's more than.

Not hearing.
Stop choosing for me.
I'm sorry you don't
Speak the way that I do.

I can put on my dark glasses.
But they don't hide
The tears in my voice.

-MBlack

Copper Bebes And Tree Frogs

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Theory, Snow and Spiders

No comments:

Post a Comment

Blog Archive

About Me

Black Bloody Mess