my conscious and i can out-talk david mamet

life as of late: "usually i like to get kissed before i feel fucked".

i place my bets on stars that are probably already burned out.

i fistfight the keyboard when i think of how things turned out.

bury me now, we'll figure out the rest later.

me versus myself.
i know that at some point the right words are gonna come to me.
that they are just going to spill out.
thats the only reason i still sit in these darkened rooms in front of blank screens.
i know deep down we can make ourselves bright.
we can shine.

my moods shape shift, they are magnets on a compass.
leaving the arrow spinning if it gets too close.
i hadnt been smiling or speaking up as much as i used to.
i have felt ugly on the inside and no matter what anyone says or does its the only thing going in my ears.
except whats the point.
whats the point of making it through unscathed?
the whole point of this is catharsis.
the whole plan is to get better.
to do the math.
to figure this all out.
to be ok.
to be ok with being ok.

us vs. the house - i kind of love the odds.

its almost a new shade under those lashes.
i am perplexingly optimistic.
its almost got me losing my head.
dodging flights.
words are like teeth.
only three places they can go...
flashed in smiles, rotted out, or spit out in fistfights.
not too sure how these end up.
we are becoming who we are meant to be.
we are becoming who we were.
time passes like bottles between them.
letting my self just float.
just feel ok.
being happy doesnt mean you are unauthentic.
breathing life is alright.
in doses you know.
i love life in 24 hour increments.
noone gets how my head feels when i lie sideways on pillows.
but noone gets anyone. so who cares?

listening to life on mars by bowie.
just snoozin.

the inside of my head is out breath from all of this jumping here and there.
sometimes love is the only thing we can call our own.

"ive been shooting up your perfume..."