lifebrokeit (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} lifebrokeit) wrote,@ 2006-01-09 23:40:00 |
|
i can take care of you, the way you'd like to feel. there is this song and there is this wine.
i want to paint houses on maps and then live in the windows of them like fungus growing hidden and present.
i don't know.
everything is blurry and then there is the sky and her mouth is open and her jaw is locked and i don't know whether to be content with that or sad because she's pretending to breathe but her starry teeth are locked uncomfortably tight.
i wish i had rosemary and gardens to house my new gnome. i wish i had lengths to cross and places to go, but i only have flat days and guilty moments.
i am avoiding talking about the things that are important right now, because they are too honest and gut me like a wriggling fish, hooked right into the gill and through the spirit of me.
i am so lonely and i like the twang of this music pumping ink drilled into a poor christianman's soul, his forearm. when you said christians get the most tattoos, i knew what you meant.
i am still here, even though i feel like i've left and done something with all of this time.
there you are. it is in the song. it is in the song, and i came back to write that beside there you are.
dramatic and poetry.
here it is: i cannot keep you, but i would have you every moment that is shut off to feeling.
something is ruined with the next song, it's too fierce and ankle deep. i thought i was through with writing, so i quit, but here i am again. staring at a blank page and smoking a cigarette that is turning my head back around and through the original thought. i am now looking at a picture of the girl i wish i was: silenced, hemming up loose seams that are too open to sew shut. i am all metaphors tonight because i can't convey what it is that brings me back to the wine and the wounds.
this music brings me back to a place that i once sought as home, but nothing is home, nowhere is home. i added syllables and lyricism to that sentence but kept deleting the words because they weren't true. laughter, i miss you.
are things coming to me or am i contriving them because i am needing something to fill my blood with movement? i am so distracted by what i thought was destination, but it is ever-changing and doesn't complete the want. nothing is making sense but this song.
push push push it away. this is not to you, reader: i keep saying, sorry baby for hurting your health but my health is so far away from what is accepted. i am concerned only with myself. i think it's because of the smoke eating you, but it's not, it's really only my inability to stop from trying to feel imprisoned.
i confronted that last statement 25 minutes after i wrote it and it didn't feel totally like it was meant. i am keeping this journal open so that i can write down thoughts as they happen, but all i can think is that this song by ryan adams makes me feel him here again.
perhaps i shouldn't be so dramatic, but i am. so can i stop? when i am really drunk, on happiness or on wine, i stare at the same two scratches on my wall in my bathroom and try to figure out why everytime i am drunk on happiness or on wine i stare at them. maybe it is because they came when i didn't know they would come and everyhting else is so calculated and thought about like trying to escape.
i want the people that i know to feel how i care about them. like my coworker, who would be just a coworker but when i think about her i am connected and wiser than this.
across the icy lake...reminds me of serendipity and why things occur in magic timing. i keep praying because when the thing i pray to answers, it answers in this timing that says: i was here when you were away from time and you didn't fully believe in me. is it myself? so many questions coming. smoke another cigarette and do not keep your regret. i changed the song because it was so felt.
i was really sick the other night, i just kept making myself throw up in my trashcan until i couldn't acknowledge my lungs any longer. they were hurt and internal bonding. i said that if i made it out ok i would never drink again, but here i am again tonight drinking and smoking and killing my hopes and well-being. it's ok.
school was unmerciful. i kept walking in circles and touching the walls to feel something more tangible than my senses.
i want to paint houses on maps and then live in the windows of them like fungus growing hidden and present.
i don't know.
everything is blurry and then there is the sky and her mouth is open and her jaw is locked and i don't know whether to be content with that or sad because she's pretending to breathe but her starry teeth are locked uncomfortably tight.
i wish i had rosemary and gardens to house my new gnome. i wish i had lengths to cross and places to go, but i only have flat days and guilty moments.
i am avoiding talking about the things that are important right now, because they are too honest and gut me like a wriggling fish, hooked right into the gill and through the spirit of me.
i am so lonely and i like the twang of this music pumping ink drilled into a poor christianman's soul, his forearm. when you said christians get the most tattoos, i knew what you meant.
i am still here, even though i feel like i've left and done something with all of this time.
there you are. it is in the song. it is in the song, and i came back to write that beside there you are.
dramatic and poetry.
here it is: i cannot keep you, but i would have you every moment that is shut off to feeling.
something is ruined with the next song, it's too fierce and ankle deep. i thought i was through with writing, so i quit, but here i am again. staring at a blank page and smoking a cigarette that is turning my head back around and through the original thought. i am now looking at a picture of the girl i wish i was: silenced, hemming up loose seams that are too open to sew shut. i am all metaphors tonight because i can't convey what it is that brings me back to the wine and the wounds.
this music brings me back to a place that i once sought as home, but nothing is home, nowhere is home. i added syllables and lyricism to that sentence but kept deleting the words because they weren't true. laughter, i miss you.
are things coming to me or am i contriving them because i am needing something to fill my blood with movement? i am so distracted by what i thought was destination, but it is ever-changing and doesn't complete the want. nothing is making sense but this song.
push push push it away. this is not to you, reader: i keep saying, sorry baby for hurting your health but my health is so far away from what is accepted. i am concerned only with myself. i think it's because of the smoke eating you, but it's not, it's really only my inability to stop from trying to feel imprisoned.
i confronted that last statement 25 minutes after i wrote it and it didn't feel totally like it was meant. i am keeping this journal open so that i can write down thoughts as they happen, but all i can think is that this song by ryan adams makes me feel him here again.
perhaps i shouldn't be so dramatic, but i am. so can i stop? when i am really drunk, on happiness or on wine, i stare at the same two scratches on my wall in my bathroom and try to figure out why everytime i am drunk on happiness or on wine i stare at them. maybe it is because they came when i didn't know they would come and everyhting else is so calculated and thought about like trying to escape.
i want the people that i know to feel how i care about them. like my coworker, who would be just a coworker but when i think about her i am connected and wiser than this.
across the icy lake...reminds me of serendipity and why things occur in magic timing. i keep praying because when the thing i pray to answers, it answers in this timing that says: i was here when you were away from time and you didn't fully believe in me. is it myself? so many questions coming. smoke another cigarette and do not keep your regret. i changed the song because it was so felt.
i was really sick the other night, i just kept making myself throw up in my trashcan until i couldn't acknowledge my lungs any longer. they were hurt and internal bonding. i said that if i made it out ok i would never drink again, but here i am again tonight drinking and smoking and killing my hopes and well-being. it's ok.
school was unmerciful. i kept walking in circles and touching the walls to feel something more tangible than my senses.
