Blogs?

My heart is heavy.

because I seem to face door after door.

and so on my phone I wrote a note; and everyone eclectic thinks their stuff is new or fascinating.

Somehow;

I've lost touch with everything despite my vast amounts of ways to be able to contact people.

So here I am;

There are no words that could completely describe how stupid,silly I feel.

and thank god for crypticism.

I have to decipher my own code sometimes and right about now I just have to take the swing and swing it again. I want to cry again... and keep punching things in the face.

I always dreamed I could tear my face off.. and something beautiful would emerge.

because I have not felt anything except ugly.. or sad lately.

I keep getting rejected.

and rejecting myself... and putting idiot things into my priority list.

and and and and.

My tongue becomes thick and all im left is with the same old musings and lyrics that float in the air like bubbles..

i Promise me you'll stay beyond the sunrise

I don't care at all what people say beyond the sunrise

It doesnt seem to happen it just seems to blow up in my face.

who the fuck am I?

because I havent

How do I feel?
How do I feel when the moon is so full and blue that all I can do is gaze over the steel buildings and wish I didnt have these thoughts.

Like liquid pouring its way into my memories and lacing its ink through my finger tips
tapping on keys so quietly that even the softest gasp wouldnt' wake the night

like skin;
sweet skin that compresses and tightens each bud of fingertips memorizing the contours of what was once there
and still like every grace of its presents hip bones that arch in need;
lips;
sweet sounds that reverberate throughout tongue in cheek and bittersweet exhales that leave only one to wonder what will become of one in one night.

eyes;
gazing so sullenly outwardly at a world that rotates even as one's breath is haulted.
lest i forget the ache that penetrates dreams each night
swirling and festering in a cauldron of smoke,mirrors and thoughts.

let the dreaming begin
let it seep
and though the longing is there;
let it grow and mutate if it wants to so that each step will be as uncomfortable as the first.

Baby steps;
into a guiltless world where there are no words
just taste
there are no explanations
just gasps
no if's
only whimpers

may each hold proceed another gripping finger tips that reach out and snap back as quickly as they appeared.
only to fall into a lap curiously/anxiously/uncomfortably.
and await another day of quiet prayer.