I wrote this while seeing how long I could stay awake after a triple dose of Niquil...
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A night Quilt.
A babies raddle riddled with shapes and simitary-
Part of a matyr ... for hire, of course.
A million ways to end.
I ended up, face down, where I began.
Ill monsters staring down at me, making themselves sick from vomit, with vomit to spare.
I take showers to piss upon myself with a quick clean up after being washed down the drain.
"Write about rambling!," I ordered.
I wait. I pause.
I complied.
I lie and then lay awake.
Frequent is the brisk and chilly night air. This happens as smoke stacks up inside of my internal organs. [Then I say hello to the hollow piano while howls at me and I mumble back some terrible love song, or the next]
I'll leave my first born to you... I'm sure He'd hate me anyways and wish to be thrown away, if in fact I made him stay.
I'll soon forget and find comfort in dirty sheets and brown bedding.
Sweat stains.
I woke up much too late and assigned meanings to fake metaphors. I called them all by their first names. I heard insects calling my land line telephone off the hook. I wish to take advice and 'Spin Around'... I decided to dance and act in front of a crowd of angry women with big bright eyes, all ovulating at the same time.
I have poor grammer, and I'm sure I spell things wrong all the time. I think it's cute. I'm sure most others would not agree.
[How do you love?]
My hand looks a bit too small and the plant is waving goodnight. Niquil showing signs of life where it should not be found. Eyes becoming dry and heavy from gravity, probably. A night quilt.
[I'll write until you love me ]
[Love me until you sleep. ]
[I'll be good until you find me. ]
[Find me when I'm writing. ]
[I'll write until you love me... ]
over and over and over and over and over and over and over again and again
Offer me a drink. Something on the rocks. A shot of bottom shelf liquor, just for looks. Take advantage of me when I'm good and drunk. Please. Honest.. . Try and show me the thing that real boys tend to think of all too often. I'm stuck in this shallow corner with bad lighting during a thunder storm on X-mas eve. You're gone for the summer, you say? When will life blink?
Old ghost took over the tape recorder and spoke backwords about a back woods living. I drew a bath. And a tree. and blood on lined paper... paper cuts, you know?
An ugly bird yells in the distance.
You told me he was singing for me.
I was impressed at how gross the thought was.
"They should be sleeping," I said, in rebuttle.
"It's probably a god damned vampire..." I continued after a silent glare you gave to me.
I was meaning to say bat, but I wasn't thinking.
"I'm sorry," I finally confessed.
I'm sorry I tried to stick up for myself, you know?
No parents intentionally raise quitters... that's just another let down my parents have had to face.
My mother hates my posture.
And I told her, "Lonly is different than being alone,"
after she said, "No wonder you're lonely, look at the way you present yourself..."
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