servechilled55

its not a booth like in the movies dark, with shiny wood and a window that is really just black wires like the crappy fence that runs between my neighbor's house and mine and just like i can see my neighbors through it you can see the man in the white through the gate that is just black wires although they never let that on in the movies. its really just a boring white room white ceilings that are as shiny as a bald man's head. i look at this stranger and he is bald too. i feel my own hair and it feels soft and smells too spicy for this room of baldness. the silence floats around but it's bald too. its wearing a toupee of re

the moments are for the stealing they don't stop for anybody floating like kings on white feather floats and i'm swimming in my insides as they turn inside out and evaporate into my eyes but the good news is i'm alone again closing my eyes to all that is swimming or floating or sinking or spinning around me a constallation spells your name in the stars that appear when i rub my eyes too hard and when everything else dissappears (including my discarded bottles with insecurities that never made it across the sea) you are quite beautiful.

the first boy i ever loved lives in a freezer in my heart it is a white room, walls covered with ice crystals he sits in there night and day hating where he is, shivering in the room but i know he wouldn't be happier anywhere else underneath the ice there is padding on the walls i don't know if he went crazy when he got in there or if he went in there because he was crazy. the blood doesn't pump there anymore but people say once it did as the empty veins run like old pipes hidden in the padded walls they are almost beautiful with blue rust and shimmering icicles.

he lived in her face, or so it seemed. his moods, whether warm, frightened, or furious seemed to be screened in her young features. today, while looking at her, i could tell that he was angry. it showed in the tightness of her jaw, the shadow in her blue eyes, and the shimmer on her eyes' pink rims. she was constantly in a battle to win back the strings to her own face, reaching for one string in public, trying to draw the corners of her mouth upward, toward all things good, the sky, angels. but he always held the strings. today he felt like tilting them to the left, and she was dragged along, not able to show her frusteration as the strings

i feel like i'm losing you slowly. and it makes me realize that i am just a cigarette dangling over an ashtray as everything inside me slowly glows orange before curling into itself and turning to black ash that will crumble at the first angry touch. some parts of me are still glowing though but maybe maybe i need to turn completely to ash just in case i'm a pheonix. maybe it is worth it to die for that rebirth that goes against every law of physics as my much too aggravated dust slowly forms around the air and is inhabited by a warm orange glow and maybe after a lot of practice i will grow into something a little bit

i started writing poems in eighth grade. i remember when i started writing my first poem. i was in the bathtub, with my head halfway underwater, and i thought something that made me sit up and say hey, that sounds nice. i dont remember what it was, but while my hair streaked out underwater around my floating head, my head inside was writing my first poem. after that, i got such a rush, that i started writing poems about everything that was going on in my life. of course in eighth grade i was very naive, and most of them were about liking older and rarely seen guys, and getting mad at my parents. (in other words most of them were horrible.) i

i open my mouth and the words spring out like vending machine soda bubbling all over and making a mess i bet if pop came alive one day it would feel quite bad about all that. and you stand wide eyed your feet cemented to the shifty floor until you bite your lip and turn on your heel and walk away. and here i was with nothing to say.

he stepped in and out of himself as if he were nothing more than blue and yellow tennis shoes i thought of this while i looked at him and then i looked down at my own feet my feet felt like they were swollen but my shoes were really just too small i looked up and i saw him looking at me i could see that gray that crept around the corners of his eyes when his mind was running and his muscles were tense i willed it to go away but i guess today just wasn't our day ps. screenshot = http://www.funstufdolls.com/porcelain_parts/brn_legs_tenshoes.jpg

words are climbing ladders in my dna time-released or maybe just divine intuition seeps into my circuits not just my brain everywhere in the resulting confusion those absenses of words make thin as air poetry that leaks through my pores i let it show. you let yours show too. and all is right with the world. ps screen shot = http://www.oceanviewsweets.com/images/hand-made-marshmallows.jpg

he never stepped on the cracks in the road he didn't know what would happen if he did probably nothing but maybe something. on rainy days there were puddles and occasionally they reflected rainbows stepping one one of those had to be bad karma. he said he always loved winter roads paved white with options. i always understood.