Sunday, February 12, 2012

But You Don't Belong To Me

"I told her that she looked pretty,
she said it was just the sunrise burning the curtains.

She asked me what i wanted to do,
I said 'You.'
She laughed and lit a cigarette.

We put on our clothes and boots and drove to the lake.
The ice had mostly melted.
We sat looking at the starving fish. She asked what I thought the fish were thinking, I just took pictures of Her.

She asked me what was wrong, i shrugged and took pictures.
She asked again, i just stared at her and said 'nothing, i'm fine'
She looked at me and stepped onto the melting ice and asked me what was wrong, i asked for her to come back, she walked out farther, and farther and i kept begging for her to come back. i started walking towards her begging for her to come back, i could feel the ice cracking, she yelled 'not till you tell me what's wrong.'
I stared at her and said

'You. i can't stop thinking about you.'

She asked what i meant.

"I'm thinking about you like cars think about being crashed, and trees think about being cut down.
i'm thinking about you like houses and books think about being burned. like ice thinks about melting and like the sun thinks about setting.
i'm thinking about you like shirts think about being un-buttoned.
I'm thinking about you like hair thinks about being cut. like your father thinks about losing his job.
i'm thinking about you like love thinks about logic, like rhymes think about making sense. like whiskey thinks about being drank and drunks think about drinking.
I'm thinking about you like noses think about bleeding.
I'm thinking about you like the holes in our shoes think about wet pavement.
I'm thinking about you like the holes in your heart think about the ones who held the shovels.
I'm thinking about you like trains think about stopping.
and this train takes miles to stop.'

She stared at me.

'You look pretty.'

Then She told me she loved me, stepped back and fell into the water, i ran to the edge. but she had already gone under the ice.


Would you like to see the photos?










She looks pretty, doesn't she?"

Fingers


Trembling.

Monday, February 6, 2012

















"Whoever said it's worth it,
has NEVER
felt,
the way I do"
                   -Joshua James

The devil loves those that love.

Love is bullshit,it's hell, it's death.

Love is a GOOD woman sleeping with a dog.
It's dead weight on your sheets.
Love is torn off fingernails and dirty hands,
it's dragging a dead body from your car to your back yard.

Love is snakes with horns in a room with burnt out lightbulbs.

Love is over-rated, it's just tiny little rocks.
It's an anchor tied to your hot-air balloon.
It's a dead bird in your hands.

Love is God turning his back on you.
It's what pulls you closer and closer and closer to you
becoming some type of malignant spirit,
some thing that unmistakably resembles the devil.

Love is smoke breathing monsters that don't hide in your closet,
but hide in your bed.

Love is a black hole in the middle of you that sucks away everything it comes close to,
starting with your heart.

Love is magic carpets where naked blonde girls lay.

Love is empty bottles and cigarette butts, and beautiful brown hair, brown eyed shy girls who sit smoking and smiling and silent and just staring up at you as their head lays on your chest, nothing needs to be said, because love
                                                   is silent.