corporatetoad

do things change? swallow cool liquid, burning stomach. eyes close. that moment, where none of this matters. where, suddenly, you are not you. head and hands float. suddenly, you are finally real, a vision, that what you were, is gone. you are new. you smile, awkward, he turns away. you sit there in the dark, you know. watch, as he finds someone to go home with. better than nothing, he said, laughs. but you, you don't know how to talk. despite every drink, you are still you. so you stumble home. no matter how hard you try you will forever be this person, you never wanted.

I cannot sleep and I cannot read and I cannot call for help. this has nothing to do with me, anymore, than it ever has. Time starts slowing down: breath. I regret- my skin is not thick enough, because I have become dull, smooth at the edge. It is all so strange Is shock therapeutic? She died by her own hands. I meet her lovers I sleep with them as punishment or reward. Today I stand, against the bathroom sink: with open veins. It is only this moment that matters, it will come again- vindictive. yes, it is me - the one who sleeps around. But I loved harder. And I know the way I am: disposable pencils, scar tiss

The devil bent my ear today. What begins, must end, he whispered. A recluse - A fresh wound (again) Moments like these, I remember: Scared to death to sleep, or lack there of- Running on empty. Feel alive! One moment, and the next Unable to move, limbs tied down. This white bed, breath heavy. Recording this moment To be filled, by my own emptiness. "Things have changed, this landscape. It's all different." I was deceived. I was lured from the pond, I am wandering aimlessly, numbed by the contrast of life until I cannot take it anymore. I sidestep that ledge. it is only this moment that matters, it will come again- Vindic

we were sick, too poor to visit a doctor.  it didnt matter. sleeping all day in your bed, aching. we woke late, drank coffee, smoked, ate fried plantains, laughing at spanish soaps. we walked at midnight on the old, dark road the moon lit our way, it was good enough we talked, music and painting. we made art for money - i cant remember what; we smoked more. we loved you were ahead, leading the way i watched where you stepped, my hand on the damp stone wall, sticky ladder, decaying hay. hastily, we made love on the blanket. you said you were moving to NYC, my heart broke. a year later you called, we talked ove

burns & burns this kind of love, hurt? a crack? a flaw? a building, siding rotting paint peeling. a small discrepancy in the story. you tell her "this is not a test." She's been here before, forgotten names, forgotten reasons. On the ledge, looking down, looking for a reason. "You know," he said, "You look beautiful today." So, she smiled, knowing that it was a lie. So, she slept with him. "Has anyone told you?"