Let's Paint

Rain.

I have no intelligence, but I have the capacity for brilliance.
I'm beginning to trust a shadow.
I do what I want,
two people sit across at the coffeeshop
They met a few days ago
And they are hopelessly, flawlessly, relentlessly
trapped in their own bodies.
They can hold each other
Let bits of philosophy bubble up
to the surface, their minds.
But no matter
The white of knuckles
No matter
The length of stares
No matter
The cigarettes, the minutes lit to kill
They will leave
to their own hell
at the end of
the night.

Don't try, loved one. You are trapped, always always trapped. Always stuck between the everpresent thoughts of death: that feeling, that case? That tiny place in eternity that was set aside, a bit of hellish flames and clear ponds. Trap me here. No, rip open my lungs with bare hands, slice my veins, pour my blood onto the sidewalk. Get that out. Gut me. Take my brain out and smash it against the hood of your car. Kiss bloody lips. Do not die. Set me free. Nothing more.

I feel like this:

like the graphic. That is how my mind feels.

I stare into my friends' eyes because I don't know what else to do. I wonder if I love anyone, or if I could ever be a good person, or if that even matters, and if it doesn't, what does? WHY DO YOU COMPARE. Quit it. Quit it. Quit it. Quit trying to feel special, and acknowledge that you are. It doesn't need to be proved to you. It's just a little shirt that needs to be ironed out, and you will be alright. I come home late, my hair smells like the road, sometimes my fingers smell like smoke. I don't care. I think I love my mind so much that I can't even fall asleep. It's like I need to keep thinking. I miss my brother. I don't really miss anything else because I wasn't given anything else. I want to be smart, and I want to be driven. But I don't want to adhere to a societal standard just because it's there. There is a little bit of a person in me and hey, that is what I've got to work with. It's been formed and shaped. Now where do I go. My good glory lord. I need a tattoo, I need a big book about poems, about short stories. I need a big river, tomorrow I should go take a walk down by that pond. Go walk over by the railroad tracks, sit up there, read books, fuck the police. Who's a liar, who's not? Don't hate on people. Don't give them reasons to hate on you. Find the good things in life and fucking AMPLIFY them. Because life can inherently suck. It's up to you to get it together and make it better.








































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































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