But is it Spooky?

Reading old blog posts that I forgot about from seven years ago is my special way of making myself cringe like a fist that took more than half a decade to hit my stomach oh the run-on sentences punctuation and bland attempts at humor oh they really really really really turn the stomach as if I'm supposed to gleam anything meaningful from such complete drivel nothing more than the emptied stomach should have been i misquoted never there are no words to make wrong or yank out of context nothing meaningful to annotate or record save for the meandering thoughts so ineptly shot out of the shit cannon that is my mouth so be grateful for anonymity bask in the glow of superficial lights that make the countenance on such an ugly face so pleasing to the eye in it's low lights every girl can look like a fucking model with the lights off lest we forget forget i'm just circling the drain a part of a dying breed the poor straight white boy blues how they inexplicably ring out the dawn as the victim parade marches on the predator and prey on display hand in hand praising the constant downpour i don't feel marginalized it was just a game i played and i shouldn't feel anything special i just want to praise the constant downpour as well it sucks i just hate getting wet

My cat.

My crew.

Fuck you.

2015

Constance From Connecticut

Constance from Connecticut showed me more than a few things, a Summer spent thinking it over and cursing your bad luck oh Constance why won't you just show me everything? Tempted and impatient with waiting. Waiting for fucking ever, waiting for a sign, waiting until the eager east coast daughter led me like a lamb to the slaughter. 

Constance constantly creating chaos.

 What is it about a dick that drives you so crazy? Why am I so scared to show you mine? Every time you throw your pale arms around me I feel a shift in my insides. Once I reach inside of you... back from the present to make the decisions right well...

My heart shifts two inches to the right... blood everywhere... what a fucking disaster, Constance. 

Four Years of Bullshit

I am keeping track of time.

Former Cheerleader (Loss)

We'll just be shuffled about according to the developers' will. Forever spent wanting and not having no matter how many times I have savored a final cigarette the black hole of desire still eating away at me. 30 years have passed and really it's just figure eights every eight to ten years, we look back with mooney eyed nostalgia and pay tribute to days past to decades we skipped past running mostly on our heels our soles concur. Would you have married me? Would it have been better if we were born earlier I wish we could have worshiped Snapcase and The Rentals instead of Best Coast and Ariel Pink... Collectively wasting days though I couldn't say so with much authority just indulging in fantasy lives leading me to the conclusion that the ideas are more worth it than the trouble of putting them to work. I guess I'll always fucking hate you for denying me closure and when I said you were a part of me I guess I meant like a cancer, a lazy fucking cancer that will forever eat at me...

...but really I never tried to find a cure anyway....

52 Day Tally

Poverty architects busily drawing up new blueprints. Support us with lies and reassurance as if the blind leading the blind is how we like being defined. I used to be so strong or so I thought, my head could stay high despite the unseen weight upon my shoulders. I thought I was so fucking cool a drink in my hand laughing oh laughing cause laughing at myself is the only way to soften the blow. Poverty architects placing winners and losers in diagrams drawing lines from point A to point B, you think you have control? Doesn't take a first step to realize that we aren't changing shit, doesn't take rehab to realize we can't control a fucking thing... cause that's what the poverty architects told us one by one sending the message down the pecking order. Take my power from me and place it into nothing but fluff and wishful thinking... makes it feel okay to die... makes it feel okay to be sad knowing nothing was really ever my fault just the bastard inside of me who couldn't possible control himself.

Poor Attempts At Remembering Our Dreams

Let's be honest nobody will appreciate this, ignored and rebuked oh lovely hands so faultless but cracking with arthritic pain it's the noon lite spirited refrain inside of our heads, like the time we just got drunk at your ex-girlfriend's house, not a sound was made as we slept on the floor thinking that maybe it could be this okay all the time without you dire dire people I miss drinking in the suburbs not worrying about having to share my smokes with anyone I don't know... I don't care... It's over give up we'll never even make 40 a year we might as well disappear and I don't give a fuck what they say we will only ever sleep in the houses we wish we owned... I know it's not for me to be pressed down to the grindstone then why the fuck am I still here? You spend Sundays driving through suburbs dreaming of a perfect family to fill it with, sleeping in your father's house what is truly yours is truly his and I can't help but scrape open my eyes after hours of uninspired sleep and feel a complete lack of enthusiasm as they pack our sore bodies into cities to get shuffled around as the developers see fit... I can't help but sorely think I never slept in your father's house... so am I really nothing without you? Oh when will it all end?

My Own and Very

It could be total fucking bliss! White spit metal taste in my mouth and I'm so dumb but so happy to be so cool man so fucked up so chill and open to trying new things (blessed and fucked up eyes glazed red and tired looking older just for today)... We slow down but we don't sleep and that's okay because I stopped dreaming anyways, such a tired tirade today I took a quick fix to a better day... Photos were taken and people were arrested I don't know why I'm even here, trust fall forever word vomit we never want to shut up ever again I've saved up these words for weeks I'll let them out I'll let them pour right out of me

The flesh permanently denied... I am the exact definition of falling fucking short