Too Self Aware to Really Say Much of Anything

Troubled skies are here to stay look upon the ashen grey eyes she looks like she is some devil's familiar heaping bodies upon the pyre with a pitchfork stoking the fire oh sadly she is nameless to my tongue bitter and angry I hope you feel it twice as bad for making me so sad but what's there to say not much of anything to say cause it all comes beaming right back toward me right in the center of my core hovering above the third eye...

Your Food Tastes Like Shit

Oh dust dust me off dust she said Dustin, I just want to pull your fucking cowboy hat down to your neck watch the head hit the wall and break open your pores you piece of shit the most violent girl I ever met swung a fist at me drunk as shit but then again it's cause I asked her to... hungry for brutality really numb to the television's flashy tragedies she said she said "Dustin won't you shut your hayseed mouth I'll never want you like you want me." Needles to say never want me like I wanted her as well oh fuck Maria I perhaps waited too long this is a tired tired way to forget and she read the trite poetry as we played cards between therapy in rehab and she said I really spoke to her even brought moisture close to her eyes... surprise, what did she know? Go to school little fool and soon you'll see just how much the fucking tool I am. What a tool I am...

Despondency

Just tell me they won't put Gordon on the line oh Christ so far from Mr. Clutch and these days it is just so hard to cheer for the underdogs #3 was on fire tonight but we still couldn't shoot for shit and sometimes I take it so personally even though I'm just an observer/commentator and sometimes I feel so small like I'm walking in her shadow just another day my thoughts lazily turn to someone else you told me you miss Stockton to Malone you told me you can't stand being alone and that's a problem it isn't right to watch my team lose every night raining in my soul over poor ball control took it as a metaphor when Exum got hurt took it as a metaphor cause I can't bandwagon Golden State...

Not Scared of Cancer

I'm not scared of cancer because I look at you carrying your bones, exhausted, nobody wants to truly live forever.When I feel sad it is okay cause sometimes I just love the feeling, a sweet sweep of melancholy that leavens the spirit in a way... I suppose with more introspection would suffice. Not always one to watch the cumulus puffs move lethargically across the hot Idaho sky just tell me how to correct decisions made and readdress all the missed opportunities. Living double lives in day dreams telling Candace I was careless and too nervous. That when I stopped being your co-worker darling I just laid in bed and played gameboy and listened to Rainer Maria over and over again... No no no I don't dwell on the past oh why would I? That's such sweet escape and at times such heartbreak when every thing had an answer and it was all so over dramatic only facing the barrel could make me feel desperate these days and I accept set backs and I get angry but I'm learning it doesn't amount to much. Not the cliche oh I look forward to getting older sometimes for reasons I couldn't really say but I really look forward to seeing you happy even if it is from a distance like pushing shopping carts selling your contract and moving out of town forever and I was so over dramatic but who isn't at 18? I've accepted being called a bitch we move beyond the binary and become circle eights circulating and articulating all the while speculating about a future that could actually be pretty cool or pretty awful.

Constance from Connecticut Pt. 2

Constance from Connecticut makes me wish I was a rich kid always ill at ease in nice houses she feels like a thief in the night when she drinks her seventh Coors the fucking swill all out of liquor liquor house rules playing beer pong without her top on its a shame cause we just gaze eyes glaze too drunk to go home too ill at ease to sleep under the all leering of the vultures at this rich kid's house a swarm of half erections swing swing whiskey dick Constance from Connecticut cocksucker took her keys left on the couch to rot or get raped there shouldn't be a grey area between consent and exploitation it isn't fair to keep up our constant vigilance between the pigs, bosses, and politicians and she feels out of place half a mind to walk the five miles home walk that long to feel tired enough for sleep missing the East Coast but I'm never missing the Midwest cause geography is just as transient as time it moves on when you're away and it only takes a plane ride to dispel the homesickness felt she hugs her nephews in Hartford and she sees me at house parties the next weekend you tell me "I wish I could be anything but bourgeois" and I say, "I wish you could take me home with you and call me your little working class boy." A lie I know but so what?

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.