Everything is all I have to give you, and I’m afraid it ain’t enough

The Uses of Sorrow – Mary Oliver
(In my sleep I dreamed this poem)
Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness
It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.


She got me high and I hardly noticed
there were tears in her eyes
I wrote something about dancing… not quite the vibes I wanted to give this post though… perhaps another time.

and then the God-Please-Kill-Me-Right-Now hits.

just submitted a confessional poetry piece for my poetry class

(SPOILER ALERT:  Melodrama)  I am so nervous.  baring my soul to a class full of strangers…. ughhh I feel like puking.  It’s a decent poem though.

realityDream, deviantart.com

maybe I can just live as if I’m being reborn every moment.  no past, no regrets, just endless future.

I don’t think the quality of this is very good.  just look it up on spotify.

i’m a mess, happy or otherwise, depending on the day.

I’ve got a sickness, it feels like love

It’s not contagious, take off the gloves

here are some lyrics for you.

I’ve got a flask inside my pocket
We can share it on the train
And if you promise to stay conscious
I will try to do the same
Well we might die from medication
But we sure killed all the pain
But what was normal in the evening
By the morning seems insane
-Lua, Bright Eyes
I live by the word until I die by your sword
Even when I’m dead my head will live inside your RCA cords
I wait for the right time, but it resembled now-a-days
Descended on the Earth to put an end to all your holidays
The assassin covered in plain clothes
Smothered the sunlight and set flame to your rainbows
And then came the storm (and then came the storm)
Bewildered those that didn’t contemplate
Fake disguised as the norm (as the norm)
And when the smoke evaporated and the damage was assessed
The casualities were counted as they looked upon the mess
As they focused they eyes on the horizon, who’da guessed?
All that stood atop the hill was number seven silhouette
-Atmosphere, Tears for the sheep
 when did you stop believing
in magic?

Why Would You Chase Away the Sun if You Don’t Want the Rain?

Lisa Lewis, excerpt from “February”
   This is the second month
Of the year I turn thirty-seven. Already the little fists
Of leaves are forming inside the knotted ends of twigs
All over Houston. The cold weather is over. This winter
Again there was no freeze. And tonight it’s very late,
And it’s Sunday, and no cars pass on the big road
By the house, but out there in the night
Some kids about seventeen are doing terrible things
They’ll get by with, and grow out of, and remember
The way they’ll remember what love felt like at first,
Before it stopped being the surest path to ruination,
Before it had done the worst it could and passed away.
And to them it’s as if those who lived this life before them
Moved with the jerky speeded-up gestures of characters
In old-fashioned movies, their expressions intense
And exaggerated; they roll their eyes and loll their tongues
When the heroin hits their blood. It’s as if the beauty
Of evil lives only in the present, where the drop of dope
Clinging to the tip of the stainless steel point
Catches the light like dew; and it doesn’t matter
That the light falls from a streetlamp with a short in it,
And the impatient boy with the syringe in his hand
Will touch the drop back into the spoon
So as not to waste it. It’s his instinct telling him
How much it means to live this now, before he knows
Better, while he still has a chance to survive it.
It’s the moon over his head with its polished horns
That would slip through his skin if he touched them.
It’s the trees leaping to life in his blood, greenness
Unfurling so hard it almost bursts his heart. 
I have never done heroin.  It is doubtful that I ever will.  When you think about it, I haven’t really had much experience with pretty much anything.  I haven’t seen The Titanic (The Titanic is very similar to heroin so’s you know)
I’m still young enough that I have it in me to do incredibly stupid things.   I guess age is relative anyways.  I love feeling young.  It’s almost worth not being old enough to go out dancing.  Speaking of getting old, and not having experiences, I have never been full-on drunk.  The few times I have had l’alcool, I drink so little it doesn’t do anything and there is really no point.  I just don’t like how alcohol makes me feel stupid and slow.  I have no conversational skills and I don’t get less inhibited, just confused and self conscious.  Of course I generally have enough self-confidence to fill arenas, so it’s not like drinking could really improve anything per se.
Basically.  It’s five in the morning and I can’t sleep.  Here’s some random crap that you can read I suppose.  Goodness I have poor writing skills at this time in the morning.  DON’T HATE THIS IS MY BLOG NOT A FREAKING RESEARCH PAPER.
This title and yesterday’s are from Atmosphere songs.  (gearing up for the concert in a couple of weeks) 
 Waterside by =AnnMarieBone of deviantart.com
 haven’t seen, haven’t seemed
happy, it’s gonna come to me
when it does I don’t know where I’ll
keep it at all 

I’ll make you smile just so I can sit and look at it

so there’s this website  called least helpful.





hey yeah so autumn is coming… excited yet?
artsaus – deviantart.com


Supported by the crutches of human impotence, the wheel of life spins inexorably. Its stops are few – until it reaches the last stop of all. When we are born, it pauses long enough to take us on, and then it stops again, this second time enchanted into momentary stillness by the miracle of love. While we stand enraptured beside our beloved, seeing the moon and the vast night sky, as it were, for the first time, the decrepit wheel dangles its crutches idly and seems to burst into fantastic bloom. This is the magic hour, and when the spinning begins again we scarcely are aware of a faint, ominous creaking noise.

-Coronets 25th Anniversary Album

you want morbid?  I’ll give you morbid, dollface.

first day of the semester + Poetry

Ear Muffs by Andrea Gibson

My favorite teacher once told me
she wears three hats at the same time
while walking through her neighborhood
in the backwoods of Maine;
one to keep her head warm,
one to block the sun from her face,
and one bright orange hat
to keep the hunters from shooting her in the brain.

She looked at me seriously and said,
“I suppose I could get a hat that does all three
but that would be an awfully funny looking hat.”

You, my love
are a funny looking hat.

That is to say,
you are everything I need.

Forgive me for the days
I am ear muffs
in Florida
on a sandy beach
during a heat wave.