Everyone tells me I am whimsical by nature.

But I find that all my interests, the things I read, the things I watch…

are all the dark and disturbing aspects of human nature.

I like awkwardness, uncomfortableness, 

the feeling of still and thick air,

the sound of static.

Yet, still, I have this bounce in my step.

I roll on the balls of my feet quite often

and I like to twirl and twist through the day.

I laugh at the most mundane of things

and smile at the sky.

So I have to question,

am I actually whimsical or do I just want to be?

am I in a love affair with darkness,

or is it that which lies deepest within me?

Or, 

is it just a fascination with something that is so far from myself?

I might never know if it is light or darkness at the core of my soul..

I want to overturn the baskets, 

and sit on them.

I want to grab onto that

ephemeral and chimerical feeling..

I want to make it stay-

just for a while..

until death. 

I want to lick the sky with you.

I want to travel to hell just to laugh

and go to heaven to sit in

peace,

and also,

to laugh.

Laugh, because,

heaven is nowhere but with you.

Peering into the starry dynamo

I can see myself in my head- a cartoonlike character licking it’s lips while anticipating something larger than itself

though, it can be said I am not exactly looking for anything.

the best things I’ve bled out onto paper were just pieces of intellectual garbage.

garbage and more garbage

puking itself out over the concrete

asking myself why one would consume so much literature

drunk off of bukowski and hemingway, I stagger my way through the loops of my suppressed writing. 

There is never an end to ideas I have. They are always strung along in the back of my mind until I finish it.

But for once, this piece I am writing right now is not one of those creatures crawling around in the back of my mind but is something entirely new.

It should be clear that I am being extremely honest. As brutally honest with myself and the keyboard as possible- and with you, the reader*(1)(2). 

I have the worst headache right now. It throbs within my skull. Bump. Ba-dump. Bump. Ba-dump. 

Bump.

Drat. 

I just wish it would go away. I also have this inner longing to consume some sort of sustenance because we all know that paper isn’t always the best fiber. 

Though, I believe I’d rather eat my hands than walk away from the writing device right now.

Hm..

No. I couldn’t possibly leave the shinning-glinting, sparkling haze of clicking keys and digital glow caressing my senses.

Late at night I feel like the only things I can grasp are words.

Thoughts are another story though.

Small words dance around in a sort of mystic ritual within my head, goading the creatures from the back of my mind into their traps.

Selectively feeding and breeding these creatures into something that might be worth even considering, very rarely does a thought have to be killed, usually just let the failures back into the wild to hopefully grow stronger or die out.

A failing word, sipping down into your toes and up into your veins, into your carbon-lined bones and your dry-cracked skin. Summer is coming, 

it’s rising up and creating a hot and dry heat. If you are so dry and mighty during the winter maybe you need to really stock-up on your skin-saving creams. 

NOTES

(More Inner-Toilings):

*(1)Usually I would state that the above line is kind of corny- however, I am compelled to not state that because I fear that it’ll show that I am self-conscious but the fact that I thought it anyway would say that indeed, I am self-conscious. So, in order to be extremely honest I wrote this down.

*(2)I almost typed, “I am sorry I am boring you with all this inner-jabber.” I chose not to write it for the same reason as above. However, I soon realized it is not jibber-jabber, it’s just stuff & junk.

Closer pieces of furniture 

Smell like burlap 

all in a smokey room

filled with dreams

and cold tile

uncomfortable moon chairs give 

no support

Let us lament on the recovery of the night.. 

Oh- sweet night 

what a teasing and pleasing

whore. Her virginity stolen by day

the break of dawn comes close. 

Can

you feel it?

There’s an ocean of souls in the world..

And if life passes like clouds on waves,

kissing the edges of the ocean

and the edge of my cheeks

Then I’d be fine 

drifting along

even if I were to just kiss you

for one brief break in the sea

“Want to go back to my place?” said the man 

with a rough face.

“Surely.” said the 

      curly haired boy

His curly locks

    were always getting him

       rides on cocks

His pretty mouth, 

      pert and sweet

not ever to meet

the kiss of his one true love

   he loved her so fiercley

so fiercly that when she died

 he was devastated seriously

      so seriously

that he decided to play a game

he turned himself

      ”gay”

 to forget her name.

But that in itself is teaching me something.

gather me up like a bag of stones

throw me into the lake of your eyes,

make my heart skip a beat.

I’ll make ripples in your vision

and you’ll flow with me.