crystal geyser

DNE.

elephants seashells and an ugly flower

its really disappointing when you expect the expected but the expected never comes. and when the unexpected becomes less and less expected. i always knew someday you'd have to let go of the dead ones, i guess i just never expected it to be me. maybe i expect too much. maybe just enough. or maybe not enough at all.

but its all dead to me. and sometimes i just go. without acknowledgment, i see the backside of my body slowly walking away. no answer. i give it three hours, two days, a month. it will knock.

i know im not good, but i do it anyway. and to be honest its only been three weeks. and to be even more honest, you'll never see the underside. or the other side. or any side.

wrapped tightly in a purple band

the house is dark. as the holiday season came to a close, i found myself focusing more on the disappearance of things. like the bright squirts of colors lining my roof and doorway. like the constant knowledge of something to do, somewhere to go. like the strategic plan i once had for us. like the disappearance of us in general. like the gas in my tank, like the money in my wallet, like the polish on my nails. like the love in my heart, the joy in her eyes, and the sound of your voice in my ear.

i am not going to say that this year feels different. its like when you turn eighteen and you still dont feel like an adult, like the first day of college and you cant believe that your youth has been ripped from below your beat up converse high tops. look to your left, look to your right, there's no one there to band-aid the cuts on your knees. it's a world of laughter, a world of tears, its a world of hopes, its a world of fear. a world of lies, misconstrued plans, and long car rides.

plaster a smile on your rosy chapped lips and play all the right games. they wont understand, they never do. its a fake, a facade, its a show, a play even. a night of spectacle and awe, all to be iced tomorrow and fixed up to the same status old times, good as new. good as yesterday? good as last month, the summer of two thousand and nine, that february with yellow roses? nothing can compare, nothing ever will...not even pizza men or hummingbirds.