don't worry.

i fall recklessly
but with reservation.

(you're safe.)

you know what i like?

hanging out with the super popular guy i had a crush on in high school,
the one i could never get,
and realizing he is now lame to the max.

words are so easy.

he says:
i'll send you love letters
we sleep inside of this machine. says:
you would never
he says:
i already have
he says:
i didn't know your address so i guessed.
he says:
i don't know who's reading them

with syrup.

i eat my waffles strategically.
line by line. square by square.
symetrically.

but there is no strategy to pancakes.

it's really too bad.

everything about you screams mediocre.

the chump who sold himself for chump change.

that girl,
she's a man-eater
and she treads over you hard.
but you get hard
in the green of her eyes
because she'll bat them when you're around
and she's batting a .303.
don't turn to her
because she'll break your face with hers
and you like her petty pretension
and her indifference.
that girl,
you can pat her on her head
and say "you have a lot to learn little one"
because all she can do is yell out what she knows
and stay mum about the rest.
she'll strangle you in sleep,
while you eat the vegan substitute,
while you drink like it used to be.
she'll twist your fingers back until
UNCLE!
and then you're hers again.
she's got power over you,
and under you,
you're over her, ontop.
and you'll thrust to the man you used to be
and will hold her close
because she'll get the best of you
and she’s the best you'll get
when you're selling yourself for chump change.
she won't change,
but you think with every afternoon spent
fogging up the window of her restaurant
she will.
and she will change you.
but you both will stay the same
for as long as the lighter fluid will last,
and you'll turn around
and the little girl you once patted on the head
will sell you for a bag of shrooms
and you'll wonder why and where
that little girl went
but neglect to notice you're not that little boy anymore
and you're worth more than chump change
and an easy fuck.

rebel with a cause.

she drew her lipstick
on politician lips
on every sign
on every lawn.

today

it was nice learning you.

at least you're consistently fickle.

go get drunk like you said you didn't want to tonight.
go get high like you said you wouldn't again.
it's hard to see you as the person you say you are when you're so erratic.
i'm not judging. i'm listening.
it's your own curse that i actually listen when you say such things.
[things that i call you on after. like the rest of the holes in your arguments.]

PICK A STANCE AND KEEP IT.
for goodness sakes. keep it.
you're looking fickle these days.
ironic that your only consistency is your fickle nature.

i don't ask for much.

just don't walk away when i'm still calling your name.

that, i will never for[get/give].

so far from myself.

i'm drinking wine and watching seinfeld.
who am i?

destination 191: comatose

the commute this morning was silent.
it seemed everyone was wishing for the same thing.
and now here i am
looking at the things i've lost
wishing for this glass of wine to put me to sleep.



where are you?

fridays are for the infinite.

it was dark when i came...

tonight we flirted with the idea of pulling the blinds and pretending we weren't home.
but we knew better.
for this was neither of our homes.

...and dark when i left.

sticky wrist.

eat a peach.
a really juicy one.
one that forces you to suck in and bite simultaneously so as not to dribble the juice down your chin and wrist.

it's really an art.

i hope you enjoy my bike.

joke's on you. the brakes are shot.

all calls past 2am are write-offs.

courage and regret
from the same bottle.