time: 10:33am
music: head over feet - alanis morisette
mood: headspun.
.t h e collective u n c o n s c i o u s.
the spoken is an intention,
not to mention an invention to lessen the suspension.
demented dementions,
dementia's relentless,
lack of dreams and I'm rendered defenseless.
in the end and the begining, same difference.
perverse: i've spun and i'm spinning forever.
days i've spent swimming in living
and grinning wishes of strawberry lipglosses.
licked lips flicker and twitch. itch makes me sick,
(heartbeat) the quicker it. gets quicker it gets.
it gets.
august takes a shift,
warm air shakes your senses.
but i'm senseless,
menaced by memories of friendships
and onslaught of distraught thoughts
that i'd rather not thought of.
think i thought not thoughts of distraught onslaughts.
an incision of intuition in a vision of vivid derision. livid from the collision and living with the decisions. dreaming in plastic, elastic tactics, seemingly magic magically dreaming maddening maddness for gleaming plastic attraction painted across denim midnight skies.
finger tip ink stain, stands out like pink paint. neon.
neon and i can't think straight,
now it's wednesday and in the morning, everyone said that my end's frayed.
but i tell them: "i'm knot, i just haven't been connected in heaps ages", i say.
i've wet the pages in an attempt forget the rages.
lyrical lunacy lingers on loose leaf, leaving leaves lingering loosely on lyrical lunacy.
the truth is excuses use the truth to excuse the proof.
the excuse is truth uses excuses prove the proof.
evident evidense eventually elevates to the state
or residence sequentially by debate or relevance
reflective complexity has got the best of me
tested, infected, and rejected. i am.
even subtle thoughts bubble with trouble
trouble bubbling doubles, subtle turns to rubble
eye shadow sunset, orange glow on cheeks and pink lips.
"hello world. how the hell are you?"
epic episodes explode and overflow into oceans
traffic lights of purple scarletted green
i have been waiting forever for the red.
aphorism, discontinuity, colourful adage
a poet's suicide: plant thyself within a yellow box
paint silhouttes to graze tarmac. burnt tires on faded memory
divided sides in motion, but that's the flow of potions
;wear your best attire and teach me to waltz,
- within the lights
within the lights... ....
- within the lights -
