...

friend, there is something about us and when midnight has already passed. no, not dawn. just when the new day is yet unheralded. this time blesses us with vulnerability and doubts. precious fear that keeps us grounded. it gives us back our dreams, affirms our potential. shows us a glimpse of the future...

noir

of black roses.
attractive as death.
the senses succumb.
seduction's finite finality.
there is beauty in lies.
of black butterflies...

shall we sin again?

x

friends, FRIENDS, friends, and 'friends' are thorns, yes, and are immaterial.

Pain is The Truest Friend. it is a constant. a given. a blessing.

we do not have friends, and thus should not trust anyone.

we only have Pain, and thus should only trust Pain. . .

it is the only thing that can seep through our beloved walls...

lovely isn't it?

and i sigh...

you... i know you yet i do not recognize.
i sense you yet i am numb.
i hate you.
i love you.

i am you.


you... are a familiar stranger.
a dreammate.
morning's birdsong.


the light of your eyes are fell.

the lies in your lips are truth.
truer than any passable reality.

your wounds are everfresh...

their stench, sweet and cloying.
clinging to my consciousness.

your smile that fools no one and everyone.
your smile that never quite reach your eyes...

then you break into a semblance of a laugh.
hollow and fading.

you are broken.
yet you endure.

i am you.

here's to crap. love and loving in 2007

the first said he wasn't ready. stabbing me with such exquisite pain, it's waves rushing through the sensual borders of my being. reduced me to questionable worthlessness. summed me up with a phrase - i didn't even deserve a sentence.

the second i hurt. no excuses. except for not believing in a subjective emotion. he was a breath of fresh air. perhaps my system had already grown accustomed to the pollutions of man. move on, i said. he had other ideas.

the third. played a game. he enjoyed masochistically. allowed it to wash over him. apparently he hurts too. or something to that effect.

no more.


here's to crap.

decay is bliss

decay is bliss... sounds like garbage mouthed off by some goth poser... produce of a wannabe...a reject. burdened by metaphor.

but decay is bliss.

let it wash over you.
i said.
the compost of your life.
yes, the one that was lent to you.
...let me correct myself...
the one that was rented to you.

pay it. heavily.
with such a great and suffocating price.
of course, while you dig your vast pit... your imagined abyss...
multitasking for a true denizen of the piscean age.

then when you bend your broken back again, he pushes you.
you try to grasp a hold in between your pathetic sobs.
pathetic.

you ungraciously fall.
yet... she was there... she knows you... of you.
in her silence you found what was missing in his silence.

she held you long. yet you did not resent it.
in her damp mustiness, you met your self... and your self... and your self.

and on her bosom you were able to stand up again.

another year... fuck.

down with saccharine optimism... down with socially dictated hoping.

there's light at the end of the tunnel as long as someone paid the electric bill, or changed the bulb, or just even turn the freaking switch on.

walk through a crowd, singular and collective, and lose yourself...welcome to the age of aquarius... or is it pisces? not really sure.

humans like asking other humans, "how are you? are you okay?" knowing full well everybody else has shit to deal with in their lives... so, no, i'm not okay. lolz

fuck, 52 more weeks....

jaded. par excellence.