red trap

“nuances, that’s what they’re called, right?”

i nod about
sight vs. seeing
what makes interests interesting, versus humans, versus humanity

thinking nothing
of recycled writing, just
breathing
as
much
air
as i can humanly vacuum seal
as i steal. 

indent

     goosebumps are
a waste of our time.

precariously, preciously
i shift
my elbow
i try to evaporate but not disappear
a waste of body heat
from
your
shoulderblades: apologetic and raining
indoors, soaked to the solid bone, feeling the backboard,
the wall,
all’s well, all’s well. 

     time eases
all skin, all scratch
all
new
by
better fall.　

flit

Call me that thing: the isolator. I think I work best
alone, until I feel like more than
just feeling, this, the rain.

     I want a springmix of hail and trail
on the windshield, where nothing 
is doing
its job.

I go to school and I sit alone at lunch,
a girl who doesn’t matter, asks why. I laugh at her tone because she stood up
for me
just to ease her own conscious
about me.

     I doubt I gave her what she wanted. I circled,
I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion.

She left the way I left
my parts
to gather themselves, back in your red bed
sheets covering the better half of my face and I look at you
with that color palette
swirling
windshield is a canvas, too.

well, folks, we have a bear in the area

bearchasin’ time

zombieinmybutt:

wizcoylifa:

what if humans lost all their skin every winter and walked around as skeletons and the trees get pissed when they have to rake all our skin off their lawns

how high are you

(Source: allenfuckingbishopman)

(((

     all i want to do is sit in parked cars with talking, good talking:
“where does the wind in the basement come from
is it the same place
deer go to fall asleep, or
all of those humans go 
to find
funny samplings
from
old movies,
haphazardly slapped into the music scene?” 

     so i can come back with,
“where do you come from, is it why
i mix up words in letters,
my adore,
you hold, weak.”