get 'er gone, 'lil dogie

i saw a little
black boy, last night with
hair like yours,
with curls
and this, angelic this,
a sheen that trumps
any candle by
winelight...
he came out of
left field, and
bam!
slipped the rug
out under my feet.
his black curls that
built a bridge
over his scalp and
this fire in his
dark almond eyes
were enough to paint
a negative of you,
enough to remind me
of the regret
of the loss of your feelings,
not mine...
and all that, filled
on top with holiday
cheer and a bottle
of pinot noir and
twinkling lights and
hearts, aglow with fire
from somewhere i never
knew existed... all
my beautiful words,
wasted on the wine
and burned by that
non-existent fire. oh.
oh.
*crack
oh.
i see it clearly, and
for the first time in my life,
all i want to do is
take out my contacts
so the blur can get
in the way.
but i guess the
wine
does that enough already.

my bones still hurt, from something beyond the beyond. inside the inside. damage was done with a text message and now my ribs will crack one at a time, breaking the cage that has been built up so strong. what a shame. and a shame that i let myself believe. i know that i have that stupid emo bullshit tone in alot of my writing. but there's a reason for it, and this could definitely be considered why. maybe if people would just lay off and leave me and my stupid wobbly walls alone i could get some sleep and be a happy writer. but the bulimia would eventually set in again and i guess i would create the emotions on my own.

i am an angry, sad motherfucker. and i don't think it's a bad thing. i find happiness in sarcasm, and fleeting smiles before the storm. it's enough to put gas in my tank and bullets in my gun. hell, it's enough to get me through 27 to 28. and if i do that, maybe... maybe i'll get another chance.

but probably not. :) see? i can make myself smile. it just depends on which way the frown is being loooked at, right?

k.