30 November 2009

don't wake me up

if i sleep
i think i might
see you
if only
in my dreams
you are next to me
and i know that
i will wake up to find

i try to stay asleep
as long as i can
to keep you here
with me

20 November 2009

our best laid plans

i guess that i don't sleep anymore. or i do, but only when the sun is out.
i guess that means i'm nocturnal, maybe. i don't know.
i guess i haven't seen the sun in three days. maybe four. (excluding dawn)

but i guess that i won't sleep again tonight (today. right now.)
so i guess what i'm doing right now is occupying myself with things that maybe
possibly might matter. but i guess also that it doesn't matter at all
what i distract myself with. occupy. occupy myself with. distraction.
it's the same thing, i guess.

so i guess i'm lighting candles
and putting on a kettle of some tea that is some kind of
morroccan mint and green and white fusion
because i guess i think that maybe this will help me to be calm

and now the kettle is whistling so i know that the water is boiling
and ready so i guess now i can pour myself a cuppa
and sip it slowly so that i don't burn my tongue (but i don't think that would be so bad, really)

and i guess, now, i will just sit here on
the heirloom love-seat
surrounded by little soft candle-lights
sipping on this tea
and i guess, now, i can listen to the new Beach House album
all the way through
in its entirety
because that's what i've really wanted to do all night
but i kept getting distracted.

but now i realize
i'm not even listening, really, because i'm writing
i just wanted to soak up the words and the rhythm and the melody
but i guess i'm just using this as background noise
because i'm writing (which is good, i guess, because maybe it's been a while)

and now i'm noticing that i haven't even touched my tea
but there is steam rising from the mug, still,
so i know that there is time, yet, to enjoy it, maybe.

i guess that, to do what i wanted to do in the first place
i should stop writing, but sometimes you just can't stop the words
like flash floods or open, gaping wounds from which blood gushes forth
refusing to clot, threatening life with loss of blood

but i guess that's what this writing is, really,
open wounds from which blood gushes forth
open heart from which words gush forth
refusing to clot
refusing to stop

and the words won't stop until there is nothing left inside of me
which is frightening and makes me feel something that i guess must be
because when the words finally stop that must mean that i am
and when yr empty, you've got nothing left.

having nothing left, i think, is where the sadness sits.

and i'm just thinking that if you are reading this, well, it probably won't
make much sense, because i'm not really sure of what i've already said
because, well,
i try not to look back and
i try to look ahead
because the future, well, the future must be better or
at least better than what is right now
right now, well,
right now is not so great.

but that's why i try not to look back
and i try to look ahead
because i guess there's that saying, what is it
i think it's something like
when you've hit rock bottom, then
the only place you can go
is up.
upward and

so i try not to look back.
and i try to look ahead.
because i think maybe, this time, it really is
the worst that it's been (at least in a long, long while)
so the only way that things can go
is forward.

and now i'm looking around me, because it's darker now,
i noticed, than it was when i began, it must be, because i guess now
a candle or two has burned out completely
and steam is no longer rising from my untouched cup of tea
and the album is almost over
and i haven't seen a thing
and i haven't tasted a thing
and i haven't heard a single word that's been sung.

when all that i wanted to do right now
was to sit here calmly on the heirloom couch
surrounded by warm candle-lights
and sip on my tea
and listen to the new Beach House album in its entirety.
soaking it all in.
taking everything in.

instead of taking anything in, i guess what i've done here
is tear a gaping hole in myself and let this word-blood come pouring out
and i suppose i've no intentions of stopping the bleeding
or mending the wound
because, well
i guess that maybe those things are out of our control
i should just let these things happen
on their own.

i think that i will light another candle.
i think i will re-heat my cup of tea.
i think that i will stop writing now and
start again, from the beginning,
so that i may


please don't

this is the worst thing that can be done to a person.
in my opinion.

12 November 2009

found wanting

i'm not sure what to say here.
nothing that i haven't said before.
nothing that we don't already know.

i want a lot of things.
i want my hair to always look good. i want to get out of this town. i want a typewriter. i want to find my niche. i want to write like my heart is on fire. i want wishes to come true. i want to breathe. i want to not be afraid anymore.
i want to take the Great American road-trip
(you & me & an old station wagon. mix-tapes &
polaroids & too many cigarettes
& feet out the window with the radio loud.
you & me & miles to go)
i want to believe you.
i want to trust you.
i want to let this go
so that i can let this in.
i want to believe in love