compare contrast, bipolar.

You,
I've never hated someone so much,
I want to die on your front steps,
and leave a trail of blood and such,
and tell your mom your secrets.

But you,
I want to write you songs,
and push you on  swing sets.
Or parallel park, so you don't have to,
And buy you lots of flowers.

And back to you,
I wish you the worst,
and hell, and a gas shower.

As for you and your pretty face,
I wish you'd sit and pose
so I could draw your pretty face
and tie it with a bow.

You, you suck
Your time has come
to jump into a river
all tied up
and bound and gagged
while vultures devour you liver.

And me and you will sing and dance,
and buy ourselves a sheep
and build a cake
and play kazoos
and smile until we sleep.

And when you sleep
I hope you never dream,
just think of ghastly nightmares
and torturing, ghastly, screams.

While we will sleep so pleasantly.
On clouds of love and clovers.

And you will watch me die and bleed
on your floor, over and over.

And we'll walk down some aisle someday,
and I'll invite your mom.
And everything will just suck for you
broke, sick, shit, disease and despair, and Vietnam.

You and I will shine our shoes
and braid each other's hair
and drink and talk about
how wonderful it is
when life, it turns out fair.

'Cause you'll be in a sorry state,
with your sorry job,
and your sorry mate,
and it'll be dark and bleak and
we'll never speak.

Until one day you see us
at an estate.
You'll say I look pretty
and I'll say
I hate you.

Losing touch.

This seems like it used to be an outlet.  Now, not so much. Over time, I feel as though Here Lies got its own personality. And I think it started to clash with mine, honestly.  Moreover, I have, frankly, had no desire to talk about the events of my life in metaphor. Don't take that in a pathetic way, Nothing mentionable has been happening.  And I mean that in nothing absolutely mentionable, nor positively unmentionable has been happening. Lord knows I like to blog about my various unmentionables.

But things are solidly simple. Pretty plateau, bland.  The highlights of my day are delusional outlooks on the future, and daydreams.  I dig my routine, and a few times a week breaking it, just because.  I've gotten really into taking vitamins. But I feel like the make me smell less like a human, and more like a vegetable.  And as my logic goes, this is why I have become undesirable to humans.  Perhaps if I took shark cartilage (I wouldn't, sharkys are pretty badass and are animals) I would appeal to a more aggressive, outgoing crowd? Right now, I think I attract earthworms and barnacles.  Simple, monochromatic, earthly little things.

Slumpin'.  I feel like a metric ton.  I even wrote a poem about it.  I think it'd make a better song.

The Metric Tons.
I swallowed and anvil,
and since I used to be bulimic,
(I'm recovered now),
I can't throw this up.
And it's so heavy,
it makes me spin
and sweat
and remember
When my tons slumped into the couch
after hinting
on the bleachers at the big game
or the lockers
before the sock hop and milkshakes.
Would you like to dance?
And hold my hand?
Though, I know your calendar
is tighter than my stockings,
just say okay,
write me in
and throw it away.
And slide me another anvil
with some silence to apologize
for a fortnight.
While I spin, sweat, and salivate
some more...
Catch it all in a colander
and drain it atop
The Frozen Lake
and observe it freeze and adhere
to all my other discarded times,
and collect data of my tons.
Dreaming about my real identity,
Rhinoceros Girl.

Things you cut.

wanted to write a pretty poem tonight, but this came out instead.

i've cut class

and i've cut my veins

i've cut paper

and animal remains

i've cut into wood

and cut into glass

i've cut up some drugs

and i've cut the grass

i've cut my legs shaving

i've cut them free will

i've cut up grapefruits

i've cut up the bills

i've cut costs

taken short cuts

and cut off my hair

i've cut food to cook

and i've cut to prepare

i've cut in line

and i've cut people off

i've cut in, cut it out

and cut down on stuff

but no cut has ever hurt quite as badly

as hearing you're cutting ties

with me

(and not sadly).