The Grass is Black/The Air is Pink


feel me/read me/follow me


“Pleased to meet you on this Wednesday morning.
Tell me, please, what IS your name?”

I don’t have a name, I sold it for a relaxing fall evening about two years ago
You see, for me, life is uneasy and it has heaped upon me piles and piles of stress which have worn me thin, made me weak and even more susceptible to failure than I naturally am…

“That sounds FASCINATING!
What do you do when you are NOT blue?”

I read when I’m green and my flesh turns inside out whenever my heart is jerked from a strange love… when I eat, my eyes are crazy cat yellow… making love I’m gray… when I write my vision is black… when I cry my tears are white like milk… when I’m hurt, my hair turns red but yes, when I strongly desire the sweet kiss of death and my soul is numb and my heart is box-xhaped, I’m blue

“Tell me who your friends are…”

Well, me and coffee meet absolutely everyday… it helps me write poems or so I believe… sometimes, even twice a day… Tea I try to meet with every evening before I go to sleep, the bitch soothes me, what else can I say… Sadly, all of my poet friends are dead and a few are suicides… My best, best friend is alcohol and the things that it makes me feel, words cannot explain… it makes me numb but more in a liberating way…

“What sounds do you hear?”

I hear many sounds… I hear the wolves of Russia… I hear the secret language of deers… I hear the dreams of enfant children… I hear the poems of the insane… I hear the questions of the dead… I hear my lost childhood stumbling around in the dark… I hear my heart banging against my ribcage when I’m trying to sleep

“Where have you been?”

Been? I’ve been nowhere but lost… swimming in the vast sea of Confusion and I admit I can’t swim, therefore I’m blindly drowning… I’ve been alone in this life, searching for my other half but only finding skeletons, and I wonder what that means…

“And finally, where are you going?”

I’m going to be insane, one day, I plan on throwing my senses into the wild… I await eagerly for the buckled straitjacket, the sedatives and possibly, the padded rooms… I look forward to hearing MY music and seeing only what I want to see when I look into my cup of orange juice, that I’m to drink when I take my placebos…

written: October 20, 2010


Filed under: regarding myself, Uncategorized

One Response

  1. keep it burning
    words vined yearning
    no knead without bleed
    wet clay intention turning…


    ps don’t stop

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