sometimesi used to think this was the easy part:sometimes by a-secret-key
having something, keeping it. turns out
i'm no good with keeping--
just taking, just moving on. it's not all
bad, though, and
in the end i guess i like that so much of this
is down to me. effects
don't always have causes. sometimes
we just get tired-- tea stained
lantern sunlight. do you ever get
home is tiny in the distance. its lights?
i can barely see them--
corner of the eye,
they burst with tiny needles.
a nice thought, i guess, but maybe that's just me-- sometimes i wish
all light was firelight. it's silly, yeah,
but i'm young enough to still get why it's good
to be tangible.
sometimes my head is cotton-stuffed
and somewhere far away from caring. but then
sometimes it's just my head. i'm beginning
to get used to that--
sometimes i even fall asleep.
ChimesA bird,Chimes by a-secret-key
and the edge of winter. There are no signs.
I'm tired of this, the searing and the splitting,
metal on metal. I'm tired of myths. Won't you just be beside me,
be still? Let me picture you, just for a moment. Divine
concentration, that's all you take. Don't ask.
Living never felt natural.
But here we are, trying-
All for this one second,
this one flash of perfection. It's tricky
to be a person. I can never get the balance right,
and the seasons are a quilt,
heavy like a sand, damp
faces. Where is your voice, is it
beneath the soft song of the quiet? Your words,
did I make them?
untitled1.untitled by a-secret-key
and goodbye: i never thought, i never,
it was a performance. i watched myself and the world
sped up, and i stroked
schrodinger's cat. it's funny now, because
nobody knows when- not really. we never will.
i ought to,
i should. and so
i did, and with steady hands too. that's faith.
i'll remember everything in too much detail- but not
my own words. they fade like thoughts do.
i knew this would happen, and i considered the moment because it finally
Full hands, not steady,
Full house? As if the presence swoll when it left.
We all listen
to the same words
and again, and
again- maybe we'll hear something
no sleep, we wake. things to do.
i make food? that sits on trays,
we put on a real spread-
very carefully, i tell you and this
is family. sugar? i say, you must eat something, i say,
have a seat.
i have fast hands, too afraid to be slow.
i navigate hellos,
it's all hellos today- we forget about goodbye, for a moment, because
HeatherThe world was changingHeather by a-secret-key
except for me. You tore through it,
on a map. The paper moor, the
trees- still stuck in shock
and the heather, purple like a bruise
or the lips
of a greedy child-
and stained red. Feasting
but somehow still
all that is left: the ringing in
my ears, that grey sheeted sky lifted miraculous
by your flock: their flashing brights
suddenly hid from view: not changing
themselves but rather changing
my ears are getting sorenobody can swim when theremy ears are getting sore by happymegs81
is no water.
so i guess i'll never know what it's like to be you,
no matter how much apathy i have.
everything is to jumbled up in that mind of yours,
what i'm trying to say is,
understanding is different from knowing,
and I can't learn anymore.
[I already know it all]
it's human nature to feel alone most days,
but that's okay because it all gets wiped away
with a little time.....
and what else really matters?
watching you crumble away is the most beautiful
thing i've ever seen,
because you're getting worse in the best way,
and you being worse is the easiest for me.
Ephemera.Try turning a gun inside out. See what happens.Ephemera. by Self-Intoxication
Perhaps you will find love there, around the bullets,
or a story about love in a way you've never experienced,
but you somehow know exists.
Try turning a paper crane inside out, or a thousand.
See what happens. Reversed, they just make other animals,
butterflies that refuse to eat for an entire lifetime,
wounded elephants, and spiders that feast upon sunbeams.
Try turning your house inside out, like it has an eating disorder,
and purges your books and CDs and unwashed laundry onto your lawn,
the neighbor's lawn. See what happens when you try to talk it out of
destroying itself, tell it its windows are not too small, it's kitchen
not as big as it looks in that particular color.
Saw into your own skull and turn your brain inside out.
Is it dead-colored silly string beef?
Is it a litter of scattered Polaroids of your jumbled subconscious,
glowing brighter and brighter as they absorb daylight