that-black-she-wolf

I think there are two ways to go about wih art. One is what I think most pople do - they look around for things to take and put on the shelves of their vacant souls. Things are judged, constantly by how easy they are to take away and how much it would be worth to have them. Frindship, love, sadness, beauty, understanding, importance, fun. All is put on the shelf, like a war medal. (Only these you can actually give away to others.) The other way is what artists do. Sick people, who’s shelves are so full of things they never even took, as if these things have come alive and crawled into their house at night, while they were a baby and st

"What are you doing here again?" "Oh, I'm watching you sleep, what does it look like I'm do-" "Get out." "Get out where? I'm barely even on the bed, look! It's so long anyways, why did you get it in the first place? You really aren't that tall-" "You're doing it again." "Doing what?" "You're not letting me sleep. And you're talking to me." "You never minded before..." "I mind it now." "I don't believe you." "…" "What, you're not going to say anything?" "Why are you here?" "Why are you asking me? I was hoping you'd tell me." "Uh… I … You're… I don't know, aright? I was just trying to sleep." "No you w

"Crow?" "Yes." "Great, you talk. How can you talk, you're a wolf!" "Are you expecting some wise response to that remark? I don't think it deserves one. I would expect more wit from you."   "I didn't invent you to insult me you know." "I don't insult. I'm honest with my opinion. You know that. What is it?" "Should there be a problem for me to call you and talk for a bit?" "No, but there is usually a purpose to any conversation. You would not call me without one. What is it?"   "And here I thought you might be enjoying my company." "I do. Even if you like to pretend you are half-witted." "I don't do th- Okay, maybe I do. But it's ligh

this must be a good beginning because it says nothing, but it also says this poem is not trivial enough to start off with an elaborate comparison of the scenery outside my window to my body parts and feelings and all that crap (it's enchanting when done well) so you think the rest should be some good too or at least different because beginnings matter most don't they they hold a hint of what's to come, only that's not true at all listen, where beginnings can be bad or good or full of hot summer air, or hope, or confused smiles endings are cursed for endings are never 'good' they are long, short foggy, painful or reli

i like to think in patterns and put things in frames i like to think it makes them less ugly and nobody want's to be ugly except the beautiful then, maybe if i arrange the halves of pills for me to take into flowers and mills then maybe i'll convince them not to stick to my throat and to rot the taste of air but if that's not enough and they hate me still then i'll compare them to black bugs i have to swallow, still alive so that you'll understand better just how much i hate pills it's like saying i love you and feeling it's not enough, so now i have to show you what it means by stealing pretty words and pict

tell me do you reach down beneath the covers, rustling on sleepless nights with silent cloudless skies that peak through the curtains watching you abuse your buttons better than anyone else tell me do you moan like a cat or howl like a wolf, begging to seal the sound away against the back of your hand nobody can hear your pleasure nor pain (nor prayer) tell me do you think of my hands on your skin, travelling you like a rainy road in the night and your hips rising to greet me feeling like a sinner makes it sweet and bitter tell me am i the thought that moves your fingers deeper or is it that tattooed l

there is this girl that is a mess; you know her she is the one you try to impress every night she forces your neck over the toilet and calls you a wreck but you don't care for she says that you are one of a kind and the others are blind not to notice the silver lining of your mind and if you complain she says its no use, for this is where you are to remain lying, silent, crying drunken reliant she said don't you know this is what you want this is art you'll just have to deal and play your part it's what makes it real enough for her to steal that promised prize back from your love so you can finall

steps silently on fences black and white- just like my soul, it dances chases gutter rats in dark alleys or its own tail, while yellow eyes glow not for me, they know I'm only worth light glances    

First, think of yourself as a photographer. You are taking night pictures of the city. It's beautiful, you're on the bridge and you can see half of it spread out. It's a chilly autumn night and your foggy breath hugs the camera every now and again. The humid air kisses your eyes and the water in them feels cold. You don't have a stative, so you have leaned on the parapet, but your hands are steady enough to take the picture. Are you there? Now, think of that moment after your finger has clicked the trigger. When you can't dare breathe, move or think to the sound of sliding camera parts, taking in a piece of the world. And now the anticipati

don't you go and tell me I'm not broken its the one excuse i have for coming this close to breaking your heart you don't owe me anything but give me this means to sleep at night, in spite of these thoughts of you on my mind and did you know, i miss talking to you and hearing you laugh i miss your hair and i miss you but I can't allow myself to love you because, see- i love her too i always will and i cannot change this   now I'm punished to stand alone in a corner trying to figure out who i love more, if at all i don't think you can love two people at once, and yet i think of each of you in turn and smile,