Imaginary

"You're not nice to me afterwards. You don't like me afterwards."
"That's a lie, ________, that's just a lie." Drunken blond.

Imaginary Resentment

"Hypothermia to the max!!" She cried. She was floating dead down the river until she was slowly swept into a fallen branch, her shoulder dislocated and running free. "I am a goddam ridiculous sight."

Earlier...

Her shoes are too tight and she is trying to cross the street. She stands still as a car comes to a halt (there is a stop sign after all). She cautiously steps forward only to see her eyelashes trimmed. "What a dick wad." She shuffles across the street, the car long gone. "What a wad of
dick. A wad... of dick." Confused, she steps into Bath and Bed: Beyond the Bed and Bath to find a shower curtain. Twenty dollars for a goddam shower curtain twenty. Forget that. Departure.

The Angelic Repercussions of Trespassing...

"It is ten AM, and I'm guessing you're rather smug now. Walking around pretending to imagine the glory tomorrow might hold. Key word 'pretending'. I must say I was relieved though that you chose to get to the top for once." She is now ankle deep in puddle by the abandoned building being sassy and sharp. Hands on hips.

Cop car. "Goddammit" He spits and runs, fingers surrounding her upper arm. They're running and running and she trips over a tree root. Down down down the hill. In the distance, some party planners walk along "Margarita competition tomorrow night". Oh but now shes soaking wet and bloody. Half face down in the muck and she sees him arrive. The Party Planners go, not noticing any more than themselves.

"I hate you." She coughs mud onto his shoes and he kneels, eyes flecked with shock treatment therapy. He turns her over. "Help me up why don't you." But she's dead in his arms and she doesn't know it yet. He drops her and stands, frantic.

"What--" He walks off, hands on head. Hands on face. Hands on eyes. He's determined. He rolls her body into the river and runs.

She's floating.

What happens, when you realize you are only someone's imaginary friend?

Following the Leader

1. There is nothing better than cosmic delight, the surge that fills the indoors of my ribcage with electrical water.
Sometimes it's too much and tidal waves come pouring out my lips:
Squeeak. I can't express myself.
Writing poems about friends that they might not ever see

2. Being paranoid (the noir ghost king is overwhelming)
Sensitively senile and finished:
Tired of living tired of dying. Lying broken up in the space between closet wall and bed
Shipwrecked and golden.

3. Maybe I'm just sleepy When it comes to being attentive When it comes to being attractive I'm not one for wild goose chases.

4. How did I get here? Crabwalking in circles that are too short for silence. Moaning on hard wood floors the metal mouth of your gun pressed deep into my aching temple. The pain of dehydration and swallowed by cigarette smoke and rejection recordings.

5. They will never come find me. Wandering alone into the street with no sense in my brain, they will never come find me.

The smell of...

I finally filmed yesterday yesterday yesterday yesterday
and will do more today today today today

crime drama film noir blue filters and crappy lights. delightful.

White Wine

Cigarette Kiss, Asparagus Piss.

theres a ring of smoke on my pupils a dotted line on my throat made for cardboard cut out creations!

a few slut bag eye sockets bleed empty from too much rain and too much sun. it's a masterpiece reduction of self.

''let cher consciousness flowww into words on your internet maaan".

i did this but i don't know how, i'm crept into valley monasteries by the dozen, a veritable infestation of grime ball cities.

she's got eyes about sex and a mind about boys. roundabout moods and no ability to see the damage.

i am the vegetables you are the dessert.

damaged on the freeway:

like a deer fucked from behind by your bumper, sad and somewhat darkly retardedly amusing.

spazzing out on newspaper bedroom floors, where constellations and dirt smell like sex and mouths gushing with glory. you try me on at 7 and take me off at 7 oh 5.

you're breathing her neck:

you try me on at 7 and take me off at 7 oh 5.

you're breaking her neck:

sometimes i hate everything i say. sometimes i hate everything i say and every face i make to cover up the miss takes.

bird burglary, crackpots and shit for brains cackling wild like none other.

hit by cars. criss crossed up and down the avenue and then the eventual float to new york city highs.

baking bread for newlyweds and that crazy bug in the mixing bowl.

do you believe me do you believe me darling do you believe me

Anna Graduates

Your Protector

Clearing my throat for eight days eight days with a bloody lip in my hand, overcast skies blinking blindingly into my eye. 

What a pathetic state you are in. Copyright geeks with the drunken sweater v

ests grind mainly their teeth on this white white day.

"I keep scraping my knee in the exact same place."

And my shoulders are way too heavy now. Way too heavy to breathe and smile. My broken cartilage, my aching eye socket. The audience makes a mess for only me to clean. "I'm tired of being shattered glass and swept under the carpet. I'm tired of burning my fingers."

Where this animal comes to die, I am the Other One. the other one.

It's like I've inhaled the constant luxury of burning rubber, crushed into corners breaking my fingers off into my eyes with a sword in debt.

(As you lay to die beside me baby on the morning that you came will you wait for me, the other one, will you wait for me)

(Your Protector - Fleet Foxes)