bones sinking like stones.. sinking like..

Looking out the window, everything is moving so fast. My eyes stress to focus on the car half-blurred by the shaded glass and the speed that we move. I now refuse to focus on real things. Real things fade too fast, the car disappears around a corner, the balloon turns to a spec of dust in the dull blue sky. Real things never fade, the tree is still in front of the building that it still on the campus that hurts my soul from my sole up through the entirety of my body. I much prefer to focus on pretend things. The flowers that creep up the sides of every building, post, gate, bench.. the flowers that i usually can't see, but can always sense. They do not need to fill my vision to be apart of the world i perceive. My eyes can easily focus on the rainbow-colored lights that wrap around the crowd's bodies, the whispers in the wind, the little rain cloud that shuffles along above my head as i slowly step through my day. "Bones sinking like stones.." sinking like..

on the floor

My body needs to be stretched and twisted and bended and stimulated. I need to remind myself of the things i love so much, but have lost in the flurry of hating everything. I want to be flexible and comfortable again. No more aching back, no more tight calves. I need a bridge, a butterfly, a down dog, a dancers, a clasp. My muscles are craving movement and my body has been cooped up for too long.

blank

i have so much to say but i can't hardly find the words to explain it..
i'm feeling like an uninspired but desperate artist

did i rage against the day?

sometimes it just hurts

self-infliction/pleasure pain?

My legs are covered in scars, reminders of my lack of awareness or lack of caring. Scrapes from tripping and falling, nicks from shaving and cuts from new shoes all take a part of the history of small pains. My hands have scars from working, from clumsiness, from paper cuts and boredom. My face has scars from piercing and the inside edges of my hips from tattoos. All these scars reflect a moment of hurt. But what has been my choice? What did i do to myself? What did i want and desire to feel? The needle dragging ink under my skin was delicious.. the vibrations on my bone and the slicing feel of art was pain for pleasure. The breaking of skin and tissue to slide a metal bar through me? An aphrodisiac to those who could taste vanity. Another cut from shaving.. a scrap from my sharp nails.. a gash from falling off my board? Those may not be consciously self-inflicted.. but the pain is still desirous. We crave these little hurts to cover up for the greater hurts we hide.

impatience

your image fills my thoughts
i want you
and i hate waiting.

the burning path of honesty

i honestly could see us. i base everything off of instinctual feelings, gut reactions, energy alive in the situations... and i could just feel my skin burning when you were near. i want to touch you. grab you and kiss you fiercely.. and if you could live for a risk.. then please, give me this chance. let me start a new chapter for you. when you look at me with those x-ray eyes i know you thought about it too. so forget comfort or habit or fear and place wide-eyed, honest chance on the line. let yourself try me.

fragmented

i now reside in a dream-like alter-reality that has consumed my mind and caused a fierce life in death. i do not breathe anymore. my body needs no more then the dangerous words written on the horizon.. and my soul just needs desperate inspiration.