Sound City.

The corners of your mouth.

I know that I am not a poet, I'm not good with words, and my thoughts are quite messy.
I know that my dreams are obscure and my heart beats too fast.
I know that our conversations are trivial, I don't impress you, and you certainly don't care about me.
I know.

But I really don't know how much longer I can stare at the corners of your mouth before I simply go mad.
I don't know why you have that scar on your arm.
I don't know where you're going or where you've been.
I don't know why you walk away.
I really don't know you at all.

Tell me.
Tell me about your passions and what you love and hate.
Tell me what you regret and what is your favorite time of the day.
Tell me about your parents. Tell me about your home.
Tell me all the things that have made you into this luminous, lustrous mystery.

I want to get to know you so I can justify this feeling that I already have.

I could write a never-ending novel
with the thoughts that I've knotted up
and placed in the deepest, dustiest corners of my mind.
And this is what happens:
I sit restlessly on a train
heading from one foreign place to another.
People coming, people going,
people laughing, people loving.
And all at once, I start to come undone.

It's been so long since I last heard your voice.

How you and I grew up and how you and I grew apart: Vol. 1

You can't blame gravity for falling in love; just as I can't blame you for the way your back arches ever so slightly when you're laughing at my laugh. I can't be mad at you for having dimples that bring me to my knees and I really can't condemn you for dropping the overbearing weight of my existence from the 300th story window of your life.

But still, I often dream of how things would be if I hadn't endured the fall. Better yet, if the descent had never occurred, at all. I can't blame you but I also can't blame me. Not this time. Not after I tried and I tried and all I got were answers in the form of goddamn static on the goddamn phone line. And so I left. And you left, too.

And It only took a few short weeks for my body on your bed to dimmed - into a silhouette, to be dimmed into a wrinkle in the sheets, to be dimmed into a distant fucking memory that you barely ever recall.

It's so horrible to be human, to have a heart so susceptible to emotion. I can cry all I want, but a sensible person would've known better than to love in such erratic conditions. Someone wiser than me wouldn't dare fall for someone so unsettled and anyone with their head on half-straight wouldn't hold hands with a heartbreaker. But I've never quite been one for rationality and so I collapsed, so foolishly into every inch of you. I laid out my naked bones and exposed my indecent heart and I cut my chest open and I trusted you. I trusted you and you looked straight into my eyes and you crushed it all with a single blink of goodbye.

Every once in a while I wonder about you. I wonder about how you've been and what you would look like if we were standing next to each other right now. I wonder what we would say and what we would do. Every once in a while I want to call you and I really really want to let you know....................
You suck.

I am constantly talking about the bullshit of avoiding negative people, energy, things, etc -
Always talking so trivially about ridding myself of bad energy and stripping my life of malice, virulence, and acrimony. But as I sit here at 4pm on a pointless Friday of my massively meaningless life, I realize:
What do you do when the negative energy is being harvested by none other than yourself?

"Adventure is a path. Real adventure – self-determined, self-motivated, often risky – forces you to have firsthand encounters with the world. The world the way it is, not the way you imagine it. Your body will collide with the earth and you will bear witness. In this way you will be compelled to grapple with the limitless kindness and bottomless cruelty of humankind – and perhaps realize that you yourself are capable of both. This will change you. Nothing will ever again be black-and-white."

No sleep till Brooklyn.

Carney - Love Me Chase Me (acoustic)

I've recently stopped believing in the idea of soul mates.

It's the hardest thing to do; to inhale this tainted place with lungs already so full of fallen stars.

I spend my days battling mirrors and fist-fighting street signs.
And I'm bleeding from the inside out - bruises in the form of apathetic attitudes.
'Hold it in, hold it in until those withered lungs explode. Stupid... ignorant girl... you're just a kid.'

I exist between approximately three places and I hate them all equally.
Just as the sun in the sky, my fickle heart is always rising and setting.
I can never make up my goddamn mind while I struggle to hold onto the last
piece of myself that I haven't yet given away.

The transition between Fall and Winter has me waking every morning to fits of
definite despondence and tremors of disorientation.
And if it's true we're composed of 70% water;
there is certainly an uncharted ocean churning inside me.
I'm aware of what it feels like to drown in the sea of yourself -
To be suffocated by the binding of your own skin.

What do you do when the people who love you the most don't really love you at all? 

You've thrown every ounce of yourself, carelessly,
at ungracious participants of your stupid, so-called life.

You've sold yourself short of anyone who gives a fuck.

And what do you say when your vocabulary has been exhausted 

by a week of L train breakdowns and comparing relationships to seasons?

I've recently stopped believing in the idea of "soul mates."
I've recently stopped believe in just about everything I can't hold in my two wrinkled palms.