spectre

"...driving her home."
her....or....
"it was late and i was tired. we fought."
so you left
"...and i left. and i drove"
alone
"she was there....and then she wasn't"
now shes...
"gone..."

green or red, alive and dead.

sometimes i'd like to tell her...

i look at her face sometimes and wonder why my heart creaks and moans, struggles to breathe and finally decides to resume with a thud. like an old car, or a solid punch.

i wish i could cut out her eyes and drown them or burn them or bury them or just keep them in a small coffin under my sheets (without hurting her), because i think alot of times, that someday she'll look at someone with those eyes like she once looked at me....

i never can whisper and always need to shout, i can't help but stutter and fumble, missing the point.....

how i just want us, and that beach, and that sun, and our saliva and sweat mixed in my mouth and on her neck, and her hair in my hands (bloody or not/breathing or not)...

fuck it...i once cried for a month straight when i 21....i thought i'd drown.

...

days go by slowly in prison. even slower when you're alone. days seem like years. repetition, unhappiness, and uncomfortablenesses become normal and never ending. everyday seems to linger or stop.

at the same time. (as far as the perspective of me, the viewer)...time goes by very quickly. 10 years is 30 minutes. you find yourself and the people around you older than you remember, scars seem to appear before your eyes. older and older and i look back and think "where did it go".

i fell...i died.......

a lifeless plague.

sore neck. i'm tense and you're gone....

i thought yesterday i lost my passport. and i thought "its amazing how i can manage to loose everything. friends. wallets. years of my life..." i got my passport back though, i left it in my gym locker.

...once i get the hang of this. i'll make lots of new posts...new layout...pictures...maybe you'll like it?

give me a week.

it will be up.