lemon flavor

---

i could be nothing

---

if we charged any more for coffee...

"charged"

you need some form of introspection
i brush over your cheeks with my hands hoping,
for a day when the cracks in your lips will
be cleaned by the water.

something in you stirs and i notice,
i might fail to act if you hesitate any longer
but, that is the story of you and i
want and want not.

witness

"witness"

a thousand grains of sand perpetuate notions of
infidelities laced with grimaced words and fractures of
dreams that i once had in the nights, the Lebanese nights
you think i am one, but i am two, sometimes three
just clasp your hand in mine, and slow your breathing of
this oxygen that seeps into your lungs you're so hollow.

oncology.

"oncology"

hammer down your hands on the wooden table,
sometimes we make ourselves a
stylized burn onto something natural
naturally alluring, concurring, reassuring.

the dead and divine make time,
so why can't i? they shoes trace the
paths of all the old soldiers
we're regressionists, expelled
into arduous galore.

by trade

i probably won't get a chance to write later since i'll have work and not want to do more than come home and shower. i figured i'd write now (right now) and have an entry for the day, which, is what i'm going for.

so, i wrote some piece last night before bed.

"haze"

eyes deceived, i don't care what's true

i don't care what,

you hold in your hands.

i'm not interested in the fingertips-

the exposed marrow

i am ruthless, i am wrong.

i'd tell you to find me,

but my intentions aren't

what you're hoping for.

you're lucky no one knows me at all

i am breathless, fleeting and raw.

so meet me in the smoke house,

with the leaves in your hair.

...

honestly, it's nothing i am proud of. everything i end up writing is some oddly abstract piece without care or structure to poetic devices or lyrical flow. if it ends up as either one, it is merely by chance. oh well though, i don't really write for the hope of doing anything with it. it is just some ventilation of ideas through fingertips and plastic keys on an electrical board.

all i have to offer is my own confusion

"james madison"

striking rhetoric, plays pretty for a child
but constantly, we are laughing at the obvious
each simple mistake - a cry
a broken leg is a fortune
for those looking for the sky
often we fall-
only
to rise.

sprawl.

"sprawl"

sometimes, you move like a ghost through my fingers
other days, i feel you so clearly
i want to touch each section of your body
and make note of every searing pain

emerald st.

---

hey damage.

"damaged"

you are, only alone
i am, so alive with green eyes and cut fingers
my breath slips between your lips and your nostrils
everything is clouded in a fall of troy sense of desire
there is nowhere you can turn. somber, i wait,
i know that the broken sticks will lead you
to the place you called home.

first post.

So I pretty much made this for whatever I want to do with it.

Might host some tunes, pictures, rant, explain my life or views, whatever.

I'm not going to hype it since I have no idea where it'll end up.

That's fair?

Anyway, I think in addition to this, I need a new photobucket account since I forgot my last one's login name and password. I'm on facebook, if you want to find me there, but I use it 2-3 times a week at most, so I'm not consistent.

Ehhhhhhh....

I'm 18, I have no clue where I'm going in my life and I'm okay with that.

For now... I'm going to scoot on out of here, if I stay, I'll rant and I hate thinking of where that could go.