Ive been sitting here for weeks trying to post, trying to put into words, what doesn’t seem real. Seething in my own fun house mirror of  madness. 5 years own my own again and it has been an epic fail. She knew this was going to kill me, she only worried long enough to find someone else . I wouldn’t know how to have a real relationship with anyone. My trust is gone for people, the voices say words behind my back with false assumptions of myself .Judgments bases on my withered skin and fear. I cannot seem to speak to anyone but bacon. That’s a lot like cooking it without a shirt on. I want to connect I want to. Busted, broken and disrepair swim in this encephalon. Run away ! the monster is here. No need to worry, the villagers already killed it, the body is just still moving. I’ve seen self spawn, pixels of  regret looking at me preaching clown love. I’m sorry Addi. I’m sorry Connor. I did the right thing by leaving, I know this. It’s hurting deeper then I ever knew it would. Blowing clouds do nothing , I have reached a new level, a new trepidation roller coaster. A pitch so high robots cannot even hear. A life that wasn’t meant to be, without courage and the gifts god gave everyone else but this retched soul.

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My heart and mind are screaming for stimulation.

I want your expression. Please, it’s all I ask of you.

You who never arrived
in my arms, Beloved, who were lost
from the start,
I don’t even know what songs
would please you. I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of the next
moment. All the immense
images in me– the far-off, deeply-felt landscape,
cities, towers, and bridges, and unsuspected
turns in the path,
and those powerful lands that were once
pulsing with the life of the gods-
all rise within me to mean
you, who forever elude me.

You, Beloved, who are all
the gardens I have ever gazed at,
longing. An open window
in a country house–, and you almost
stepped out, pensive, to meet me.
Streets that I chanced upon,–
you had just walked down them and vanished.
And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors
were still dizzy with your presence and, startled,
gave back my too-sudden image. Who knows?
perhaps the same bird echoed through both of us
yesterday, seperate, in the evening…

*************************

~This reminds me of you~

Photo by DPX

Coolio’s brand new tattoo was supposed to impress his tour mates Insane Clown Posse, and their fans — unfortunately whoever inked him up didn’t use spell check.

The body art was supposed to be an homage to ICP fans — who call themselves “juggalos.” Coolio’s tattoo reads “Jugalo Cool” — ironically one ‘G’ shy of actually being cool.

The “Angsta’s Paradise” rapper isn’t losing any sleep — telling TMZ the typo was done on purpose and he doesn’t plan to fix it.

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I’m dying tomorrow, in this house, on this street, Chicago.
I’m dying tomorrow, did I do it right?

Did I remember to sleep in, take lots of pills, commit irreversible sins?

Did I, did I at least try to kiss the prettiest girl at the right time?

Did I remember to keep your beer as full as mine? Did I remember to say cheers?
Did I at least try to make sure everybody had a good time? Had the best time…

Did I remember to stay up late, drinking for the fun, singing for the taste?

Did I run outside to kiss the rain under electrical skies?

Did I remember to keep your beer as full as mine? Did I, did I remember to say cheers?
Did I, did I at least try to make sure everybody had a good time? Had the best time…

I’m dying tomorrow, in this house, on this street, Chicago.

I’m dying tomorrow.
Did I do it right?

This isn’t what I wanted to be.

I’m tired of trying to be pretty. I’m tired of trying to impress. There is no point in trying to be someone… it gets you nowhere. Need to learn to want to be me, not be someone I want to be.

Have to work a job where I’m so exhausted when I get home I actually sleep. Be a mother. Do the 9-5. Here we go. Time to do what I have to do. Take out the trash. Out with the old, in with the new… or lack of anything is better than the unhealthy old.

Meh.