the world sounds like static

i even bottle 'bottling it'.
i have a hot touch and city rush.
fingertips on swollen lips - don't make a sound.
we're the kids made of sweat and heavy breaths.
car seats and headboard creaks.
rated PG 13.
we're high on that sugar rush, or blood lust.
plastic vampire teeth in napes of necks.
role play.
downing vodka but tasting bleach
maybe it's time we cut back on the speeches.
monologues and soliloquies.
we're all (oxy)morons.
newspaper print circumscribed on palms.
tiara's make princesses.

white steads make princes.
chain mail won't protect you anymore than this will.

the painful casualty of predictability

a regulated emergency in all shades of red and grey.
pale passions and community service.

i seem to be (only) capable of indecision. last year it wouldn't have been a problem.
now my heart beat races a little. grand national standards.
breathing quickens like it's been doing all weak.
anxiety burns the cross on my chest.
it's inexplainable, but i'm falling behind again.
if you'd like to call me right now, i'd smile just for you -
i need to know that you know what i'm going through.

circles are closing in on us, i need a break.
a chance to say, let's take a day, and remind ourselves why we came.

once i get home you're dead / extremist prose on the bullet in the back of your head

maybe tomorrow we'll change the world.
act like someone sensational to get ourselves heard.
the lights are on in ghost towns, but no one's home.
abandoned and disillusioned, we pay debts with confusions.
it's the confession not the priest that brings us absolution.
50's dresses in space houses - clash of the times,
the titans are long gone.
giants are only tyrannous when they realise how small we are. don't fill them in unless you're sure.
and even then rethink yourself.
second guesses and rosebud kisses.
pillow conversations say more than eyes open ever could. fingertips on napes of necks -
slip and it breaks.
clean cuts are all the rage, but easier said than planned.
i'll spell this out so you completely understand:

i mean nothing i say, but i say everything i mean.
sometimes you won't see it until you look between the lines.
fingertip graffiti - i'll write your name on your wrist so you can watch as you cut yourself open.
my name will catch crimson fears.
we'll intertwine under moonlight.
until you realise you'll never be mine, and go back to her like we both knew you would.
because ultimately, this will never be enough.

this whine is almost good enough to drink

calling all disaster fashionistas:
"i need you to know, i'm just skin and bones".
exceptionally irrelevant, fighting the feeling of feeling alone.

waking up minus those pixilated codeine kisses
is like losing lovers and fantasies.
did you forget what you were running from?

i can't look at myself in the mirror anymore.
fallen out of love with that look in my eyes.
the one that destroys everything that makes me feel alive.
perhaps tomorrow we'll break-out of these habits and charm our way into
chances.
accordian apprentices.
black tongues in hollow cheeks scream for the yearning to feel your lungs burning.
stand tall, they'll sell souls to watch you fall, this is beautiful dissonance.
car journeys at 2am down country roads without headlights.
we'll lose more than our pride and won't feel a thing.
you lost her on the inside.

repeat then rewind.


loveetc

misconceptions

days dance into nights when eyes blurr while you're standing to attention.
pour yourself another drink, who cares what the neighbours think.
my password is 1989.
i imagine you saving me, and then turning 180 and saving yourself.
hades rules hell with an iron fist.. children on wishlists in grottos.
some things clear your head. some things make you believe everything you've read.
i make you go crazy for everything we said.
'us' was never a synonym for forever.
dropping cherries for lovers, a refund we can't reclaim.
leaving wills and sentiments into microphones. writing black secrets into lyrics that no one will fully understand.
my fingertips are lightening.
these scissors are almost frightening.
she'll show them what it means to be free - alley cats and police batons. every purpose.
shakng and shivering, he records the way she shed her skin on stage, gyrating high on podiums. selling sould in cages made of gold.
eyes freeze framing.
hearts beating to dance music DJs.
we sold our jewelry for trips to foreign countries.
fire burns rivers in cheekbones, marking years in weathered skin.
lips stretch to form regrets. she wrote this before you'd even thought of it.
perhaps someone's writing songs a little too tragic.
mabe she's trying to tell you all about it. the lullabyes that sing her to sleep until she wakes up choking on her dreams.
nightmares that only haunt her when he eyes are open.
headboards and headstones are marked by the same intials. signatures without homes.
streets missing signposts and addresses to ghost towns.

i don't want to be afraid anymore.

tell him he died a hero / catch the bullet with your teeth

sometimes, to be extraordinary, you've got to be ordinary first.
everyone's special. and when everyone is, no one is.
my room and head are trashed.
bombsite's. the shit goes down.
this ship sinks.
this is a little convoluted, but absolutely contingent.
we can't resist getting pissed
to drown our dreams and memories -
between puking up in bathroom sinks
you pour yourself another drink.
this is judgement day. reckoning.
silly pretty boy, she doesn't love you like i do.
or maybe i just like twisting thruths.
manipulation.
rigid fiction.
fairytales based on traffic jams and 9-5 working days.
my nails are painted yellow.
you're pure gold.

1989

only beating hearts can be broken.
considering sending the block of ice in my chest to hell.
i'm insecure and insignificant.
always the dreamer and never the dream.
this is civil war inside my head -
mass murder in both regiments.

everything i wrote yesterday was inspirational.
today it just seems trivial.

i'd give up, but i'm afraid to let go.
i really don't want to fall.

what did you say? this is all for the best?

sorry, you're wrong.
these are the causes of the mistakes that make wars.
we sweet-talk to pillows in the hope we'll open our eyes and you'll be sleeping underneath our fingertips.

"tellmetellmetellme."
can'ts and won'ts seem to walk hand in hand these days.
memories and moments we try to replace.
not that i think you'll hate me, because that's just not true -
but opening lips will break more than just rules.
one more cut and we'll fall apart through fingertips.
slip on lingerie and dance on pedestals in cages -
see but don't touch unless you're slipping monopoly money into waistbands.

everyone thinks smiles are free.
sorry honey, mine are paid for by the trash treasury -
saving them up for rainy days.
this is just my way.
fuck dying in your arms and kisses on blue lips.
i write my own fairytales.
heroines disfigured in fires. heroes paralysed after forgetting how to fly.
scribble out the truth and replace it with lies, or compromise.
collaboration is overrated, so whisper fantasies and cliches into ears and headphones
this is just how it goes.
hold my covers tight: be my day and night.
the moon to light my way.

show her she means more than ever to you today.

we painted these roses red

i did it.
fought it.
ran from it.
beat it into submission.
wore its outsides on my insides.
showed the world how it didn't matter any more.

these are avalanches. snow storms.
warm breath on cold mornings.
high altitude headrushes.

my mind is a maze.
my eyes are a map.
my finger tips are a time line.

standing on trainlines we know all that we never knew.
it's never as fascinating as you tell yourself it has to be.
the glass is always colder on the other side.
eyes reflecting moonlight.
lullabyes to grave sides. pretended this will be something prevalent.
pills to set off shakes.
shakes to spill your heart into headphone's.

keep that little blue disk spinning.
we're 7" from winning pulses and lips.
these are the stories to tell the grandkids.
unbreakable.

this chemical imbalance is just an excuse to say, "kid, you're fucked up."

swear it's bad luck, or no luck at all.
knights on horses wielding egos and swords -
all armour and not much else. i know how it feels to be afraid of help.
the words have always been an obsession, but this is something new,
the bordello of your subconcious is open to fire.
each guy here drags his own shadow.
porcelain dreams.
diamond hearts.
we're the kids that claim to be unbreakable.
i swear to god everything you hear is always true.

the distance between us is dangerous -
sometimes i wish time would just stand still, so we'll never grow old and out of date.

stealing lines from overrated bands isn't my forte -
actually, that's a lie, i do it all the time.
nothing you see is me.
i'm a double shot espresso.
looking precious and precocious is all part of the show.

this is nothing but excessive procrastination and indecision.
you get it, or you don't.
i didn't want to admit it, but things haven't changed as much as she thinks they have.
i'm throwing out, "i'm only human"s when i get caught out,
and this time it's grown old.
vintage without that loving feeling.

roll the credits on these rainy-day kids.
we'll never seem the same.

money for pleasure

you and me, we're pulling knives out of backs like it's going out of style -
with the way you've been talking it, you'd think you'd walk it something special.
backstreet doctors prescribing pills to make up for something less prevalent.
i know, i know, we've been here too many times before, she says
but god it just feels so good this way.
faces flash in compacts, tucking notes into half-price lingerie she swears on his life she's telling the truth -
slipping and sweating apologies and prayers in the left side of the confessional booth.
he's been convicted for fraud of pretending to be adored.
degeneration.
to hell with our good reputations.

these are kisses goodnight under the lampost, out of sight, to fuck the cliche of by the front door.
i'm just the girl afraid of second chances.
sad steps.
say yes.

hansel and gretal

i read people as easily as you read these words.
except i see inside and out. i doubt you're doing the same.
but sometimes my insecurities get the better of me and i see things that aren't there -
illusions i create for myself.
mysticism and miracles, power without wands or spells.
sighing without realising, wishing days away while preserving seconds
dancing in hooker heels on street corners for money in top hats.
they're sending cards to pay their dues
with thoughts in between the lines of "i'm glad it's not me, but you."
accuse her of being the reason you can't face you own reflection.
convince yourself she's why you shrug your shoulders to shake off your shadow.
we all have secrets. some pass lips -
others are ironic.
let's look at this hypothetically shall we?
if someone told you they were driving themselves crazy, how would you take it?
silence is golden until you force that laugh that makes awkward situations blush in a series of quick-fire excuses.
a rush of, "you know i was only joking, right?"s, cut the tension with a knife.
this is the derailment you imagined. mirages.
the city rushes past insects and make a bigger impact than when it passes us.
blank it out, choke it down, everything ends "happily ever after" now.