Showing posts with label sometimes I write. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sometimes I write. Show all posts

Friday, February 11, 2011

I will continue

chain smoking because it makes me feel better about where I am in the world.

For these few moments, I am alone in a cloud of smoke and smell and I am comfortable.
I am quiet and the world is quiet.
There is a feel between my fingertips and on my lips that I know.
It is a feel that occupies my hands and mouth and it is not your feel, and I am better.
I would smoke this cigarette forever if I was sure that it would stop the sense of your skin on mine, allowing me freedom from that ghostly reminder of your being.
This used to be the feeling to calm me when you could not, and now it is my escape from you.
The cold February has rendered fingers senseless now, and if I have not thanked winter for anything, I will thank it for this.

Posted by samb. at 12:50 AM 0 more than before
Labels: , , ,

Thursday, February 10, 2011

A little farther

away from here

the sound gets quieter.
There's not a lot that we can still force out of our mouths.
It's more silence than anything else.

The ghost hands that we all remember still play a few chords here and there,
the noises still coming from the piano in the corner.
They're all in a minor key.
None of us can be happy where we are.

It's an overwhelming feeling of loss for all of us.
Fight, break, heal, break, and fight until we're nothing.
We lay on the floor near each other and stare into the ceiling lights.
We can't even begin to touch.
The hands that used to be magnets for each other are now full of static electricity.

This scene is full of old grays and washed out colors.
Like we got a bad developer who doesn't really know film.
He pulled the darkroom curtain back one too many times,
these pictures aren't the real thing.


Now playing: Happy Songs for Happy People - Mogwai



Posted by samb. at 10:34 PM 0 more than before
Labels: , , ,

Friday, February 4, 2011

Whoever you

talk to in your sleep ties your hands and your feet
and you wake up like a pig awaiting slaughter.
These same people you know, they know more than I do.
They can show you your unborn daughter.
You see her face every night and every day is a struggle, staring hard at faces around you.
Trying to put shit together, does she have the nose or the eyes
of the girl two people ahead of you in line.



I wrote this and I fucking hate it. I'm going to post it anyway.
What a strange night.

Posted by samb. at 3:11 AM 0 more than before
Labels: , , , ,

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Fuck the sun.

We're tossed into the sea.

I'd rather live in days too dark than see you again.

I would be the one you'd never lay next to.
So quietly.
Our dreams are lost and beautiful.
Miles from anywhere we can distinguish.
How many necks will you break to get back home?
"Enough," you said.

This is where I walk away, tell you
Things will be brighter someday.
Scream it at the waves and do your fucking best.
Tell the tide to stop its selfish changing so the moon can take a rest.
We are glass children, lit to shine.
Smart in the mouths but dull in our minds.


I already posted this once. But there is more to it now.


Posted by samb. at 2:09 PM 0 more than before
Labels: ,

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Fuck the sun,

we're tossed into the sea.

I'd rather live in days too dark than see you again.
I would be the one you'd never lay next to.
Silent.
Our dreams are lost and beautiful.
Miles from anywhere we can distinguish.
How many necks will you break to get back home?
"Enough," you said.
This is where I walk away.

The only appealing thing about winter is that I can write again. It's going to be a rough one.
Now playing: What Counts EP - Have Heart


Posted by samb. at 1:18 AM 0 more than before
Labels: , , , ,

Thursday, November 18, 2010

I told myself

to shut my lips and get my face straight before I made moves towards another sad sabotage. One dirty lightbulb is my life. The bottom is entirely rusted, making it near impossible to fit into a socket. The years old lining of dust on the inside of the glass is going to stay there forever, leaving people unable to see inside but making for a more beautiful, softer light. Who the fuck would use an old, dirty lightbulb though. There's newer, fancier, more efficient bulbs out there.

So I hung it upside-down on a string, dipping halfway into a fishbowl, trying to make use of it in the best way I could. That's where it will stay, for a few years at least, in the corner of a dirty sculpture studio, waiting to either catch the eye of a curious person, or sit until the building is cleaned out. How it's found doesn't matter to me at all. If someone questions my feelings at that moment in the past, then I am accomplished.






Now playing: Music for Airports, Brian Eno

Posted by samb. at 1:24 AM 1 more than before
Labels: ,
Subscribe to: Posts (Atom)