Sandalwood

Kinda wanna get laid

Should put on some of that sandalwood cologne

And take some peach martini fixins to her house.

Damn high school stratification

Comfortable where I was

So empty instead of whole

A caged tiger pacing

Trying to awaken your soul.

Once we called it over

Reality it seemed had faded

I thought you were my future

Our lack of love understated.

Looking ahead I realize

My best is yet to come

I see how difficult you are

How your pain has just begun.

Top and Bottom'd

It's down right dark; touching evil.

"...it's not that dark. There's no such thing as evil in this world. Good words, deep words."

Shaken with hunger I pull from the annex of friends:

"There's no evil in this world."; only nature and people.

Not that dark; the light seen is never as it seems.

And all of my words are good words, deep words.

Avoid the tragedy of the Brother again to the Mother.

Take the wisdom that we learned from his tragedy.

His tragedy that nobody would see, because they knew not what they saw in his slowing heart and freezing breath.

They knew not that his dying dream would be a tragedy.

They only reached as a blind man would in the moonlit sands.

But now we know.

Now we know.

Now we know.

Nowe we know that all the bottles and pills to slow the dream to non-thought are canonized from his times and we must be wise to read their tales to save...

People and nature are the only truth; you may say that it's not as it seems.

People are nature and the only truth; you tell me to take the drive and see the World through glass eyes and a cut foot.

Fuck that. In the Universe of Nothing, I can't risk the infinite luck that's *can't read that word* to me what little truth I can discern from the glass eyes.

Top to bottom'd a page in nine minutes.

Blind Children

Can you remember the times when waves rolled by and crashed unnoticed, 

free to float amongst the decades of words, deaf to the screams?

It is was a time of blind children, so helpless on the beach.

Sand blew into their eyes, filled the sockets electric.

Glass formed and they could soon see, but into a mirrored past.

Six detachments of a civic people rolling between the lanes,

free to roll thru dry grass and shine lines of sheer idiocy.

It's the smell that she remembers.

It's the smell that she passed on to me, that remembered her of a red dissociative time.

Free to love that's been passed on to me.

What the sand eyes seem makes their raw lids blink,

something thrown away that they see.

It reminds them to always be happy:

as she sees her ways: her past, her now.

as she sees her ways of no consequence that she passed on to me.

Call it a fool's way.

He's from the Ocean and new to the lands.

It's so dry; a throat raw.

It's so dry; to have eyes and sand.

It's so dry; parched lips and skin.

It's so dry that hopes lies only in the Ocean. 

It takes you under. Take me with you.

Faces of Children

Turn the faces of children so that their eyes don't have to see

the sick uncontrolled free their infidelity 

(brought by) the blackness in their minds.

Turn the heads of the children.

Push their ears from the sound.

Lead their hands away in fear of what they'll hold.

-------------------

  ...for I can't find an anger more justified than toward a betraying friend who rapes the dying and sick, who need nothing more than to be sent away;

Shunned back home to the arms of love,
a love that'll heal what's not already scarred,
kiss what is as they're marks of pain implied
to those borne into a cursed body.

His manipulation and deceit pull the
sick away to wither alone as the scars grow.

(He) offers a hand and brotherly embrace;
make promises filled with abandon.

But those vibes are too easy to retrace from four years gone by.

The character of a worthless man masked
by a brilliant mind and friendly smile? 

There is never forgiveness, ever,
ever justified for a man who rapes the dying and sick.

Shunned back home to the arms of love,
a love that'll heal what's not already scarred,
kiss what is as they're marks of pain implied
to those borne into a cursed body.

No anger so justified; no death so true...

No hate so right; no killing so pure...

No curse so Holy; no Hell so welcoming...

...than the one deserved by a man who rapes the dying and sick.

10:22

Oh Eight Thirty

"0830 in the garage, light on sleep, already drank my coffee (extra bold) and listening to The Mars Volta? Could be the fixin's for a great day. Expect a noonish burnout."

"0830 PST, running on 6 hours of sleep in 2 nights, off to a 12 hour day of work/school. I give myself until 11:00: 8 hours until its acceptable. *sigh*" - m3shiiko iic.

It's amazing how things work so cyclically.

Before we know what just happened it's like so many times repressed.

Severity of life.

One week is all it takes and I'm reeling in distrust.

But in one night she fades like brothers gone before.

The tragedy of Scott was in that no one knew (what to do).

Serve justice to the unremembering.

Imply guilt to the out of mind.

Punish the sweet girl of curse.

All of this is vanity wrought of insanity.

Those born with black waves in their soul, whose control...

As she sees her ways: her past, her now...

she dreads it all again: blood and death borne still to a land which from she was cursed and banished to suffer alone, to take the pill meant to kill.

"Living the dream," she'd say with a smile, but knows all too well that even a nightmare is a dream.

Mania is a demon bipolar bear's gnarly teeth. 

They'll crush bones.

They'll eat teeth.

Trust is for the naive, and self-sacrifice will leave you dead in a realm of no afterlife.

But what's worse than forgivable is hell's despair trenches. 

It hides under the oasis, yet inside, life slows until the sands are made of glass.