branches on a tree

gonna try out tumblr for a bit, so posts are going to be happenin' over there at insipid-inanity.tumblr.com.
if I decide to return here, I'll either say so over there or just start posting here, depending on where ya look.

caw, caw.

shut up.
shut up.
shut up.

creatively dead, laying in bed to feel unalive again. aches and sores and roses for stupidity down and around. the dark tells me why I want to follow a fool and be swallowed by your misunderstanding sundering and plundering.
I don't like you, who fakes like a faker faked. who cries about lies twice told by someone who isn't real, who isn't actual. I don't like you being there where I can't see you objectify my existence, and make me think twice about who I am.
I don't like you who can tear me down and stand tall, a damn dame who owns not a single mirror.

but I don't hate you, though I'd love to, though I ought to. it's easier not to. it's easier to move on and let you rot a bitter memory, than let you fester in false prominence. because I didn't lose you, you who can't even find you, yourself.

so shut up.
you're blatantly spouting foul falsities about idiocy twice gained, unaware of honesty and self awareness.
so shut up, and don't bother me until you wake up. wake up and realize the difference between who we are, how we are.
but since no one ever will, let's just leave this a bridge once burnt, and never one rebuilt.

kangaroo.
goodnight.

g'night wish.

I'm not sure what I think life is all about,
what I need or want it to be, or how I want to interact with anyone, and everyone.
I'm sure I want to smile, but how or why - I have no idea at all.
Also, I'm not sure why people can't be honest with me or themselves,
and I wish they'd stop using others as excuses for their life.
I don't know why it bothers me what others decide,
I realize everyone likes to think no one can affect how they live,
but that's a naive delusion.
Join another species, you know?

I will find happiness, I just don't quite know how yet.
But I'll try and try and try.
And I'll remain hopeful that honesty can remain prevalent.
I want people to tell me what they think honestly,
I want people to save me from unrequited honesty.
I want people to realize the importance of nurturing their emotions,
I want people to realize that what they really think, isn't evil.
That it shouldn't be hidden, it should be shown.
Maybe not to everyone, but definitely to those who should know,
or can know.

Well, I don't know, whatever, right?
I want honestly, good and bad. I want you to talk shit openly,
or say scary things truthfully, because to be honest, people may
surprise you. They may even save you from the numbness of
your own foolishness.

So no more hotheaded fools, please.

Night.

unsure why

Unbeknownst to you, the unloved staple of worldly affairs, I can read your eyes.
I can read your eyes that tell stories, poetically rather than phonetically, if you get it.
Here is where I tell you how wrong it is to believe in you, and your heart,
it's the time where I say to you, why do I even waste time pretending I don't care?
For that matter, I can remember thinking, why do I waste time wondering if I actually do?

Life is a confused mass of twisting, and constricting veins, moving emotions though time,
transcribing existence between people, between you and me. Between us and them,
we exist simply to notarize the bond between boy and girl, and any combination of.

If this is confusing for you, then try to understand.
Close your eyes, breathe in and hold it in your chest,
hold it til it burns, til the muscles in your neck flex,
til your body desperately tries scraping around for oxygen.
Do this, and breathe out. Gasp, and gulp air,
and realize how much affection you have,
affection for something you never think too much about.

Humanity is a beast so fickle and frightened, full of harsh unloving ignorance,
so full of unrealistic beliefs and practices, and woeful hypocrisies.
Yet it exhumes such beauty, such raw expression of emotion and creativity,
that without even trying it easily varies between under-and-overwhelming.

And yet, with no good reason, you've chosen.
You've decided that I'm impossible, without understanding me,
or worse - yourself. It's pitiable, because as hurt as I can
pretend to be, or not to be - it won't bother me like it will you.
Or so my humanity says,
as I walk away quietly,
slowly pulling chances
from your fingertips.

No matter how many I want you to have.