please, go royally fuck yourself

today I found

a handwritten note leading the way to Sterling

a stowaway that made its way

all the way here just to fuck 

with my immortal efforts to forget

to fucking forget you

i have to fucking forget you

get off my skin!  

screech&scream&scratch&squeal

pick&peel&burn&burn&burn&burn&burn&burn&burn&burn&sizzle

&heal.....?

“she’s a goddamned madwoman” 

they all sneered

and the rest of us slosh through our listless existence

with a need so perpetually unsatisfied

while you somersault through the stratosphere

with the exquisite electric company you keep

my face is shaded by the Demon of Envy

and his Army of Jealous Jackals

cackle and laugh around

the grave i buried you in

i buried you both in

the cliche of "the one that got away"

these are just notes, nothing more.. because

I need to write a song about the CLICHE AS FUCK one that got away

and the meaning of it, letting it go, and how impossible that is sometimes

my subconscious drags you to the surface, just when I think I’ve moved on, or I’ve found happiness - and thats whats so goddamned funny about it -

its not like its even really YOU that I missed out on.

YOU did’t get away

but an ideal image of a man got away

one I created out of my 

never once satiated need 

to possess you

and maybe I didn’t because, had you been mine, it would have ended as all others do,

in utter disappointment

and then the dream of you, of the perfect love, would have died

had you been mine, the dream would have moved on when we moved on from each other, for certainly, these things are fleeting at best

you got away from me

and left me with this hauntingly beautiful memory of being

immersed in another’s soul. it was obsession. I was obsessed. how could you still make regular appearances in my dreams had my conscious brain not devoted so much time putting our bodies together, in every scenario imaginable?

how many times have you showed up there, while I sleep, all these years later?

will I still be dreaming about you, when I’m an old lady, feeble in my bed, with nothing to do all day but drift to that alternate universe where the unimaginable exists?

will you still be there, in your ice chiseled never melting non existent perfection?

where is the real one? the real ideal? the mysterious and enchanting perfect physical specimen of beauty and intrigue, mixed with enough of 

the grime from under your fingernails

and chewing tobacco and cigarettes

and dirty laundry and

awkward laughter

and crooked teeth

and a stolen smile from across the room

sleeping right next you and never once letting my lips touch your lips

maybe this ideal I created in your image

is the only thing that keeps the hope of love alive

and without it, i’d float listless through life without any dreams

those dreams that make it painful to get out of bed

and i long and beg and plead to go back to sleep, just to see you again, 

see you the way I want to see you, happy, dancing around each other in our hazy heady lust for life and each other

NONE OF IT EXISTS, not in this tangible reality

this is all you get

im only doing what's most important
for the big picture
and it's hard and painful and expensive and time consuming
but worth it worth it worth it
i'm happy, in a different unfamiliar way
life is satisfying and exhausting
and finally, I can sleep
really really really sleep
and wake up filled with that invisible force that makes you
go through the difficult motions
to get to where you really want to be
because you can see
that slightly out of reach dream
is just at the end of the tunnel
that pinpoint of light that holds the delicious mysterious future
of my one and only chance to live a life worth living
breathe it in, because this
this is all you get

9.25.2012

he says to me

now you can breathe

sharp intake of the heady nostalgia

tinged so slightly with the most

chartreuse of reactions

face in his hand

his firm grasp on

the control

we both know

he possesses

over me

oh, my silent soliloquy of solitude

     a breath from your lungs

     a drink from your lips

     a dream from your sleepless nights

     to come in through the back door

     of your need

     for a hand

     in your hand

the ocean disappears

lost into the night as

a gaze unfurls

rolling down his nose

to land on my soul’s

receptors for connection

that connection

and I’m the captive

unsteady

audience

for this, his complete

conscious decision

to disregard the minute nuances

of my desire

to have him 

9.17.2012

I look for it everywhere, in everyone

exhausting my subconscious, looking for the spark

and as every soul comes in and out of my life

it seems a little more hopeless

there is a beauty in the sadness

pining for the unavailable

the unattainable

the invisible nonexistent ideal that my dreamers mind created

and if you’re a few degrees off course

is it enough to throw off the whole journey?

surely the entire expedition won’t be thwarted

by lovers’ good intentioned miscalculations

blame it on the stars, and their ever shifting reason for existence

their guidance changing on every whim of want

we’ll still make it there, there

to that place where enlightened minds go to make beautiful things 

won’t we?

three

1.

the fuck is the only thing

we’ve conquered

but, at least, we have that

it was easiest to meet on the common ground 

of our desire

than to take the time to find something

more profound

on which to build a foundation

just humans, 

doing what humans do

fucking for the sake 

of a fuck and hoping 

transcendental ecstasy happens as a result

and, where credit is due

it is without a doubt something euphoric

in it’s own sweaty slimy messy way

and I need it as much as I want it

only from you, i madly crave it

2.

but goddamnit if these pills aren’t already

meddling in my affairs of the chemical relationships in my veins

gushing through in bursts, telling me how to feel and what to think

and when its okay to speak, when its okay to want you 

once the new wears off, where will we be?

making music and meaningful memories in other ways,

I hope

3.

i’m a girl like every other, mind in the hypothetical

one foot in the glass slipper in the grave

with a stop or two at grand achievements, 

final destination includes

TheMeaningOfLife

dragged unwillingly though the darkest 

black tunnel labyrinth that is

TheFearOfTheEnd

how the hell did we get here? in this state of mind

I’ll blame it on the pills

radiation

my self loathing has a half life

radioactive poison decaying

leaking and seeping

out of every good intention

you can’t touch me or even get near me

for you run the risk of contamination

and all of my doubts and skepticism

will be yours to bear

dragging you to the depths

where nothing thrives or grows

cells mutate into this monster of

how you wish it could be

vague impressions of a better life

of a better way of living

barely scratch the surface of this

hazardous cavern of pity and hate

IT IS NEVER GOOD ENOUGH

ever. 

I am not what you want me to be

I never will be that

all efforts unnoticed under this protective suit you handle me with

all rigid plastic and dark glasses

double standards and misread messages

labels applies all wrong, upside down and backwards

hidden under forgetfulness and unrealistic ideals

perhaps its time for me to go