stranger's disease

"i wish i believed you when you said that this was my home"



say perhaps to drugs

and then she says, 
i have to quit smoking.
and then she says,
she's disappointed in me.
and then she says,
she can't imagine going back.
but she never says:
   "i'm weak, 
    i'm sick,
              i'm following tides because i'm tired"

and then she says,
she's in rage.
maybe i am sick.
maybe i am following tides
because i'm tired.

i wonder who is,
i wonder who is.

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exctinct suns

i wish i could
try swallow my own tongue
sometimes it hurts
         yes it hurts

and then it's all smoke,
see you can
swallow smoke
but i refuse to could up myself
with meaningless lies anymore.

all life has now been reduced
to a promise of you
out of reach
in a glass house
for my delight.

all life has now been reduced
to extinct suns,
forgotten midnights
and empty cinema seats.

i wish i could see your ghost
oh yes i do
maybe then
words wouldn't trip on me

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letter #1

i could write you letters.
i could re write my head out for you,
in millions and millions of lines
through which you swim.
lately i've been trapped by
this cement brutality;
i have seen myself lost inside a crowd
of cold-stone faces,
but none of them are afraid,
all of these people,
where do they go?
i'm tired of this beautiful city
where no one looks up,
you see,
we're filled by this modern apathy
every day a little bit more
our hearts become clouded by our duties;
even if there was a sky above,
what good would it serve
this chaos?

i wish you could see all
of your own dismay,
this destruction aids my journey back to you,
and with each step
in this town,
i know i'm retelling your story
for the sake of rememberance
and i don't think i'll ever let you die.

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finding ashes in cushions

there's a certain karma i can't shake, you see
it's the smoke it infiltrates my skin
and i give up for
sullen and incompetent arguments.
i'm tired, you see,
i've tried inhaling the past but
it just comes back in waves;
you're a catchphrase you can't use;
in certain ways i feel sorry.
again i can't shake myself off
because when i look at you
i think i recognize myself

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born on easter day

i was waiting for strangers to greet
on days of ressurrection like
i was the real jesus christ.
all this time ive wasted it in the sun
hoping for more than ive ever given.
restrained to a life of being a bad person,
now i am one.
and then she says she would like to 
see me when i'm angry;
in fact her life lacks thunderstorms
and probably she's waiting for lightning.
i'm always down for this
kind of being nice and everyone around me
seem to make me realize
i have to work myself up a lot
before i grow up.
internally i daydream of emancipation
when in reality i'm still the same child
i was yesterday.



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