I hear thunder, it's funny how it's a reminder, all in all. I'm used to it now, though it might always remain funny to me, what you've become to me.
The idea of greatness, the need for something greater.. You and that great sense of humor, a sinister smile.. A voice I often won't hear for a while, with a constant stare. Even if I ignore you, the image is there. Just to remember what if feels like to reach for stars undiscovered, unnamed, unseen, untamed.. yet never intimidated, in it's burning fury. I bury my face in my hands, but there's no denial. I always wish such a feeling would stay for a while.

You were pullin' the shingles off of your roof, and the storm was blowin' up to the river.
You'd tested it all before, you said. Insisting deliberate distractions from any tightly held-together matter of the matter at hand... Long ago, you'd lost your bedside manner.
     But, you don't have to keep apologizing. I don't mind if you're thoughts or opinions are rude, or crude, or even chastising. What was once intimidated now has total control. Not even the long, eloquent tease has taken any emotional toll. When the day proves to be done, still no debris-control. What's ruined is ruined as what's old is old.
     You were pulling the bits of fur off the cotton shirt, warn by many and owned by none. So it's been a long night in your best friends floor... And it's even harder to sleep when your idle dreams roll into a wakening snore; a deafening demand for oxygen, makes you wanna never let them breathe again. 'Cause you only know her when you dream.

There is a cat perched in the window seal, like the birds flying about.. his eyes resting everywhere, yet fur moving nowhere in the wake of an early morning. And then, there's a supermassive black hole in the universe. Maybe multiples, maybe millions... never perched, but a steady growing excuse in the hollow of space - so unfamiliar to our earthly habits. We tend to forget, no excuses could cause a greater regret than one humankind foolishly assuming that there is always, always more precious time.
      Like pools of mirrors, the echoes reflect each fragment of visualized flesh so easily seen, so easily yearned for and never touched. Smells like innocence, in memory. We all lack innocence in memory.

Always the soft shadow that brings it all back; noticing how after long-ago, the residual humidity from the hottest shower frail skin can stand collects silently in the same heart-shape drown with fingers, during a moment of laughter and coy admittance. Like nothing, it's all been said now. Just like nothing, what I'm doing tonight... what I seem to be doing most of the time.


Let's watch it... Every second on recording, you'll knock it. Like you normally disklike anything outside the normal comfort zone, drawn onto you; and you know the boundaries so well. Even angels from any form of heaven, standing, observe the hell you're givin'.  It is a sort let down, disappointment, or a given... On recording, every second. Each hesitation or halting of revenge, or redemption. Even longing, evermore can you read into me, I would spell each cursive sentence with my mouth- both easy to see, easy to read.

      Using a key to the world to look at aging photos, knowing that as I stare, you're aging, too. There's not much to say besides the fact that it was all fun and games, in the end. Sometimes, like a fickle shoe string - the ends remain untied and often stepped on. Stained from the reminiscence of pavement's long-walked, far left, and never analyzed more than twice. Stained from mud, and dirt, and shit, and sanity lost often-understandably when you accept every situation at face-value, as-is... left to rot in the same pile of garbage accumulated after moving away to college. You thought you knew how to drink before you left for college, too.
      It's funny how the little things stay most unchanged, untouched, and true in the television-like screening of life lived on the wildcard, chances at random and shots - plentiful in hand as unlimited in a rain of furious mistakes and poorly-made decisions. Using a key to the world to stare at a face once memorized in the dark of night with the deep pits of passionately dilated-eyes, it's funny to note the differences in the face, and not the facial expressions. Those little things, and they stay in tact. A letter kept in a drawer, meant for everything else, lacking anything else of course. Reads in a manner unfamiliar to most, but the handwriting rarely-seen was already known all too well.
     Like a movie set analysis, it's hard to understand the sentiment once handed unto you by your elders, as you grow to realize you essentially want exactly the same things. Those fucked up kids grew up to be those fucked up adults you know; and that messy room's now a messy house and there ain't no home to retreat to. The childish way one once avoided things is now the immature way one handles a mess. If this is the worst, then what's the rest?
       

stories of workin' hard & fine at the five and dime,
making twenty-six cents a load.
A former advocate of peace crimes, kickin' pebbles down the road.
I never knew a man to lack such plans,
to collect all the cans for revenue. Tellin' me of fines, and lies, payin' fees -
avoiding the institute.
Wanted those long arms in his long locks and leaving for the sea,
stories ain't shit to me.
Ain't nothin' worth a shit to me.


The next time I wanna die, I probably won't lie about it.
If you take the time to lay with dogs, you're going to smell like a dog when you stand up.
No romance novels tell the truth about love...
No old folks' homes know much about busts.
If you're givin' you're time away, I'm glad it's not for me.
The saddest part is you're wishing I wish it were free for takin'.
If there's love for makin' it won't be between the lines you see, drawn heavily from tiny pricks
in fragile skin,
so that it may be taken seriously.

Sometimes, the idea of the touch it too much. It's a inkling too tough to ignore, I know I promised myself... But myself is an idea of a diagram we burned down the day we knew this was more than just a test-run. I know I promised myself to the master, and then the master became the student. And now I'm an instructor of bad decision making, but a wonderful example of well-played faith.


Ideas are like scientific examples disproved, so well inflated with the want of truth. But in the end, someone wanted to know that they knew more than another. Just like a storm passing, the land is left to crawl over once you look to your left and realize you've been walking along, all this time, alone. So I was wary when asking of the relationship ties, what's wrong for a liar might be right for a mostly honest girl like me.