I'm tired

I'm tired. Tired of waiting, tired of being sick. Tired of monotony and spontaneity. Tired of early mornings, late mornings. Tired of the same old thing and tired of adapting. I sleep forever but rest never. I'm tired. Tired of being tired. Tired of being.

In dedication to the living

Hello! It has been a long time indeed. I hope you are all doing well and enjoying the summer months. Many changes are arising in my life as this new season approaches. I am sad, excited, and patient for what is ahead.

How is your heart?

Time can make more rubble
out of dreams than anything.

Sharp cold winter
soft warm fire
snowflakes falling to the ground
harmony of holidays
December it is now.

Ruffles.

It was late in the day when the woman awoke, lazily blinking away sleep from the crevices of her eyes. She noted that her gown was torn, and upon sitting up, that the entire contents of her room were in disarray. She shed the dress, and pattering into the bathroom, ran a hot shower. There she stood, letting the hot water sink into her bones. It was only until a few minutes later that the shuddering of her shoulders signified anything out of the ordinary. Then came the sobs, the pressing gulps of air, and the complete collapse of the woman onto the floor. There she sat, arms curled around her body as if in protection. Her hands fumbled, searching for a band around her finger. They fluttered as if grasping onto that ring would give her reassurance, certainty. It was only until the water had begun to run cold did the woman get up.
She put on some dry clothes and slowly, methodically, began the long process of cleaning up her apartment.

Well, what she considered to be her apartment.

Doritos.

She was sitting on the windowsill; her bare legs hanging off the ledge mocking the pouring rain and the seventeen floors that separated her from sanity. Thunder broke the air as her eyes went upwards; goosebumps pulsed through her skin. Makeup ran down her face, uniting her tears with the rain. It was then that she shrieked hysterically, and sliding herself further off of the ledge she finally looked down. Below, the umbrellas and cars looked like rectangles and circles moving in harmonic waves. The woman threw a golden ring down onto the streets below, then taking one last look at the cataclysmic forks of light, eased herself back into her apartment. For a minute the woman stood there, gasping for air as she laughed, tears flowing down her face. It was then that she smiled, and after closing the windowsill, she crawled into bed and passed into a blissful stupor.

Time hung limply on the clocks hands; the wrists of which were broken and mangled. She sat in the living room, her fish eyes grasping no more than the lights of the bow was flashed and spoke and coaxed her into a half-remembered lullaby. Her hands held a glass of snow - the snow of man, snow which falls on the heart and mind and pulls you into a blissful stupor.

How much she wished she didn't remember.

Sleep too, changed. Finding solace in sleep was a luxury reserved for the forgetful. Now it sharpened its teeth on her smile and made her remember. It fed off of the pain, it grew with her hatred. The more she stayed awake, the more it crept into the land of the living. There is no haven for those who wish to forget.

She awoke; moved on She got ready and walked three blocks down to the bus stop. There she stood, shoulders crumpled, knees crumpled, heart crumpled. She stood, shifting her weight from side to side. A small child with his mother stood not far off, his small black eyes staring relentlessly at the woman. A minute passed the ten, then an hour. Finally a bus - new and red - drove up and stopped. The mother and her child got in. Still the woman waited.

One hour. Two hours. Three hours.

The sun was now at its blissful peak, rays of sun playing a sonata to all that would listen. The woman got up, and walked back to the apartment, back to the room where the television was still shouting out its usual juxtaposition of nonsense. She turned it off, picked up the glass off of the floor, hid the crystal bottle full of snow, and turned to the table. There, a spread of papers with a singular pen lay. If you took a glance, you might notice that the writing the pages do contain is sparse, and in short bursts, like a fragment that you might have heard while walking through a room with the radio on. She picks them up, one by one, and stacks them into the corner of the desk. On a clean sheet of paper, she wrote: bus didn't come.

The woman stared at the page, stared at her hands. Stacked the page in between the one which read morning is kind at first and he didn't come home today. She got into bed, fully clothed, and looked up at the ceiling. It too contained a sort of static reminiscent of a television screen. Snow fell from the ceiling, and onto the mind of the woman. Sleep came, and with it the laughter of her memories.

She was standing at a bus stop. With her stood Christopher, sucking on a candy stick. They both had been much younger at the time, she about five and him about seven. They had been given change to go to the store for bus tickets and a few sticks of candy. She remembers how sticky the ticket had gotten from her fingers. The sun had been blessing them with a heat only remembered in that summer.

Now it is fall, a few years later. Christopher no longer held candy between his lips; instead, cigarettes adorned him with their grey lace trailing out of the tips. She remembered him the best like this, his floppy brown hair and leather jackets and halfhearted smile. She remembered how he came and went with his cloud of haze, which only enhances the mystery of that smile.

She woke up vividly, sweat drenched the sheets and her clothes. She got up, ran to the living room, and grabbed the bottle of snow with rain on her face. Drank one glass, then another, hoping the snow would cool the heart. But the rain kept on falling. Hacking sobs of rain, which melted the snow. Rain which burned through all the snow and came to the earth.

And in the earth a cigarette butt still smoldered, grey smoke encircling it like lace from a half-forgotten dream.

Koalas

Hello everyone.

It has been a long time since I really wrote anything with real substance here. So, I thought I would write something tonight...straight from my own dysfunctional mind. I have been totally bummed out for a solid 3 months and I am not totally sure why. I think it is just this time of year that makes me feel this way. It is too hectic. I have way too much to do, and I am just not getting enough support. But how can you even bother asking anyone for anything, when 90% of the population is just as busy as you are. So...I move forward and life goes on.

Anyway, the purpose of this post is for me to share something interesting that popped into my mind 5 minutes ago.

Do you ever have a moment where you think that you must be going crazy? That you honestly must be losing you mind to be in the state that you are in? The good news, is that if you are actually going crazy you will be the last one to know. Isn't that awesome? For everyones viewing pleasure I decided to look up the definition of crazy on Urban Dictionary.

Crazy:
1) insane,psycho,high,loony,absolutely awsome,free-willed

2)often used by people to describe what they do not understand or think is not how something or someone should be and or act

I think I am done with this post. Sorry to get you excited for something awesome. The font has changed all of a sudden, and I am unsure of which font I was using before. Oh well.

Happy Friday night everyone!

And then they wonder why...

Hello stranger.

You are the most beautiful person I have ever met -
when I see your eyes, the depth behind them entrances me,
when you smile, I see the broken heart that forms it.
You are perfect,
you are smart,
you make me believe in the good.
I may not know you,
but I would trust you with my life.
I love you.

I had a lot of spare time.

HELP! i've lost my brain -
have you seen it anywhere?
it's pinkish, and soft, and it has all sorts of wonderful
thoughts, ideas, and memories inside.
if you look closely maybe you'll see when my daddy
and i dug for worms in the back-yard -
these long, magestic worms that oozed so pleasantly between
my tiny four-year-old fingers.
or maybe you'll find the time when I gave my doll a haircut
and then dyed her barbie hair green with markers....
oh.. no? sorry miss. make sure to keep an eye out!

excuse me, sir -
have you seen my brain anywhere?
The last time i saw it was when... don't go sir!
i'm not crazy, i swear i left it somewhere..

have you seen a missing brain lying around anywhere?
if you look inside you'll see the time when i was on vacation
in mexico with my family; and out of the blue I decided to hop onto a bus
and go into town all by... i understand you are busy, but you have to understand,
it's my BRAIN i'm missing

excuse me -
(a sharp breath as i look up, only to see YOU
here, with your floppy hair and sunflower eyes, holding my brain ...
and my heart)

Touch.
Touch the one you love.
Love.
Love the skin that envelops the hungry wanter.
Want.
Want the life that life gives you.
Live.
Live to feel the simple ecstasy of half-forgotten dreams.
Dream.
Dream of a technicolor reality where death sings us lullabies.
Happy, sad. Sleep, awake. Blink, look. Laugh.

Feel.

Absolute Harmony

In the serenity of the restless leaves, I feel love.
Beautiful colours swirl around as the wind hits me with gentle force.
This is the absolute harmony, and it is alive.

Give me fiction, fill me yellow.
Paint my eyes, make me a butterfly.

I'm sorry world,
no one told me it would end up this way.

awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww