i liked you better

I liked you better when the world was ending. The structures that once impaled the sky in one direction streaks it now with pale yellow as they fall and crush the people. The cars are worthless when the road vanishes and disappears in a haze of black powder. It does not matter what you're wearing because you're going to die and sear; only to become a black charred statue sundered by your height and the hassle it takes to carry you to your tomb. What you say and how you say it means nothing as it is asphyxiated by the screaming and the outcries of the dying. The oceans betrayed us, our technology deserted us, our independence hurt us. We are all as one, a wave of pain surrendering itself to the outcome of an impending annihilation. No one is different, no one is interesting, no one is special. There is no superhuman to save us, there is no genius to rescue us, there is no government to defend us. We become nothing in the eyes of the world, as we are not meant to be seen but to be felt. People are not meant to be heard, or seen, but felt. I'll like you better when the world ends, and perhaps you will realize it then.

don't be so vicious, sir

"What
does it take to be me" said I at the crossroad of loving and feeling deceived.
"are you to fix the great scheme?" That shadow of mine, so benign and so eager to please. So eager so eager to please. Nothing I say will permit me to change but the likelier problem requires a day. "A day and nothing more is what I need" and I turned to face the cool colors of the world as it tilts on its side towards the moon in the still of unwavering calm. "No it does not, does not take you that long" and for seconds the night shuttered fixed on the notion that I had prolonged a response to engulf that perhaps I had something to say that could change the ideals of my life. I did not, sadly, no, I did not. "What do you know about me, you're the shadow that takes all my dreams as I sleep, when I rise I see nothing but what you transpire, the twists and the turns of the things I despise, in the wake of some solemn desire." My palms pulsated in the middle of phrases I locked them in rhythm to paces I took to meet faces with him, the crook, the crook of all my petty whim. "I hate you, I hate you" and off there I went to kick at nothing but burning cement and the shadow that meant I was gone, I've been gone for so long.

my my my my

eyes get tired under the heat of fluorescent light bulbs
my tongue gets twisted under the pressures of everyday living
my palms get sweaty when twisted over and over on my lap
my elbows get sore when i type for too long

and the constant tap tap tap of the keyboard clicking
is the music to my empty measures

a broken composition

that you throw away when you realize the notes just don't go right

I don't go right,
I walk through the hallways and the music isn't right
I slip into the desk chair and the tempo isn't right
I climb into the arms of nothing and the beats don't follow right

it's when i type a pretty word on the keys of a piano
and play some pretty music on the keyboard of a laptop

can i feel right again,
not perfect
but just right

i write blogs

and then erase them when i realize that I lacked a lot of judgement at the time that I typed it
and frankly,
I'd rather not be so vulnerable in times of furious passion

School is fine,
teachers talk too much

and I like to wander around the hallways thinking about things