If this was my magic lamp

It seems like nothing now.. that i did nothing. that i have been doing nothing..
Waiting seems like a part of my 24 hour existence.. waiting and long ing.. longing for a chance to be something new.. knowing old is what i am.. knowing nothing is what it seemed.. or ever seems.
knowing is not knowing because it is a constant no-ing.

i have to leave.

Fw: Painting

his eyes,
as hollow as hell
blacker than the blackest darkness
they pierce you from within.

a new kind of sinking feeling.
a thumb print on your shoulder
four fingerprints on your throat
one hand that grasps and you know it
you'd be better off not breathing again.

I wish there was a way for me to explain myself. If only i could blame it on my father or on my mother. That's me... constantly looking for an excuse. Why do i need to look for an escape? Why can i not be content with that one, sweet little body. That voice that plays with animals. Why can't i long for it. Am i that afraid or is it just that i never really wanted it in the first place.. All of these questions.. All of those answers swimming around in my head. I have a brain full of songs and lyrics, stories and memoirs. All of them telling in their own little way. a cipher in it's own way.. but you can never crack it can you? you can never pull apart the story walls. Never reverse long enough to know what is really happening.. never step back and see me as the messthat i am. you see a boy, crying for help.. poor and broken.. why do you need me?
WHy are these things so hard to explain. How can we change them.. Still 1 million questions. Still you find my flaws.. and still you are okay with them..
I want to sink a boat. i want to jsink it with my mind while i am still sleeping in the cabins below. i want to wait until the water rushes past my bed. i want to act like i am concerned. i want to be concerned.. but alas, that is something i have never known...

water fills my cabin. the low muffled thud as the bow hits the ocean floor. now i can leave.. now i can swim to the surface.. if only i had gathered enough breath to make it. oh well.. such is life..

WHy can i not return phone calls..
why can't i follow through with my mix tapes i promise to friends.
why can't i make you a prize?
a book.
a screenplay..
something is seriously wrong with me.. my inspiration is a puddle of shit in a public restroom in queens..

I have no reason to get out of bed these days.. or at least that is the way it seems.. because you don't get out of bed these days..

i hate that i am depressing you.. enough to make you loose hope in us, in art, in happiness..

I am the great ruiner. or at least thats the way it feels as of now..

as of now i hope for change.. and i believe that it could come..
it could come in a flash of over night..

i want to be wise.. with my wallet and my wit..
i want to whoo a world.. to wave a flag with my words written brightly on both sides..

i want someone to hear me... but i am too lazy to speak.. my hands are too lazy to write, however i am writing now.. do you see my contradiction..

think possitively.. think smartly.. think with two brains.. use all of everyones..

don't think, just type..
make yourself do it everyday.. type until the you think you are leaning to one side..
type until your eyes blur but you are still reading..
type until you spin out of your chair..
type with your teeth
type drunk
type high
type sober
type while you sleep.
type out your life story even if you have none
type someone elses
write the word type
type the word write

make sure your story is heard..
or at least hear your own story.

I am no stranger to bewilderment.
I recall many moments lost in time.
Staring into the swirls of milk in my coffee, lost in its dance.
I've seen the sunrise for five consecutive mornings. The purple and orange hues set against drastic grays; you and that damned smile are in the forefront. Your hair was blown in front of your face, just enough to disguise the moment. One more morning such as this one, and I get to rest. Seventh day. Maybe I will have forgotten all about it when I wake. But you really love to creep into my darkness don’t you?

I haven’t been behind a hearts camera in a while. Even when I was they were after school specials. I have never been John Cusack until the sun rose in the right spot; you smiled at the right time. Outside the diner, I was holding a stereo over high over my head.

My life is a constant corner. But tonight you’re driving. Tonight your wheels screech as we slide slightly to the right. I would not be surprised if you hung out of the window with a large handgun, screaming “Freedom” as you fire at the sun. All so we could have maybe 5 more minutes of darkness.

Maybe this is who I am. Maybe I was born to be devious. I don't set out to tiptoe. I just strive to walk beside my friends. If they happen to be walking leisurely through alleys and ducking under open windows, I'll be right beside them. I love my friends.

Or do you? Can you even say that with that blood on your lips? How can you be a thief of hearts and not notice yours being lifted as you sleep. This queen, the one with the 100-year-old soul, she is to blame. With her “pretty eyes and pirate smile” she has placed you in a wooden box, buried deep in the sand on a desert island.

Be a treasure Boy, Be a prize.

And the kiss, well that was just the “X” on the map. Your breath ran from the room to catch up with hers. Touching her neck as her lips dance across your face. Feel her pulse.
You need to know that she is going to be alive when you pull away.

I don't want to sit here and think of these things. I don't want to type about you for hours. I don’t want to think about being a villain or a hero. It’s just those little tiny gems that fall out of your mouth. They should be set into jewels and kept in glass cases. Do you know that? I’ve seen one million girls, but you may be the first that I’ve met with fangs.

This world is so strange. The way humans and their tiny circles continue dancing together, long after the song has stopped.

You may dance to that song again, but it will never, ever sound the same.

I have backed my way into your corners. A place I am not supposed to be at this moment. I for bayed myself to think of some. But it's pretty amazing how your mind has a mind of it’s own. I think in sentences, photographs and instance. I create moments and sit quietly under apple trees, waiting for them to happen. Maybe that’s why you show yourself more often, threefold, like a comic book strip. Just as silly, but still pretty beautiful.

Multimedia message

Birthday lake

If it seems that i look away, strain to focus on anything but you, it is because i do.
If it seems that i am hardened, that i have turned into wood and that wood is splintered it is because i have.
Birds have pecked their way into my skin to eat the worms that crawl inside my heart.
It creates the illusion of love.
However my heart is now just a mound of pulp.

sometimes i try to quit smoking, other times i smoke more because it feels lovely.
Do cough when i take my drags?