Into This Box

You are yesterday

A self, exhumed

Shackled by wild doubts

Inside the tomb

Into this box, I place my statue,

Just meters tall, survives the Fall

Cracks climbing your sides, you won’t live for long.

So I set you down, close this chest

Put my cold to rest

This describes me almost exactly.

Autumn Deluge

Autumn Deluge, how could I Fall for you
never in my wildest doubts did i think
something so grey could become so blue

flooding out the summer tunes, i only hear the haze of you
sinking in the sea of leaves, a bright red blue coursing through
filling up my lungs, the sharp grey ash from a summer passed
reminding me of what i had, and what could contain the vast

like a tree without a past, or a dusk that doesn't last
you left too late and you came too fast



i can't say i know what inspired this.

Redding

 Jake Redding

I wake violently; it is the Sunday following a night of lewd fun and binge drinking. An artist needs his vices. Outside, all I can hear is the sound of people stepping on fresh snow. Marching along, they all make the same noise, even with such differently sized feet.

I slip into my own comfortable footwear and freshen up for the day. Mundane moments follow as I decide if today’s a red day or a blue day. I decide on red. I put on a red lumberjack outfit, complete with a disheveled and bearded wild man. I stare myself down with vicious confidence, eat a small breakfast and leave. It’s time to work.

The work day is predictably difficult. I’ve been working with the local lumber company, Dorian Lumber Co., to help prepare for the coming cold season – it doesn’t pay well, but it finds other ways to be rewarding – and besides, my tastes aren’t too expensive. It allows me to practice my small-talk, and keeps me centered on what it means to be social. Miserable though it may be, I live for those moments among other men – not because I care for them, but because these men, with their empty eyes and sleepless nights, remind me of myself. An artist always has a mirror handy. We are the metronome.

After work we head to the bar and trade stories about our recent successes with women, and try to recollect last night’s events. I vaguely recall threatening to burn down an outhouse, which unfortunately never happened. We laugh it over, we work through our shame, we drink some more. We glance at the small TV mounted at the corner of the bar, and we watch in horror.

an example of why i should just write a story instead.

perched atop my desk, you rest
it's late in the evening, and i'm in search of
a sweet thing- you aren't so flawless,
but the day is ending and i've cut all my losses

you're there when i need you, you're vast and
unrelenting- your love is unending.
but you're cruel when you misspeak, you're
the issuance of death and the formality of ends

sweet thing, you're faceless
and last i heard, you're sour to the tasteless
it comes from deep down, in the sine of
your intestines - you brag of good intentions

silence bound to a button, you can be
twisted to a whisper - only a whimper.
you are a voice in the dark, moving bodies
swimming around, you are resonating sound

Words Unspoken, Silent Devotion

/they say home is where is where the heart is/so i keep my heart inside me/





It's one of those odd feelings I have to(night?)day, I can't quite describe. I guess I could call it "forward". I'm moving towards something.
I dream so much more now. Peculiar things, stuff that doesn't make sense. I dream of being in love, which is the most out-of-the-ordinary of all (that's never happening again). She's a shapeless thing in my dreams - I keep coming back to her and she's got a different face each time. But I love her dearly, and passionately, and it's in my best interest to please her. She causes euphoria, nostalgia, and excitement. I don't believe in dream interpretation, really, but I do believe in the power of the human mind. I am definitely in love something, and I think it might be music.

exsanguinating fury

I was a bluebird once,
but you clipped me nightly
(because I gripped too tightly).

my feathers earned, but later burned
I've grown into a monster now,
no longer blue, and older too.

i've grown my teeth, gritting and grinding
so i can bare them, snapping and smiling.

it's summer still, and now i'm freezing.
slighted them, her bones now twisting

among him and many, flayed and furious
skin grows back, and i'm very curious.

this anger is tidal, crashing over you;
but the moon is too, and leaving soon.

The Bend (Revisited)

she is on a shoreline that is too rocky
and she only knows how to keep on walking

i am the air she cannot breath in
and the sea she will not sink in

a blast goes off in my state of mind
like nothing i could ever describe

i am the bend in the spine she uses
to break my will and burn my fuses

go out and love, she tells me softly
go find your one, ever so sweetly

i am the peace she won't agree with
and a conclusion she will not deal with

words of kindness, self-defeating
if it's weightless, it has no meaning.

Swim 95

I remember when the red was drowned
the sharks swam with the snakes
my little blue planet got less lively,
the ponds turned into lakes

I crashed into a weeping wound,
drove right into you
turned around and found my way,
i ran till red was blue

 you never should have spoken darling,
your lying cleared the room
now I can't believe the sea is parting,
the ocean split in two

I twist my neck around
and show them how to swim
If I make it out alive today,
tell them I am sin

 there's no sea of love to drink
no place i would like to sink
no quagmire that is deep enough
to keep me off my feet

there isn't a sunrise close enough
that I would like to reach
no moonlight kind enough
nor one that I could ever meet

you might have sung of days to come
of how much you love him
but you never should have asked me that
when you know that I can't swim

Lienne La Havas | Tease Me