Bar passage 02.21.17

Honesty.
If I was to be honest with myself, with her, with whomever I latch my emotional wagon to, I would be brave enough to face those hurt faces; the sad, slanted lip, tiny open mouthed pains written on pretty visages. I hat them so much, I recall them daily as I am want to cudgel and flail myself metaphorically; the whole Catholic upbringing shit. Damn you judgy white hats, with your fake laurels and holier-than-thou overly curious digits.

I feel in me to tell, not to tell, am I saving myself or her. The ever-present her that always seems to come every.. year, biannual, lonely half-desperate existential period? Think I care enough about Her? No, unfortunately it is always about me. The favourite, the loved peer, the exalted inner Danny awaiting his forever Shine. So many bads and embarrassments melded into they all love me, cuddle me verbally, eyes so cordial and kindly. Sick of my openness and comfort effortlessly. Everyone says so approachable yet I should be lovingly. Ready.

So closed I get lost in the metal gears that shunt and stern the heartsing. Shards speak words that we afraid to speak, leak, spill onto digital paper sheets. Only brave when it comes to blogging. So utterly morose at the thought of femme loss, hurt faces.

Hurt faces speak volumes upon my deafened ears after years of selfish shit. Want to open but aware of the empty organs pumping materially.

1/24/17

Take the solace in solemn silent promises to twitchy McGee walls up

I could sit at the table with the pad so empty

So much white space it thrilled me then fearfully

Set up this desk for inkling inking

Architectural digesting passes through

Sketches and illustrates take a tick off my subpar

No one can see me tic running tick tock forever waiting for perfection

Perfectionist obsessive kid

Basement/office dwelling third place reversing

Adversity trumpeted

Bulked up to level this

Eyes on surpass but lacking push button confidence

Stuck to me, you, Irene too

Head jerking venting to release that dark stain joo joo

Screw the straightheads staring stone-faced

reject redirect Rob rejects

Upset relax meditate relapse

Pressure foments as my fingers bent

Curse the digits and hands clawing

Feel arthritic and Parkinson’s sick

High on the worry and losing the dismissive

Give in to obese obsess suppress subset stress

Feelin’ fine

Thankless

It’s like the Nothingness in Neverending Story. Grey wisps moving along. I feel this immense emptiness in my body, stomach, chest, I want to rip it out me, good god get out! Grotesque talons for the expelling, sharp jagged curves sinking into flesh, oozing bad blood from serrated perforated wounds. I cringe as I claw maniacally manic at lumps of heavy pressure, little rivulets of fluid and skin bounding down pain spirals. Hack slash dot alt control end me enders game. Last Starfighter jettison payload and bullet the riddled corpse. Body snatch body swap, burn baby burn pyro flame my form, let loose gasoline dreams and stinging singeing flakes from the hole in my chest. Empty, full of hate, decardia. Shed skin and slither into scaled hyde looking for the old in and out, not enjoying it, just in it for the thrill. Thrill is gone, he’s gone, blues my color.