What's up yo.

i wrote this today - while i was listening to the Brand New album... i was actually copyin it to a tape to listen to in my car.. lol

jealousy could line my brow ~ but i decided that only a few stitches should suffice. my own decisions made of black straps and molasses. made of two and the same pretense that would ignite the past. my pen tells me there is no more ink~ so my tears become the moisture to scribble the torrents and tidal waves as they trickle out. like mental constipation and my fever won't break until i shed the heavy pounds within. it feels useless to describe the back and forths~ because they only exist as two and the same. and i can't go forward until i shed the pounds of ruin surrrounding my heavy heart. it is too impossible to drag with me... its like i can't get myself out from under me... i am walking on my hems and tripping my self. because this burden and my path are two in the same. pain - spasm - pain cycle. there is no more excruciation than elation... my heart is star crossed, soaring and sunken in the dead and unbelieving sea. excruciation and elation are two and the same. i can't have one without the other so i can't go forwards unless i go back and sort and sell my shit back to the devil. tell him that love and hate aren't one and the same anymore. i don't need so much hate for the ones i love... any of them. i want to drown myself in rock and roll... the hollaring masks my own and it feels good. makes it feel outrageous and all right. it leads me back. so maybe i can take a step, pick something up and get my money back? except the devil is a bankrupt bastard.... so the fact that i don't get a refund is the point where i need to grow new limbs. seems impossible, no? it is how i must design an army of me. how i must synthesize the past and change. change. it's me. march on into this wasteland that's become and excuse for my heart- which is two and the same as my starvation for love. it watches me throw myself away. march in and pick up my wounded blaspheming soul. carry me to safety. i had been waiting for it all to come get me... for any captain to give me orders to swallow the ashes and buck up. but now i see.. the sea is evaporated. that ship is no longer sailing. the mountains are out of view. reality is non-descript and the angels are weeping. and it's me. with God in my soul ~ to give the orders. it's me. to climb the ladders~ the ones that held the couch as it floated to the bottom of the suffocate-less sea... it's me. that has got to see the good. to see the glass more than half full... to see the up side... not the upside down... cause they are not one and the same.... to see the grass is green right here. on my own hill. at the top of the ladder. in the clouds. where there is no sea to see. there is no captain to wait for. because i house the worth of my own pulse. no other mortal can live for me. and mortal we all are. and in heaven~ there are no husbands and wives... and in heaven~ there are no mortals. so this life is a game to see if we can make it to the playoffs... this life is for us to be our own captains~ man and maiden alike. and if we can do so with some prudence, we will all win. together and alone... and there will be no more missing. no more lost. no more waiting around, for nothing to materlialize out of our non-descript hilarious reality.