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23K
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Reply Per Post
23
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It's better to lose your ego to the one you love than to lose the one you love because of ego. Your ego will not take you anywhere.
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few women ever experience themselves as real few women ever experience themselves as real few women ever experience themselves as real few women ever experience themselves as real few women ever experience themselves as real
— Carrie Lorig, from The Blood Barn
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briding the machine
wheel barrow, full of useless parts and scraps of restitched workhorse hearts with a contract on elation promising inflation on a balloon of sophistication
one of a kind, down the assembly line special talents strategized the sales we pitch, are the lies we buy Submitting just to get denied
we are marketing conductions zapping bodies into production casting hallways and staircases from the 34th floor of a roll-away
the warranty decrees, an expiration of good deeds assembling cages for our freedom while we whore out on the weekends
The passions for a raise the hard on for a taste we're all banking on the girth of a spiritual rebirth
security is a loan on the safety inside your home lovers are for rent the stain of finest-print always misinterpreted.
In the wake of mutual appraisement buried the proposals, and engagements for the sake of masturbation a promotion or replacement
engineering fantasies inventing self-inflicted deities we're all cumming on the face of the idealized and chaste Negating what we long to be a pure and uncut energy. A single celled identity, and winged with flightless grace.
We bride ourselves to the machine and march ourselves to hell an enemy of the ones we love on salary of betrayal.
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Ride or Die
Ride: If it takes until next summer, we'll be there. Or a year, or two years.
Die: Let me know when you're ready. I'll be waiting.
Fail: Hello ok Cupid
Ride: If you'll shop at the thrift store, in our pajamas.
Die: I can't stop looking at you.
Fail: I'm ashamed of how you look today, don't wear that.
Ride: I will pick you up.
Die: we can walk or ride the bus.
Fail: Only if you have a boner car..
Ride: Tell me things to remember.
Die: Write me things I can reread.
Fail: Why didn't you call me today?
Ride: I'll come with you wherever you go. Die: You are always with me.
Fail: The show must go on. Only the show. move along. nothing to see here.
Ride: I want to tell you all my secrets.
Die: You can have secrets.
Fail: I don't want anything you want to hide.
Ride: I'll be sad without you
Die: Go be happy without me.
Fail: I guess you're out having fun.
Ride: If this doesn't work, I'll try something else
Die: This will work
Fail: I can't afford to love you.
Ride: We can have virtual sex.
Die: You can have sex without me.
Fail: Are you going to fuck someone else?
Ride: I love you no matter what season, county, or time zone .
Die: I will always find you.
Fail: I'm wasting your time.
Ride: I want us to be happy.
Die: I want you to be fullfilled.
Fail: I guess you don't love me.
Ride: I want to be where you are.
Die: I at least I have the places we were.
Fail: Your dreams are impossible if they include me.
Ride: forget the past.
Die: Invent the future.
Fail: Negate the present. Smother the hope.
Ride: I want to sleep beside you, to dream about sleeping beside you.
Die: your mind, your heart, I am inside you.
Fail: Can you make me cum like that?
Ride: I can come see you.
Die: I have five lifelines, a change jar, an eviction notice, unemployment, and I can come see you.
Fail: Spa treatment on Hollywood boulevard please.
Ride: All the way home.
Die: In a chariot or a wooden wagon.
Fail: gunned down at the airport in Arizona, stood up at the checkpoint of almost.
Ride: Finally someone I can believe in.
Die: Finally found god and can die.
Fail: Am I on Drugs again? Are you another Peter Pan stuck on land without a happy thought?
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Derrick Brown, Born in the Year of the Butterfly Knife
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" Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head " - I Know it's over, The Smiths (1986)
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She throws a ripe vegetable into every garbage can in a twenty-block radius. It feels good to spread it out like this, the wasting.
Carmen Maria Machado, Her Body and Other Parties, from "Especially Heinous" episode title "OBSCENE"
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i worry so often - is the goodness in me a veneer. a rough white spackling of champagne toasts and friday evenings and too-quick jokes. i feel i am always building myself back up again, always trying to stack boxes on top of a rotted foundation. i mutate myself, hoop-jumping to some semblance of normalcy by journaling and eating right and "trying harder". try as i might: i know the form i began with, and that always feels more permanent. i was born as an anvil. i could never be the weightless sword.
the happiness and the joy is malleable, fragmented. but the despair? the despair remains. every time i drag my fingers down the tide of my soul, like black sand, i watch the sapphire grief glitter in the moonlight - somehow always-there, in despite.
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