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john smith

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[03 Apr 2009|11:41pm]
when your child acts like a dumbass it seems to give right to the parents to act just as dumb; baby speak, jibberish, here and there is all i've fucking heard and frankly, i'm tired of it. why not talk to your shithead kid like a real adult, with inflection in your tone instead of stupid annoying monkey sounds that people make to sound cute, so maybe they won't grow up as stupid as the kids are these days.
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[01 Apr 2009|07:16pm]
my skin is made of static and my eyes are frequencies. fuck, i think i hear cop cars but i know i'm imagining it all, i really don't hear anything. i sit here staring at the road, listening to the familiar droning sound of the automobiles that go to and fro. this may be the only other time i feel alive, the only other time besides those brilliantly sinister times, and i am watching the world go by without care. i am static electricity, i know i am. the smoke curls in ringlets of five, out from my mouth where i seldom speak and into the stagnant air of my bedroom. i calculate sometimes but most times i don't, i just think and think until i go crazy and my mind rewires itself, piecing old bits of shit i've learned together to form ways to get by. i am fucking furious and yet subdued. the world is telling me to calm down
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[01 Apr 2009|02:04pm]
the roads are clear here, the wind is high. i went cruising down the street and found you with your shirt untucked, uniform still on. i guess you thought it was weird that i idled to a stop beside you, asked if you wanted to come over, said that you made the best coffee i've ever had. but you agreed and i took you anyway, drove fifteen miles to this piece of shit place and unloaded you there, work clothes and all. i made ramen because it's all i have to eat, so we ate, and you asked me questions like "where are you from?" and "you're like the regular customer, how much coffee do you really drink?" i told you that i didn't even really like starbucks and that i only came there for you, every other day at least. made you a drink, you wanted to leave but i said no it's okay, made myself a drink and fell into the static of mid-morning drunkness. we took pictures of things you thought were abstract and beautiful. just objects, i said, feathers are just feathers and this stupid bottle of vodka is almost running out. afternoon rolls around and you say you have to go, but you're flattered that i felt this way and that you would see me again tomorrow. "same time, same place?" the adrenaline was like liquid fire as i took you down, once forceful and now you are weak.

what is remorse? i feel it, though i'm unsure, like preteens are unsure if they're in love when it's only infatuation. i shouldn't have waited until the last second to capture you but i had doubts and then i let you go without words except for a stumbling "i didn't mean to, i" like a dumbass who can't figure out what he wants in the seriousness of things.

there is haze behind my eyes and i am uncomfortable to the point of exhaustion. there is no more thrill where there is no love in me for you. once you are cold and dark is where i find what makes a sun set. alone again, all treasures and trophies disposed of for good measure, the idea of coffee now making me sick along with the idea of me and people like me
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[31 Mar 2009|05:29am]
you take pictures of the homeless and show them online, professing how miserable the sight of an empty man is. you think it's sad and you think it's sick, but what's really sad and sick is how cheap you all are without realizing it.
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[31 Mar 2009|03:03am]
cats are dumb, there's no use in trying to make them see reason, or sense. and yet they're the smartest at what they do; problem solving, exploration, seeing the world for what it is and what it's not
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[30 Mar 2009|09:34pm]
there have been times where i've wanted to tell my mother about the things i do, but i stop myself before i even enter her bedroom. i stop myself before i open the front door and see my old dog, and i stop myself before i drive down the street with my old shit house. there is nothing in me that wants to hurt her, and yet i want to show her that nothing matters and what i do doesn't matter either.

stupid, fucking pathetic, piece of shit, disconnected mindless animal, deaf and blind, without remorse, outside. this is all evident to me about myself but there is more that isn't and never will be. my legs hurt as i sit here with this cracked glass of vodka in my hands, smells like the sharp pain of rubbing alcohol. won't drink whiskey even though i like it. he had a habitual taste for it and so do i, like father like son, i will kill him even though he's dirt. stupid, fucking pathetic, piece of shit, disconnected animal.
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[30 Mar 2009|06:32pm]
all of my love, all of my love. i drove down the same country roads again today, feeling like i belong there but knowing i shouldn't go back. fuck it, i don't belong anywhere and that's alright. first there's the initial sickening sadness, petty and stupid in it's entirety. and then the fury follows and i'm lost to it.
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[29 Mar 2009|06:08pm]
the sun is going to set soon in this place where i live as a criminal in the eyes of my father. i've taken it upon myself to write my own will and testament, though i'm not quite sure what difference it'd make after the fact. i wonder if there is a place for me in that beautiful faux fucking kingdom in the sky, and i mean this even though my sarcasm gets in the way more often than not.

i still have your hand and i feel it against mine every time i lose myself. lose myself, lose myself, i think i know i think i know i've already lost myself.
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[29 Mar 2009|04:03pm]
patrick is still in my mind. why?
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patrick [29 Mar 2009|12:34pm]
you laid yourself out like book and i took notice of your pages, ripped and torn from other readers who read your story on nights like this. i specifically recal holding your face between my palms and rubbing circles into your cheeks. you found this funny and i found you breathtaking. the eyepatch you wore is in my hand and i refuse to let it go because it's all i have left of you, patrick, the man with the soft skin and soft hands and soft smile. i have taken you in the worst way, with your body open to me like a canvas i could paint on with the rosy red in your cheeks. "your hands are rough," you tell me, and then you say "i didn't mean to offend you, i just think they're beautiful" nobody ever said my hands were beautiful and i remember feeling unsure of what i was doing for the first time in my life.

i took your head and cradled it against my chest. i felt your body tense as you were unsure of my movements, and this is only natural as i was a stranger and you were broken, like a sick lamb who is stalked by wolves. the street made marks on you like the marks i acquired battling my father when i was a teenager. the street made you real and i took it all away in an instant and with the snap of my fingers. in the worst way, i held your body and scratched red lines against your stomach and ribcage, bone after bone outlined in red. there is no more light in your eyes. even if you're gone now you're still here.

black hair, blue eyes, arms that felt like holding me but never did. they hold me now and it feels right.

4:52 am.
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[29 Mar 2009|12:33pm]
i could feel the blood running down my fingers but i refused to look, knowing that if i did it would all be over and the satisfaction would be gone.
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[27 Mar 2009|09:05pm]
i'm at my mother's house and there's a greek show on television, some awkward channel that people pass to try and get to the juicy shit--you know, the scandals and the lindsay lohans of the world. a man on t.v. is singing about redemption, and i seriously doubt he's concerned with the issue.
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[26 Mar 2009|08:29pm]
i drive around neighborhoods with my eyes wide open, scanning the roads and sidewalks for people like you. turned the wheels in circles this afternoon, wandering the road wondering what to eat for dinner and if eating is worth anything at all. left side of the road, manicured lawn, fucking old bitch trimming her hedges like they meant something and she meant something to the world. and i turned to see this man who waved as he rode his lawn mower beside her, a sad excuse and now the only defintion of what working men have quickly become.
my skin feels rough against my bones, i feel like a chipped whiskey bottle that refuses to break fully.

knocked up blue cadillac and i'm stopped at a red light then. the stuffing is pouring from both seats now and a few side panels are missing, it looks like shit. a girl with blonde hair smiles from the turning lane as i smile back, because that's what good people are supposed to do. her teeth were white and i imagined what they would look like against my already too tan skin, with the blood still on the inch-long tips, a long chain securing the beautiful marble fixtures, making red stains against my chest. i wanted only to climb from my tightly secured seatbelt restraints and wipe that shit-eating grin from her apple-red lips and then take her, and shove her face into the gutters of the city. she was a preteen and preteens make me sick. any kind of teen makes me sick. all of you make me sick.
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dirt poor beautiful [22 Mar 2009|11:42pm]
i saw him sitting in the park today, looking pathetic and dirty like he always does. i'd managed to skip out on work this morning. strange though, this time his smile seemed vulgar. it looked like the life had been sucked out of him, like it's been sucked out of me, and his tangled brown hair was now combed and parted. clothes, washed. shoes shined. a perfect image of what normality should look like from a distance.

and still, children played in the dog shit grass with their parents not far away, the same children who were disgusted days ago by the mere sight of him. now they played alongside the bench he sat on, smiling as if he were invisible, just another beautiful piece of shit scenery. fuck, i felt too angry that he'd traded in himself for a makeshift version of what society defined as "stable."

i feel sick just thinking about it

in an alley i saw him walking later with his hands balled into fists, and he looked weak and feeble from behind. so i followed him into the corner near some boxes and scraps of metal, my heart racing like i'd just been shot, the adrenaline pumping in my veins no more familiar than the warmth of the sun. god, he was crying, and i could hear it in the way he took each unsteady breath beacause his shoulders shook in the twilight. i remember vaguely that he reminded me of a crumbling wall or building at that moment (but he was never a wall, or a building, he was always a mountain).

i wept for him and he turned around to face me, my tears making me feel like i was drowning in his scent mixed with rainwater. my arms wrapped around him. strangely i felt absent. he pulled away then, and there was nothing left but a smile on his face, so fucking wide it could've made me sad if it hadn't been so true. god, if i could've only captured the way his eyes looked when he fell to his knees, finally broken of all the hope and faith he somehow had in humanity. if i could've only held him as he fell like a mountain.

gone, gone, dirt poor beautiful
3:34 am.
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[15 Mar 2009|04:13am]
One time you said, "J.S., why do you do this?" with sincerity in your throat. I couldn't reply, so I kicked you out.
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sweet lover [15 Mar 2009|03:57am]
i've been warmed by your lips, sweet lover, once upon a time when i never knew you. but you are only familiar to me when i've taken you each time with a blade so sharp it pierces us both. i am still living and i cannot tell you why, and my reasons for existing are cheap. i breathe just to hold you and hold you just to feel alive, and feeling alive is an insatiable lust that rustles like leaves everytime i am sitting in my apartment, alone and shadowed.

i know that if you could speak you would tell me how nonsensical my sentenses sometimes mostly are, and then we would laugh and i would say "yes i will fix this flaw." but sunlight is too bright and i've always been charmed with the dark. so you are dark like night in front of me, your body unwrapped like the long ribbon of a kite. the skin that covers your bones is like an ebony kingdom, and you were once the high priest, noble and standing strong. i wonder if you see my facial features clearly as you stare like a dumb animal, your eyes mere slits surrounded by cool dark skin. in my palm is the only structure that feels familiar to me and you are scared of it, this sharp metal, sharpest, cool and shining. now you are understanding that the only way out is through my hand, and my hand is controlling the controller; the prey hunting the hunter and succeeding. but only when my sheets are stained with you, and they've been stained now like flowers stain fresh canvas, though the color is beautiful it burns my eyes like every night. i'm spent and alone, without you now, but i've loved your night dark skin when no one else would,
in the worst way there is,
i love you

sweet lover
1:24 am.
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[15 Mar 2009|03:55am]
You do not know me.
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