Ignorance

I once slept, and was kept. White and blue lines that were sewn into the moistened, sweaty skin. When we had only just started; to know the lines and the patterns that go smooth. Felt so smooth. Even the white scars appeared within my hands, and inked themselves into poetry.

..And poetry it fails, when the smile is locked and the sky feels like its sunny...when it never is.

..Ain't it funny how that goes.

...............When--how--we wait for the sweetest downfall for the words to come again. The art suddenly tidal waves-over my red eyes...that once had a mirrored set.

..Then it is that I can write again. Cause we're both in black again anymore.

And its me, I know, that now wakes with tremor in the night. Sleeping alone with ghosts of childhood ancestors.

Move on, its such dissipation.

Move like when we moved with ignorance.

Then. "Ignorance is [my] new best friend...".

Just tell me to START, cause the sun is rising and that's excuse enough. And I'll never care that she's there, so don't tell me. Don't even tell me anything because the words don't bring anyone.

Where does it hurt, what's been neglected?

.....Curve my back and away it goes....Wake, and it's just another nightmare made into a dream one night.

Its another hush, a bitten lip. Match the sounds on the otherside of walls. Aren't we all, can't we all, just match what never exists.

It's nothing new, there's no shock factor when it's all understood.

...Friends feels so much better than anything I've burned.

...And that sweet virgin Pandora, that Grecian girl with the lightest hair and darkest eyes; yes innocent Pandora held the scum of all of us.

Kindness you see, carries the thorns of our sickly sins.

The vapid Vodka czars.

The remedies that do feel so fucking good going down....

Yeah. Go down with me into the crevace where the historical building meets the leaf-covered cobble street. That is my birthplace. That my dear, is where IT can reside.

.....The muck can cover up a diamond broken off from a bracelet. Glitter how it does below the heavy-moving rain clouds. The hills of autumn leaves. The pit, the death place of a poet that no one thought to scrub clean. Took his name and cast his arm into a demise.

..Isn't that what we are? Or rather, do we---do we strive to be the dirtiest, cracked, treasure?

Innately that, as artists?

But hey. Hey there. You there. Can you hear it?

I've got a new character to play that I've read so much about. And let's be all those characters we can't be, let's do all the things people say we're idiots for.

..........The night still remains, my temptress, she gives window for the moments - that maybe I've never lived. Maybe all the fingers never were. All the best ones the same as all the poor ones.

But I feel it all. It tremors.

..Tattoo'd beneath my tongue-that "sensation is better than the convent".

Stories and secrets, you see, are my perched companions. Totally ok with that.

Make one up and we'll struggle through the schedules...into a drug for restlessness.

Daily headphones: "Ignorance" by Paramore, "Whatcha Say" remix by Jason Derulo, and "Heroin" by Velvet Underground