iheartralphnad

Head straight, but a sick mind Mental addiction to the massive metal entanglement Weighed heavy, heaving under the habitual heat My sick mind staggers, seeping in the slander Switching off the ignition, the key to my fears—deepens my scars and elongates tensions.  I'll bolt, then, bent backward-- belligerent But begin to understand the waning wonder inherent in my way She says, "Why do you do this to yourself?" I say, "Because I like to feel the pain."

trees droop down, spiral branches dipping and dancing and crawling my arms heavy, fingers touch the ground, even when i stand incomprehensible head, with mixed ideas springing and spinning and growing mutinous and lethal and long forgotten. a feather floats by, so suspended in air, because time has stopped, reach out to touch it, but it's suddenly gone, drifting away beyond the dripping sun, molting, shedding its goopy light, it stains the trees with its bright magnificence everything's so clear and concise, but the very basis of my reality has been squandered so lethargic, so peaceful, so still and quiet some other world, some othe

i sat on the edge of the bed aware of you spread out in front of me. so we were blowing smoke through the sieve— wispy ringlets invincible even to the wind. my hands glued to the bed & stretched and stuck like putty when i pulled away. our elbows pointed out jagged like street signs saying 'East' or 'West' or 'Hurry up. Approach with caution.' they, propped up on lazy knees— with eyes drooping like watered eggs sliding. only had one lip, couldn't speak the words i wanted so i stared through the sieve & warped the world square.

bright blinded eyes cast aside astute smiles remember, running up those stairs remember, that time where we let go and our hair and feet dangled laid down. hearing roaring engines and light conversation leaking through glass windows in the warmth, where time was with a gleaming knife cut-- and we drank it up looking bright-eyed, blinded laid down.

one may step unsteadily,                         from reality, into threadbare dreams. strung weak and careless, gleaming like the deadly insect's web. screams beckon, buzzing. lightly trotting footsteps hurtling forward, fast paced. panic cracks through the dreamer's skull and splits. he awakens, clutches his bloody nose and gathers his senses like a purse in front of him wipes sweat from his cracked forehead, vows never to dream again.

his teeth gleamed against the darkness— like the Cheshire Cat— laugh echoing in the hollow of outside. an ivory tipped finger pointed out amidst the stars and then to the waterfront much like a conductor, though guiding an unknown. and still his laugh bounced upon the trees zinging into her heart and penetrating her skin. consequently she ran off, down the dock squinting in the darkness, she wasn't much more than a red flame of a wooden candle. and all the rage was in her head, you could see the trepidation rising from her in the horizon. she didn't raise a hand to her head being that this sort of tearing-hair-out dread

Scene 1 [There are rows of Dennis the Menace-esque houses.  The grass is green, the lawns are neatly mowed, the houses stand eloquently upright as though they are serving their purpose proudly.  A few people are about mowing their lawns and walking their dogs.  On the lawn in focus, there are two rickety yellow lawn chairs placed side by side on the perfectly squared lawn.  The house behind the lawn chairs is yellow and the sun is shining behind it.  SAM and CARL are sitting in the lawn chairs, both of about 11-14 years of age.  They are wearing work clothes and flannel shirts.  Underneath their chairs empty beer cans are littered, and CARL

lethargy leaking luminously, lightheaded bloodshed, so cliché and still leaking through the blue. petulant, pompous patronage: you, kissing the floor in mockery at my feet? and, you throw yourself down before me? spitefully spitting splayed sarcasm, yellow light swaying back and forth, zapping and cracking while you besiege my emotion with twisted euphemism that was once my own? no wonder the hair that i tear comes so easy, though with disbelief. come, kiss me-- with the mouth that plagued my floor there is no threat but the shape of words who say i am their marionette, guiding them in the air, arms swaying. i must warn: the

single week fleeting by, blurred before my eyes.  you, i point my finger at but really its me hardly inside myself. i am the Generic ones i have bashed before, and whose bloody bodies i have strung out to dry. pretending i haven't owned up to the fact that i'm just as empty as everyone else. peeling myself apart like so, have had nothing but buzzing bees bumble out yes, and i am the one the others bleat about. they scream, "why don't you care?" and "why don't you love me?" "why do you dance upon my heart?" and, "the other night, the one where you were drunk, you said you really didn't care, and i think you meant it" and, i

the nights have become not much more than a somber lull. we sit, the air pristine around us, lashes cutting through the clear glasslike air with precision and grace. i am undulating with emotion that is neither present or nonexistent, it just curdles at the pit of my stomach unused. a flash, im staring down at the wooden table caked with dampness and cigarette ash, my eyes heavy from fatigue and most likely bad eating habits.  flash. in my mind like i know its going to happen— slow motion picture where every single frame fluidly falls into the next.  Louis vetton handbags and the talking of the talking filling my brain and encompassing m