we were raised by our mothers

and we like acting like them, yet they would surely disapprove.
we prefer red wine though we know it makes us a little tired and likely to retire
we don't think cocaine is cool, and don't need five boys that stare to make us feel there.
embarrassingly comfortable people
though we will gladly stay up beyond sunrise, but only if the company is stimulating beyond their looks and will actually engage in conversation. or if there is a possibility of endless dancing with space to move arms. the reason will never be that i am waiting for someone.
i am mad at you for thinking i am a bore because of a steady relationship, and for focusing so much on others that you are forgetting about yourself, and yourself is only becoming the ever strong image you wish to portray (unfortunately it only works on people less sure of themselves than you)
i am mad at the culture for only allowing me to see my friends drunk and in the dark.
somewhere in this darkness they transformed and i lost my ability to see clearly what they are, but am learning that i am someone with less tolerance than i thought- though not for substances.

-

i know there is a limit to your love that i am pushing
at least i find my own mistakes first
i never want to see your fist because of my thirst
my bendable will, my mistakable thrill
your unmistakable will is being abused,
but not because i use, i used, i dont want to use,
but am used, and am used to being used
give consent when i want to utter untrue contempt.
why my heartbeat rhymes with the wrong words
when my reasons are drugged to unconsciousness,
the unreasonable happens, i push the limit,
the line is persuaded to move an inch
and i am waiting, without any want, for the last push
off the seat of comfort created over months and carefully kept next to yours
because i wont jump, i am clinging to what i think my soberself seeks.

pleasing

lost in creativity that is made to be judged, to lead not to creation but careering.
what is learning under pressure other than pleasing, really?
so im returning to thinking, expecting judgement without meaning or nothing at all.
remembering that recalling myself is worth two minutes a day.

and realising your teachers are selling themselves to you

scenen hemmet




paniken kom utan förvarnining. en lögn; jag vet att den alltid är berädd att kasta sig över mina tankar när de uppenbarar sig. mitt emot mig satt förvånade och oförstående ögon som jag skämdes att ses av, som inte fick hjälpa när jag genom hicka och tårar fick ut att jag inte ville gå hem. inte till mig. inte mitt hem. inte själv. det händer något med föreställningen av vad jag har runt mig när jag är själv. när jag är med någon spelar vi teater på en scen. ensam är det som toy story, fast större. väggarna lever. det som inte kommer ut när någon kan se tar ingen hänsyn till mina ögon. scenen drar i mina trådar och viskar instruktioner, berättar vad som kommer hända mig- om jag inte snabbt hittar på ett annat scenario.

framförallt kan jag inte hantera stora scener. jag behöver en testscen. på 17 kvadrat kanske. som jag kan viska till och berätta vad den ska göra, vad den ska hålla sig till, och bestämma vad som ska utspela sig där. med goda översiktsmöjligheter och bra utrymmningsvägar

in case of emergencies. but not only.

a single man

he both talked him out of the ledge and down from the water.
and if she doesn't want to be a woman, why doesn't she stop acting like one?

to my tree

its a dying time darling, but it was a good one.
keep my name, in case you need to call, in case you need to recall to be able to explain to someone why
you have the expectations you do, why you fear they might act in a certain way
why you thought they might need what they don't
but i did. i do a lot that others don't, but as you will recall, you learned this fairly quickly
why you stayed on i can't imagine. i know i've learned to depend on you, and as i feared, this is something
that causes regret.
a few more hours would suffice to keep me calm until you're gone,
maybe long enough to find another tree to cling to in the dark, climb to feel the wind and see far enough to want to leave again. that must be why you want to go, because you see so far, above the branches that filter the light.
i was born with other genes. they're good for tracking, but how seldom my hair catches the wind.
you know i seek and this is why
/your shortie

när jag faktiskt har tiden

ofta när jag känner mig (blank) får jag lust att raka av mig håret.
så lätt sätt att göra ganska stor förändring endå.
så skönt
så svårt att få tillbaka..
så jag flyttar runt möbler tills jag är för trött för att föra saxen mot håret.
egentligen skulle jag vilja springa tills jag stupade. men jag tycker inte om att bli svettig.

såg precis fina ord:
its about time.
ah. i like time. once, i had a good one.
(i remember doing something with someone somewhere.. i remember its a good thing...)

blommor och blåmärken tbc


-


jag saknar min mamma och min pappa och min syster och min familj och jag dricker och försöker sova och spenderar pengar men saknar endå och glömmer att de faktsikt går att ringa och gråter av lättnad när jag hör deras röster men tycker livet är helt okej och sommarn är fin så länge solen är uppe, men sen kommer jag på att jag måste gå och sova i min tomma lägenhet igen och blir nervös. och men, men ja. och så men män, män ja, nej.

constancy impaired compared

want to live though life is achingly unfair
and no, no one will follow if you're just standing still you fool
leave people when people leave me out only
somehow being alone together with others, strangers, does not satisfy in the same way it used to
the subway became cold when it was how i started and ended my days instead of lived them

bläcket ditt stinker

stick out your tongue under the night, and some obscenity will surely lick it
when we predict the man is above, we kick it
open your mouth, let some red leak out, and she prays he would mimic it
i know words to know how they can create and destroy, not how to bend them to my doing, i'm afraid
http://open.spotify.com/track/4ZlOObyiFVurZekvjNKxA8

work me world

i have a back door in my mind that you escape from after the seconds that pass to create my weeks
during which
i keep on running into reflections i wish i could be, that is, my own.
in my lonely late nights, when i forget upon who i can depend always, i realize maybe i'm not so  ready, as i am until the end of daytime, but t'may be as well that  i'm just in the wrong rooms. which is why i miss them, which is why i want to create them.
my hands are itching, while the rest of the body is perspiring from pressure from within (only) that wears out beyond recognition. well, beyond recognition is a lie, which is why i have come to fear it greater yet, respect it more every time. the pressure accepts no help and has no compassion for limits of the body.
i want to draw your teeth, that could bite. no warm winds blow in silent, white, crowded, rooms. the distance amplifies the noise that would.

to not become the cliché

always one foot on the ground
never fully dive or let go to grab on to something new
by protecting my mind from being destroyed truly,
i keep, instead, getting lost in the voices in my mind i hope are my own, all the words and theories to live by contradicting eachother and driving me to the ground
suppose i never met you, or never let you kiss me like you intended since always
or i never saw you, or lost you like i thought, like i always do
or i never responded, just like i always do, but carefully, just to break my fall
i pretend i have to be able to live always like the supposed occurances had done so- that is occured - or not, i mean, naturally.

you, and the you being an undefined, like x, dont know me
but i dont understand fully why you would if you could, which is the reason more often a rule than reason

break out the chappel


you are my monster, mind.

trinity's crying
r.i.p burned face
the moon asked the crow
gallows
fairy paradise
here i come
beautiful smell

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