lit

melatonin days - some type of way

in , , , , ,

the day was filled with heaps of molasses
brain function, enslaved by an under the influence and angry source
a day where "you just can't fucking do anything"
except think of the scattered-ness of everything
and all worldly things
like an old, cool nikon lens you found in your grandma's attic
that just doesn't focus 
and even though it's kind of hip with that softness, deep down you know
it's only producing shit
but where do you take it
are there such things as camera stores anymore

 

wanderlust

"way to go", was the last thing I heard from her.

it was over, like the proverbial blink of the eye.  no closure, nothing.  the pain, it was excruciating for a bit, but you know what, it was bound to happen anyway.  and I've always wanted to travel.

i was a Sagittarius and she was some other shit.  i forget which it was, maybe the crab or the bull, or whatever, but i know now, that we weren't compatible.

how come i didn't know that at first, like right of the bat. what a shame, a real life shame?  
she was real pretty though.  that part hurts the most, because, well, her personality wasn't as pretty.

days of yesteryear.

in

the thing is, time evaporates.  and this is compounded, unjustly, with the cumulative gathering of it's fleeting essence.  so, it's probably best to keep your days completely full, or, just the opposite, floating on a hammock. the middle, you know, that 9-5, clock in clock out, the thing that the entire industrial age was built on.  that's the fastest ticket onto the bullet train to older.  here in the middle, grey haired the next. 

 

technology.

in , , , , ,

the woman worked at a bar in little tokyo

and she loved her phone so much

and one day, on a cold and rare rainy night in Los Angeles, she made love through her phone 

but the very next day, the phone broke

and it broke her heart

"love is fleeting" , she concluded

but I think she's a bit immature

park.

in , , , ,

he looked straight ahead, as far as his eyes could see in the middle of the warm summer night.  this was where he spent his childhood.  a park, in the middle of the quietest suburb on planet earth.  the grass felt nice.

it was here that he tasted alcohol, and it was here that he first tried marijuana.  It was here that he saw his best friend Arthur body slam Robbie the bully.  it was here, that he and Arthur would discuss what they would do to girls, had they had the chance.  and this certainly changed from year to year.  drastically in fact.

it was at this location that he lay, sprawled out on the grass, looking up at the sky for countless hours, wondering if life would ever change.  It was here that the legion of emotional experiences tickled his bored soul.

and now, if only he could crawl back into that tiny space, and feel those feelings once more, everything would be ok.

generation gaps.

in , , ,

“you got some molly?"
“actually no, I don't.  back in my day they called it ecstasy.”
“back in your day, you were young. now your old so shut da fuck up.”
“that’s not nice.”
“neither is your face.”
“so mature.”
“yeah.”
“i got coke though.”
“ok.”

 

your ghost.

in , , , , ,

the full moon frightens me.
i remember that last terrifying night.
that one whispering night.  the haunting.
your dead soul.
rummaging for the last morsel.
leaving me option-less.
leaving me hung.
the breath escaping.
the squirming.
that last gasp.
a ghost.
your ghost.