1:29 p.m. - 2006-08-24
And I mean it. It's what i think.
Sleeping on the bad side of town, waking up on teh wrong side of the bed, of the moon, of this high strung chorus of dramatic interludes. I'm coughcoughcoughing. What's your favorite color? Coughing up identity and cash. And colors. I'm trapped in stone. You're nowhere to be found. And rhyming is a coincidence of the typical. Broken stereos. Stereotypical? Typa A. Type B. Typewriters. Old school. Fading out with the music. The words aren't why we came. We came for the action. It's not what you say that counts, it's what you do. I;'m holding curses in my mouth. Hexes on my tongue. And he couldn't get it. "This doesn't leave this office." "Who would I tell?" "Everyone." "Not her. You can trust her." "I do trust her." Sneeze sneeze sneeze. Cough cough cough. I am my biggest secret. I define myself by my surrounding and environment and I don't want anyoen to know, but I tell anyway. My actual secrets become what i tell people and who I really am, I don't. I am my biggest secret. And when it comes down to it, whether you get me or not, I am still predictable because I allow myself to be. Or maybe I just make too many sacrifices. I never asked to grow up or be older. "We, loving, above the whim of time, did not notice. Alone. I remeber now." Change is so constant that by the time we notice it, it's already happened. Time doesn't sneak up on me, it slips into my hair and wraps itself around my facial expressions and fits smoothly around my and like a glove. I talk through facial features. Tilted head, raised eyebrow, and my eyes saw more then I ever will. My mother tells me so. She says for someone who holds her tongue so much, I make an awful lot of noise with my eyes. It is my preferred method of expression. Some people talk through their hands and their entire body motions. The walk, the stance, but especially the hands. Arms at an angle and you know they're offended. I don't think eyes and hands mix. It's not that I am unable to vocalize, I simply choose not to. I'd rather let my opinions be interpretted. But the hands, they leave nothing to be desired. They are filthy with double speak and dishonourable intentions. dirty. Yet, we always manage to overlook that and get along. That's the way with friends. Eyes and hands. And voices. and ears.
Not everyone counts marbles on sundays.
Gravity can't keep me down. I'll float away before you catch me.
