Feline Sugarpacket (13742) wrote,
Feline Sugarpacket
13742

look at me, my feathers drag, this harp plays out of tune




And, I float from one thing to another constantly, feeling jumbled and somewhat erroneous. Sometimes my head is broken and full of cataracts, slow electronic signals and too many clouds but others it is crystal clear too clear at a moment's notice and I am flying down the train tracks at great speed once again. The weather acts subtle and fucked up, pouring sunny weird windy overcast day with the lights all too bright. I'm coughing and it's sticky and my bones whine from under my flesh that they're tired. Fuck, man, you're always tired. You'd think getting rid of the worms would have been pretty energetically uplifting, but I am still almost sick and completely sapped all the time. I just try to ignore it now. I keep my head up as best I can these days, trudging through all the layers of wet tissue paper between me and real life. I feel cocooned and desensitized. I used to get so worked up about all this shit but I don't have the energy most of the time anymore. And god, I used to get so fucking lonely, but these days I'm actually really digging having no one around.

I don't see much going on for me in the outside world. I want to hide under a heavy work schedule and a pile of paper. I get nervous when people come too close to me again. (Which, by the way, thanks a-fucking-gain, man, I just started to get over that).



You came with eyes
clouded by a fluttering organ,
too much blood in your veins
and not enough anything.
i tried to post the warnings
and make it on the air:
collect all the pieces
and check the list twice.
You came in a flustered rush
and I should have seen
the begging in your eyes
from the get go.
and i let my own eyes roll back
into my head thinking –
grace period, don't
trip, babydoll, you've
got it under control.
You locked all the doors and
tried to only walk through
mine again and again
waiting alone all night
for the sound of my car.
so i tell myself: you've lost it good.
but the poor kid just needs a
place to be, don't be so sel-
fish, you ungracious prick
(but wouldn't it be nice
to just have two seconds
alone)
You spent fifteen straight days
and nights with a forty ounce in one hand
and a flask in Your back, right pocket
looking for my other hand and
anything else.
and conveniently enough
as soon as i start leaking
“I'm no concept,”
i becomes I again and
You becomes ...
Too bad that itinerary
wasn't for Disneyland.
because here there is a little
stiffer of a protocol for
shit like you.


But for the most part, I'm doing better than ever, I guess. Sometimes I just wish there was so much more in so many departments and maybe a little less in others.
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