Logophobia

And This is How I'll End

noreply@blogger.com (BleedingHeartCommunist) — Thu, 11 Sep 2008 04:09:00 +0000

So the question remains
Like a tuneless melody
Two bars of a dull refrain
Echo over the brazen
Toy soldier that is my life.

I can't feel pain
No, no.
I can't feel love
I only know
Godless,
Soulless,
Heartless,
Indecision.

God why does this happen to me?
Freedom.
My claim becomes my claimant,
Binding me with
Shackles of virtue.

"Do these things"
So I take my medicine,
Down goes the dose
To join the rest of my stomach in
Unsettled anticipation.

I keep waiting for life to happen
And it keeps passing me by
I know I'll only live once
But I'm too scared to die

And I can't rewind the movie
This reel goes only one way
What a horrible box to be shoved into
My cell of cardboard feelings.

So yeah,

Happy birthday anyway.

noreply@blogger.com (BleedingHeartCommunist) — Sun, 07 Sep 2008 01:08:00 +0000

Steadfast
I'm quicker
Than when I run.

When I have
Height advantage
I blot out the sun.

And when I
Instigate the dialogue
There is no stopping the discussion.

Smells Like Coke

noreply@blogger.com (BleedingHeartCommunist) — Wed, 03 Sep 2008 04:37:00 +0000

She lies,

Crushed, but not fragile
A vessel for
Sweet life
Like a knife through my stomach
And a needle to my mind
She tears my eyelids open

To devour

My thoughts.

Sure she shows
My wake, in throes
Of what I chose
Don't

Even think about it.

I'm not paranoid
Just trying to
Fill the void
Stave the crave
And stop my inner infant
From squirming
While I tighten the noose.

Morbid, right?
Relax.

I've got my fix.
It's only three licks
To the center of this tootsie-pop.
And no, I won't stop.

Your intervention clashes
With my dissension.
So bugger off will you?

It's two-fifty for a two-liter
And a heck of a lot cheaper than blow.

noreply@blogger.com (BleedingHeartCommunist) — Sat, 30 Aug 2008 06:13:00 +0000

A true friend is someone around whom you can be yourself, primarily because they can't think any less of you than they already do.

noreply@blogger.com (BleedingHeartCommunist) — Sat, 30 Aug 2008 01:13:00 +0000

Maybe it's not who we are or what we do that defines us. Maybe it's just that we are.

noreply@blogger.com (BleedingHeartCommunist) — Thu, 28 Aug 2008 19:11:00 +0000

If you don't fail, you will never truly succeed.

Growing Into Older Eyes, Learning Bigger, Greater Lies

noreply@blogger.com (BleedingHeartCommunist) — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 10:00:00 +0000

Stings and soothes when in the hand
And bittersweet, when tasted
'Naught so hollow then as now
The thought of life yet wasted.

It follows then that none will know
My thoughts so slowly scavenged
That I in ignorance would share
To teach, to learn, to challenge.

Twas also love that I adored
And lusted for in silence
Sadly, no form of love yet shown
Has hidden all its violence.

To learn of life and death in full
This is the greatest bounty
But there is none that I hate more
Than mythical maturity.

Like so, it stings and burns when held
And poisonous, when tasted
Ne'er so hollow as twill be now
To see my life was wasted.

Resume

noreply@blogger.com (BleedingHeartCommunist) — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 21:40:00 +0000

"Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live."

- Dorothy Parker

The Crypt and Keeper

noreply@blogger.com (BleedingHeartCommunist) — Sat, 23 Aug 2008 19:17:00 +0000

I am eternal,
I am intellectual,
I see the bad ones
From a mile away.

Me? I'm nobody
I say what's on my mind
But I throw myself into
What I do, every day.

You fool, you don't know
What sorrow you sow
The hurt you ignore
Will be yours tomorrow.

Dude, your ego's showing
Besides, I've got passion
I'm nobody's cleric
But I can go with the flow.

Though my mind sees it all
My heart is so blind
I wish just for once
To feel something inside.

I'm tired of hurt
I see only today
And I'm tired, so tired
Of showing when I cry

Please show me your love

Please show me who

I'll love you if you'll

Do the same for me too.

noreply@blogger.com (BleedingHeartCommunist) — Fri, 22 Aug 2008 14:38:00 +0000

The anticipatin'
Is intoxicatin'
What do I have to do to win, huh?

I'm still waiting for
The sky to burn with fire
From within my eyes
When the whole world will be engulfed in
Furious passion

Effervescent,
Joyous,
Passion.

The Manic Mathematic

noreply@blogger.com (BleedingHeartCommunist) — Wed, 20 Aug 2008 14:21:00 +0000

It's odd -
When a variable,
Unknown
Is assigned
To it's own
Integer or meaning
It ceases, comes undone

Perhaps I'm insane
Trying to determine
What is beyond my reach
But I believe that

Random
Is
Quantum.

noreply@blogger.com (BleedingHeartCommunist) — Mon, 18 Aug 2008 04:22:00 +0000

The truest way to determine the nature of another man's heart is by the color of their lightsaber.

Depression: A Cocktail Best Served Bold

noreply@blogger.com (BleedingHeartCommunist) — Wed, 13 Aug 2008 14:47:00 +0000

It makes me wonder:

What?
The crossweave of misery and mystery
Like Prozac and
Trans-Atlantic flights to
Skydive into the Olympics.
Or the urge to castrate my dreams with a cubicle
Chemical ends.

Luckily I can now see
What the emo kids must be
When they say to themselves:
"I think I may be in over my life."

noreply@blogger.com (BleedingHeartCommunist) — Tue, 12 Aug 2008 15:05:00 +0000

Triptych.
Bright hair,
Red lipstick.
Fall gently through my fingers.

Maybe the third time really is the charm.

Dear Diary (Love Dan)

noreply@blogger.com (BleedingHeartCommunist) — Mon, 11 Aug 2008 10:00:00 +0000

So it is the winsome siren
That conquers my heart.

Even if for a moment,
This joy springs mellifluous
If not to others, than to me
I won't miss a beat,
I won't just play the cues,

I'll take the reins,
Take the stand.
You can have my hand,
And maybe, just maybe
My heart.

noreply@blogger.com (BleedingHeartCommunist) — Sun, 10 Aug 2008 16:48:00 +0000

The mature, when defeated, are overjoyed.

In Difference

noreply@blogger.com (BleedingHeartCommunist) — Sat, 09 Aug 2008 23:48:00 +0000

I raised my head. Her posture and expression made it clear to me that she had grown tired of being the anterior of my witticisms. So I smirked.

"There's only the feeble gray of civilization. The most intense, whether dark or light, are thrown out, above and below respectively."

"True, but the sand on the seashore does not favor those who are drowned most regularly by the tide." My eyebrows met, discussed her proposition, and promptly dismissed it.

"Segregation occurs by bits, by leaps, by the nation. There is no time or calculation, it is over before you can even consider its existence. It is" I emphasized, "completely natural."

Clearly she was fed up.

What Is the Depth of Desperation?

noreply@blogger.com (BleedingHeartCommunist) — Fri, 08 Aug 2008 17:17:00 +0000

It's the thrill of the cautious defeat,
Painfully taken,
Like blood.

One moment of pain,
For the chance of new life.

Because it is risk
That brings the twist
Of changing fortunes,
Changing winds,
Those breezes brisk.
That bite through boredom
Like a needle pierces the skin.

I'm Back (Deep with Desparation)

noreply@blogger.com (BleedingHeartCommunist) — Thu, 07 Aug 2008 19:02:00 +0000

Trying to resurrect
I pull myself, frail,
Root by root
Up the canyon wall

But I suspect
That I am vain
And the driver's side reflection
Does my pain
No justice.

So my heel grinds the dirt to powder
And the tremor, the clamor,
Is louder,
Now
It crushes me
And hope seems hardly a happy compromise
I'd rather a solution
Or a shovel . . .

noreply@blogger.com (BleedingHeartCommunist) — Mon, 07 Jul 2008 13:59:00 +0000

"The American Republic will endure until the day Congress discovers that it can bribe the public with the public's money. "

- Alexis de Tocqueville

Ambivalence in Poetic Form

noreply@blogger.com (BleedingHeartCommunist) — Fri, 27 Jun 2008 02:46:00 +0000

In an imperfect world I have no say in
Who lives or dies,
Who sinks or flies
But who rocks the skies?

Who throws the stars?
Like the shadow mars
My empty heart.

There is no perfect hope,
Only the hopeless are worthy.

Yeah I'm scared!
I've got a right to be!
You're so afraid of me
That you can't see what's inside of me.
So let me walk through your heart
Give me the tour,
Once and for all
And quit your stalling
I'm only calling out to you
'Cause I need to know

Is it true?
Can it be done?
Can two separate people
Truly become one?

There is no cruel hate
Only the violent procreate.

So pardon my ferociousness
And I'll throw an anorexic twist
Into the heady readiness
That belies your unsteadiness.

If you'll change your stance
Catch your balance and your breath
Stay focused, think ahead
'Cause I'm high on death

There is no perfect lover,
Only love itself is perfect.

noreply@blogger.com (BleedingHeartCommunist) — Mon, 23 Jun 2008 21:49:00 +0000

"You're just too good to be true.
Can't take my eyes off you.
You'd be like Heaven to touch.
I wanna' hold you so much.
At long last love has arrived
And I thank God I'm alive.
You're just too good to be true.
Can't take my eyes off you.

Pardon the way that I stare.
There's nothing else to compare.
The sight of you leaves me weak.
There are no words left to speak,
But if you feel like I feel,
Please let me know that it's real.
You're just too good to be true.
Can't take my eyes off you.

I love you, baby,
And if it's quite alright,
I need you, baby,
To warm the lonely night.
I love you, baby.
Trust in me when I say:
Oh, pretty baby,
Don't bring me down, I pray.
Oh, pretty baby, now that I found you, stay
And let me love you, baby.
Let me love you."

- Bob Crewe

Hey Baby

noreply@blogger.com (BleedingHeartCommunist) — Mon, 23 Jun 2008 03:37:00 +0000

Don't ask me to address
The nature of my direction.

If only all my stress
Would evaporate with affection.

But instead I take this test
Constant rules like an infection.

Maybe it would be best
To cease my relational dissection.

I don't want to lose,
I just want to love:
But to choose to refuse
Seems the obvious plan
But without love I see
Only pain where I stand.

Please,
Hold my hand.

So Follows the Farewell Ferry

noreply@blogger.com (BleedingHeartCommunist) — Wed, 18 Jun 2008 02:47:00 +0000

And there's the call,
For the final fall,
A twist, a wrench
A foul stench,
And then the curtain call.

And there's the mission bell,
Heralding the start of hell,
They are too dear
To keep me near
So I carefully choose where I dwell.

And then the crying lamb
That bleats through bleakness grand,
What horror throws
Its painful lows
Until you cannot stand?

It is the teary face
That ends the human race
What games we play
So we might stay
In our feigned creator's grace.

It's hypocrisy
For you and me:
But you and I
Can't explain why,
We show but cannot see.

Sisyphus' Treadmill

noreply@blogger.com (BleedingHeartCommunist) — Tue, 17 Jun 2008 03:57:00 +0000

I feel like I've run a marathon,
At one-hundred miles an hour.

No rests,
No breaks,
Just twists and loops
On roads like snakes.

Yet at the end of the day,
When I sing my swan song,
To conclude the race,
My triumph in the throng
I don't know how fast,
Or how far,
Or how long.