Monday, May 26, 2008

love me cancerously.

and yeah
i'm looking
but not wanting to find.
and yeah
i'm searching
everyplace but my mind.

Saturday, May 24, 2008

drained to the bone.

if you really knew me,
you'd hate me.
if you really loved me,
you wouldn't want to.
if you really knew what you were talking about,
you'd cough up your words.
if you really understood the way i feel,
you'd be dead.



if you even read this, you lil interweb creeps,
/dibsonthescenekids is my myspace. add me. i'm lonely.
and to you, i know you read this. we need to hang out.

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

infinite (sometimes)

trick spent a nervous night in my fingers. blue stubble. baby thin. ruffle and fall. always stopping and restarting, but never ever rebooting. if only. i want to slice my fingers to the bone so the bandages can make me clumsy enough not to pursue any more of his false pleasure he offers. the allure is too strong these days. and i only suffer from it.

tomorrow is dirty old jeans, red hoodies and notebooks.
yesterday was screw-ups, greasy strands, and overwhelming exhaustion.
today was anything but gold.
but it could've been silver.

i want to cease to exist.
more than anything.

Sunday, May 11, 2008

sickness.

numbers are safe.
music is safe. nothing bad happens when it plays.
clean-cut.
do you worship these words? do you?

triangles are the sharpest shapes. but circles are the trickiest to create.
trying to make my world, here.
if you want to come on in, there are forms for you.
we're all very official. unless you are someone specific.

the screws are coming undone, mother.
your friend thought he could resist, too.
but it only prolonged his suffering.
just let us do what we came to do. we are professionals, after all.

Wednesday, May 7, 2008

2012; never 19.

yeah. i'm going to ask you for answers. i'm going to ask you "why me?" i'm going to want you to be by my side because i need that space filled. it gives me comfort.
if this is asking too much, speak up now.
i'm going to break your heart. i will take and disobey every piece of advice. no matter how many times you say it's all going to be okay, i'll still leave that message in your inbox, that voicemail on your phone, that word on your heart that i don't believe. that i am most lost when these things surface. that i am so petrified it's not going to be okay, that i can't occupy this time with something meaningful, because what could be? why would it be?
i'm going to kill you. if you still want to go on, be my guest. this is a fair warning.
i am going to collapse myself into you when the going gets rough. i'm not going to be strong enough to listen to your problems, at least not now, because i am far too unstable in my vacuum-sealed hell right now. being common may be the worst, but i can barely see the options.
but by all means, go on.
if you like the feeling of being a crutch, if you like the way your heart will hurt when you see me collapse again and again under these undetermined forces, these thorns in my side, these diseases in me, go on. if you want the uncertainty of my mind, the unknowing that silence and dark days brings, the self-centered attitude, the heart of a two year old i've got in my chest. it was a bad implant, but you certainly got a good catch.

i am best in drowsy weather, self-pity, salty shirts, un-understood text, heartbreak of others, and the sporadity of the moment. i am best in hindsight, in retrospect, in old memories. i am best left alone.

so if you really want to say you love me, go ahead. just know what you mean. just know what you're getting. just know i can't.

Friday, May 2, 2008

29220d (701280h)

i know it's not "me," but do you think life could convert to some sort of video-game version where you can gain levels and experiences and things and go back to them at any time? so i could go back to '05 and get into this before anything could change what i was and confuse me out of the so-called counterculture and prove myself better by becoming what they were?
it's rambling and nonpoetic, i know. but i'm not in much of a mood. i'm not in much of a mood lately, actually. the minutes pass like liquid. a river of time. an ocean of hours.
do you realize how many days you live? really, do you?
there are 365 days a year. think about it. three hundred and sixty five days to exist, in just one year of your life. how can every day be separate? how can they not bleed into one another with non-waking and non-sleeping and the polar hours they've got up and down? are days defined by the hours or by your schedules? when does night become morning, and what is the cutoff limit for bedtime?
what the fuck does it matter?
is everyone in the world simply there for the pontification of re-hashed arguments, styles, opinions, ideas, so-called advancements? is everyone a reincarnation of past living idols, legends, casualties, civilians? the world, in all the disarray that it continually exists in, seems to function despite the hypocrisy of the act of existence that it thrives through.
why be so focused on fast pleasures? a sign of weakness, a sign of thrill-seeking simplicity in the mind and in society. physical appearances are not to attract such as in animalisic instincts, if we're really so truly evolved from what we were however long ago, according to what you blindly trustingly believe in. if we are evolved, our physical statements should not cause so much attention and mean as much as they apparently do, according to various statistics and the obvious status they have, which can be seen in any supermarket aisle, mindless repetitions of 'headlines' used to make you cycle your money into the wheel of their own fortune. physical statements should be what they are called. used not to draw attention, used not in pure vanity as they are so often used in accordance with those possessing the highly coveted in various rings of marylin monroe impersonators gene; the pure essence of narcissism. for protection against basics, used until they run out of their own cotton-fueled steam. there is no need for fashion, there is no need for such high importance to be placed on the entire stylistic world.
if this is what society is crumbling towards, we may be very well at the end of the world.
if you're scared now, just wait and see.

too much reading of certain subject matter, too much dictionary.com used in the past week, too many stories and too little freedom in such a useless education-filled five-day week. more time spent on punishing us for things we haven't done than praising for what we do. whatever. sound the cry of the poor little high school student. i don't care. this is real. and i'm going to get in on it, even if it kills me. which it might.


"there is nothing you can do that i have not already done to myself."