Nighttime was about you two summers ago. It was fickle loving then. Love was a word to be thrown around. (I talked about that once, did you remember it sometimes?) I always hurtle back to the same place. Nighttime is still about you. I have an emotional sense of time now. I throw around 'love' in my poems carelessly. I record everything and maybe it's too much but I need it. Both sides of the u-turn are lengthy. Wordy. I'm on my way backwards now, I think? But isn't backwards always the wrong way to go? /10:10
I'm pretending you still want to know me to get through the day. I can't get myself to smile and laugh and ramble today like other days. Warm and heavy eyes. Have you ever kissed my eyelids before? Maybe. I can't remember. do you want come cool them for me now? I want your spit only. I'm shaken empty. The day is still warm, you shouldn't be here yet. You're spilling into daylight. I should keep you for nights only; invisible. /12:38
Am I performing for you? I always thought it was for my friends. But you're not here to see it. I'm still performing for you. Today, at least. Come watch me spinning and rebounding off people and talk and helpless grins. /12:43
I don't know what to title my stories and poems. There's too many pieces a day to sum up in little words. /12:44
Someday this will blur into a curtain in the back of my stage and I won't feel it in so many words anymore. /13:26
Long narratives everyday. Nothing happens at all but it's a wild ricochet inside. Sick of holding just one person close. Correction: memory of one person. You can't make memories without people. I need people to make me real. /16:24
There's always been a song or another on my mind for years. Suffocating. Nobody says or shows anything that makes real connections. I have everything to hide. Bleak bleak bleak. Sometimes I don't correct people when they get it wrong about me. I don't think I really care at all anymore /16:33
