Close proximity

The close proximity of the world is really tripping me out.
Everyone's so scarily close, cheeks brushing, shoulder's touching.

And imagine.
If someone were to fall, would everyone come tumbling down too?

See, I don't think so.
I think everyone else would just let go of that person and reform their group around their fallen form.

Simple.
The close proximity ebbs and flows. We are apart, we are together, and the outsiders don't know.

It's everyone, and everyone.
And we're all on one side.

The same sides, really. There's no line in between, no walls built up.
We can all just tell who's who, somehow.
We all just know. 

Hug drugs

I'd forgotten how much I loved physical contact. I'd forgotten how much I loved hugs, and people rubbing my shoulders, and brushing their arm against mine.
I'd forgotten what it was like not to fear the touch of their acidic hands. I'd forgotten what it was like not to fear the voice behind their words.

I'd forgotten, I'd forgotten.
But today she clung tightly to me, and I held on. For my life, I guess you could say.
So many people hugged me today.
So many people I was only waiting to reach out to me and pull me back in.

I was so far out, lost. So lonely and sad.
I was contemplating suicide today.
I graduate, I die.
And then she came downstairs and held me tight, letting her skin brush against the skin on my arms.

And so many people reached out today, to pull me in tightly and tell me they're going to miss me.

I truly didn't know this many people cared about me.
Honest words.
And I'll be just fine.

If only, if only.

When good words become Bad. 

Pretty or not

Pretty people of the world unite
we will throw a bash tonight.
Loud and thumping beat in tow
follow down the roads that glow.
Lights and beams and laser smiles
getting wet, it's been a while.
In the lake, upon the hill.
We're up too high, standing still.
And catch the bubbles
on your tongue.
They sting they bleed,
but we're having fun.
So scream out loud,
and louder yet.
Jump into the lake,
you're wet, you're wet.
With stitches here, and stitches there
you are a mistress, full of fear.
Crack your whip, draw your sword,
fight your demons without a word.
Pretty people, pretty girls
With that blood,
make rainbow swirls.
And drink some more, and drink some more.
Flying high, and tryin'ta score.

But you don't see,
the wolf just there.
Standing still,
with his nasty leer.
You're having fun
that soon will end.
He's after YOU
and her, your friend.

Keep safe tonight
Stay high, stay light.
Floating far,
floating bright.
In NYC,
the bright big home
for people who
love to groan.
And chatter chatter chit,
chatting up a storm.
Hide in gutters grey,
pretty people of the norm.

Humans, you see
are only just so smart.
We'll all fall flat on our face,
we'll all, some day, fall short.
And pretty one or not,
you're just as lost as I.
Because we are both human,
we will both die.

Roadrunner run road road runner runner run

We are liars, hiding behind our marks and furs,

so that the world will pass us by

not knowing

who we really are.

And if the world doesn't really know us,

we can get away 

with anything.

Remembering me

Yearbooks. "SIGN MINE, SIGN MINE!"

Everyone gets one, and you have to be aware that, not everyone wants you to sign theirs.
But today, 1, 2, 3 ,4, 17 people asked me to sign theirs, and even more, because I lost count, and it was nice, because I didn't realize that many people wanted to remember me.

I was ready to forget everyone.
I still am, but that's because I always am.

But it's nice to think people out there are going to be thinking about me.
I think about them sometimes. But that doesn't mean anything.

I think about Jellyfish, too.
It really doesn't mean anything.

When I talk about pain, you see...

Imagine the grass stained knees from rolling around in the jungle. Imagine the laughing that floats lazily through the air. Imagine the lemonade spilled on your dress-up shoes, into your perfect, white socks. The socks that, later, would be running through the jungle at top speed, so everyone could only see flashes of your passing body, arms racing and pulling your forward, pumping back and forth.
Imagine the people chasing you, COPS. Only not cops at all, in fact, just ghosts.
You run because it's a game, and you're playing. You put your foot in, got counted.
You
don't
back
out
now.
Imagine running to the edge of a cliff, and looking down.
But it's not a cliff, it's not a jungle. It's the edge of your apartment building, and you're bundled up in a thin cotton sweater that's slightly too big.
You clamber up to the edge of the railing, sitting on the concrete blocks. It's easier to get up, you notice, so it's easier to tell you've grown.
But you're weak.
Slowly, you pull both legs over so they're hanging off the building, and you watch the people walk below you, living a normal life.

Hours pass, your lips turn blue, but you do not move.
The cops are right behind you, in all their grey, non-existent fashion. You don't dare turn around, but you know snakes are curling up behind you, their poisonous jungle fangs out.
"Shoo, get," you say. "Go on."
The silence on their parts tells you to jump.
JUMP!
But you do not move, you do not move.

Imagine the grass stained knees, stained socks, soaking in the dirty swamp water, grey skin. Is that what you want? No?
Then imagine it dipping into fresh spring water. Sliding in, stepping in, into a river? Into the water, cold. Clambering over rocks, over bottom scum, but it's nice and fresh. Into the water, and you're breathing clean for once.
Greenery surrounds you, rare birds cawing and chirping. Echoes of dreams you never had.

Silence from the cops, from the robbers. Silence all through-out the jungle, until one of your ghost friends bumps your back, and you slip.
The ice cracks off the concrete building and falls through air with you, as if you were suspended outside someone's window. But then you fall, and fall, and you're on the ground, the ice sitting nicely on your sweater, melting through it's soft blue fabric.  Blood pools at the sides of your ribs, from your head, your ears, your skin.
Puncture wounds, holes, rips and tears.

"Ouch," you think, your last dying thought.
"Just ouch."