ill be counting.

ezekiel in the valley of dry bones 

blighted soul

day2

how much deeper could this grave get? you drop hints like the Enola Gay dropping bombs. walking on my toes in a minefield wondering how many more times can i survive and pick up the pieces. you cant watch me watch you. you hate it. and you have no problem putting that out in the open. i guess i should be thankful that i don't have to wonder where i stand. the recipe was wrong all along. but you led me here. maybe i pushed too hard but you didn't fight it. instead, you threw wood in the fire. its out now. nothing but ashes and a coming closing time were both looking forward to. were both counting down. we can laugh about it but only because it makes no sense to cry. you don't feel guilty about it. but you have no problem spelling out a lie. youre sleeping on the white tile floor, without a pillow in the other room, with the door closed when theres a vacant bed, comfy sheets and a pillow here, where i am, waiting for you. im sitting on the floor next to the bed just in hopes that you'll come. but you wont. you rather be physically uncomfortable than just be with me. it hurts now but it didn't earlier. the pain was waiting for the right moment to drop and release its venom and seep into every pore and orifice in my body. always two steps ahead. just around the corner. giving me just a glimpse of its shadow. no holding back now. its here. its here while she's over there. multiple factors are at play here. forces stronger than i just don't  want this to happen. youre not fighting it but youre definitely not helping. youre not trying as hard as i am. my hands are useless. theres no point anymore. just laugh, ian. just breath. laugh and breath. 2 down and 5 to go.  

nope. 

we can laugh about it now but only because you don't care to see me cry. youre immune to anything that comes from me. like trying to touch you from inside a bubble..but in reality, its me in the bubble. youre just not interested in helping me get up and out of it. i cant blame you. why would you waste your time?  

youre in pain. i underestimated how much youre going through. its only because i have such a small window of time that i want you to see everything..but youre not interested. youre not impressed. the fog is coming in and im not trying to outrun the storm anymore. your signals are loud and clear but you have to rub it in with salt and vinegar every time you get a chance; every time theres an opportunity. no one ever taught you not to fuck a beaten bear. it doesn't much matter i guess. this bear isn't getting up. this bear isn't trying to fight another round. hes just hoping to stay alive long enough to see you here with him for a little while longer. you can continue stabbing and thrashing. he'll take it because he can. theres a certain kind of delicacy to it because not everyone would get this kind of treatment. what makes me so special? i couldn't describe it to you but maybe after spending the day with me you too would know why i get it. 

i haven't surrendered. i haven't dropped all the plans. theres just this eternally damp towel that resides over my fire. the smallest spark get put out before coming to any kind of fruition. a slimy gooey residue drips from the clouds above. it stinks and lingers. its hard to shake off. the stars are laughing at me. youre laughing along with them on the inside. its quite okay. i think it might be well deserved. whats eating at me from the inside is how you told me that i was special to you. how that at one time you thought of me like i think of you but theres no evidence of that. none thats been admitted into court anyway. the only mercy i've seen are the white lies you web. well, you think there white but blacker than the darkest corner on the moon. darker than the ink spilling from a frightened octopus. id feel better if you were an evil person. if hurting me was your intention but i know its not. but i can lie to myself to make it feel better. to give me the illusion; to give me the feeling of the numbness i so desperately need. irish creme liquor and cigarettes are working on remedy. 

solitude and cigarettes. 

irish creme and over extended blankets reaching out towards a ghost

fake smiles and a gooey residue under worn out shoes.

autism and plastic bubbles 

a beautiful girl, little white lies and head troubles. 

simplicity wrapped underneath a complex anxiety

no surprises, cursing the gods and their deities

lazy butterflies and psychedelic squids swimming in the sea. 

3 down and 5 more to spend with me. 

throwing in the towel too late while the monster sleeps after a quiet massacre. a tragedy 

separate rooms in a small apartment in a foreign country

a familiar face turned strange

pretty laces wrapped around the mange 

a ramped fire made tame. 

scar tissue bleeding through the frame 

i was a fool to think itd ever be anything different than whats always been the same.