purple crayon of consciousness
the music doesn’t even make me feel safe anymore!
can’t get away
can’t get away from those lines on the page
i just want a break from the feeling
it’s too much i’m nauseous
good bad which??
can’t press pause
can only exist
and be very very cold
and feel very very alone
okay this is a bad trip
i thought it would just be
when the faces got mad at me
but it’s the coke and k and oxy
all wanting to throw up
it’s lonely
i hope this ends soon
i’m afraid of seeing this much
i’m afraid of nausea
i’m afraid of the colors!!
breathe
maybe it can still be good
everything is art?!
if you touch the bookmark
the little shadows the fingers too blue do you really think
it’s all art beautiful all metallic
i feel happy!
harold with a purple crayon i wish
do you blink off streets of glitter whimsy you wake up i don’t see her handwriting in mine anymore
do you know how much shadow and bruising
there is all over everything?
all over all the walls and
the fingerprints of purple
traumas bruising your arms
and writing the shadows
in the notebook and
writing the ink and grime
under the fingernails
all the sweet ribbon trees with
all their sweet ribbon eyes!
dragon-like and looking back
like all the frames of disenchanted artwork!
the way the colors they all take steps off each other
like the eyes in the dragons of my sleeve
all the bearded trees with all their bearded sleeves and bearded
fingertips and the rose of the breeze gets cooler
there was something just
so intensely miraculously
beautiful and you just
didn’t know how to fill it
or what to do with it?
perhaps bizarre mystery of what to do with your life
did you know there is music written just for plants? it is as light and bubbly as you would sort of expect from something with roots!
i want to be like a tree! not like those ones in dante of the suicides but only the trees that like animals follow at your heels like a new kind of skunk! not the ones whose pomegranate faces you ruptured on a cold concrete pavement of thoughts! the way you follow your own words to get where you’re going. the way you look for eyes in things just beyond where the eyes should be! do you ever want to just put a face to all those memories all those bad emotions you eat up like bad air molded out of a tin can of tomato soup beliefs that don’t know where their next thought leads
i love this song. i know i can’t move things with my thoughts. but that is why watching these lines make themselves is so very beautiful the colors are cold on your skin and it is nice to just
feel something
sometimes yes?
is love that it is all beautiful right now i want all to be this beauty just explore all kaleidoscope of the lines underneath these ones? and if you keep following them the way you follow the rails on the railroad of your thoughts collapsed on themselves just like to listen to time sometimes i wish i had a watch
do you ever feel hot and colt like the color of your eyes? just saw something beautiful ah you just missed it is there any way you can turn back a
moment in time?
like a word you
wrote in the
wrong place wrong time following the red eye of that one red light you missed that gets you deported why in this fucked criminal justice system chasing itself under the RUG!
start a sentence start a mountain you just couldn’t break the rope of that poem! of that thought it was all that was keeping you connected like a wedding invitation like a death certificate
in the spaces between the trees like sounds you find relief
in the colored imprints of your fingerprints
that forgot their names but also
wrote you poems
it’s sort of beautiful here with the
pomegranate bushes and the books
with pretty spaces between the
ugly words and a face that seems
always to be talking to me!
his face! coming out of the page to chase me and eat my words again
congealed, like the pages
of a biology
textbook
lukewarm like your coffee bubbling
and steam again
like a line off a polaroid
feeling more forgot not forgot not
it’s all kind the same after a while
just felt more intensely for a minute
you so skinny and twisted under
your loose clothes like a gargoyle
perched on your own bones
this day is slowly disintegrating
the colors are still too bright
did your aunt knit you that hat?
and sometimes i feel like
a motherless child
where the sweat left your fingertips
dried there a salted map
of where your path used to lead
