howard-roark

woke up staring at the bottom of a flower. i grew up like i was supposed to, with all my body parts still in tact and i smile about that. I smile because your arms and feet still look the way they were supposed to. and i laugh cause... where'd you go? look between shoes and gloves and you'd gone somewhere, i dont know. It's introspective, i suppose, to lose your self and find it again; too tired to care about circles or squares. So expensive to watch the sunset these days so i just watch you, soiled soulful friend of mine with hair and eyes and all of these things that i recognize, i suppose. that i suppose a lot of things,

the dew on the outside of the glass races into your mouth like your lips seal a vacuum. and with them i wipe my face. and through strands of water i enter you. and through strands of water i breathe. my halfway smile sings our lonesome lulliby, stepping halfway into the night; sun half set half here, half awake and half waiting for such clouded water     to clear. submarine sinking; such danger, danger, dangerous to think of such things sitting staring at the porthole with a hammer in my hand just... waiting for such clouded water    to clear. so take me as my songs to you may seem to be to me just another tune hummed and

we anticipate rain. we fill holes with teabags and lift the world to our angle with our hands afterward to drink the puddles- that which is the suffix of our storms, the elements of our minds working in co operation or operations of conflict.you scream disciplinary like you are the one that you hate. i take my time take my time and no real motive for motivation; six in the morning living through vines and sunshine pillars heads back mouths swallowing entire skies laughing like killers, killed integrity, killed dishonesty, murdered the world back down to just... life. murder you've been caught, yeah, we've all been had.

i am nothing like you. a camera can not take a picture of itself. like stones in a garden, secret and bare-beautiful and the lack of balance between what we know and what we dont; worldly knowledge. Trying to pull it off, pull it off the top of a topless sunset, [bare chested and covering the world in a world of things we forgot.] He's methamphetamine, strand glass blown brittle and golden, reaching toward endless expanse, reaching, fingers spread wide in the air blowing cotton and polyester in waves against his skin, almost smiling, almost conspiring to feel beautiful and kept still in a picture, so

you're the water than I'm jumping in to become a solution to be the wind that blows from the sea to be the smoke seeping up through the cracks in the floor to be our own insecurities. and blown back to the polyester couch; with you. turn the lights off and close the windows but the wind still blows from inside you and your face still glows ...glows sometimes. and sometimes the world isn't so important, sixty three years from now thinking back on these hard wood floors our feet spent together ...spent, spent like this precious time. And after all, you remember what doesn't slip through the cracks of your own floor. and all