Girl Interrupted !

so, i just watched this movie.
totally fucking fucked my brain up.
it's funny how you can relate to every single scene,
ain't it ?

Among the Audience.

Standing among a crowd of many different than my own kind.
Semi out of place.
Half curios about the figure standing upon the stage in front of me.
Half dreading the drunken bodies beside me.

Mind drifting,
With the beat of his drum.
Body swaying
With the movement of the audience.
Its just funny
Because although the laughs behind me
And the leather jacketed - blunt rolling fucks in front of me,
All I can think of is you.

How much you'd enjoy the sound eminating from each speaker
In each corner.
How much you would smile at each sly comment he mumbles
While he tunes his guitar, plastic cup of whiskey in hand.
Eyes are slits.
Red curtains behind him.

The two of us would gaze at the lights shining onto his existence.
While his slurred singing stirs the clapping.
And we would stand close.
Close to each other.
Because I like the way it feels
When your body is against mine.

You may be dreaming right now.
Slight purrs from the kittens you house, at the foot of your bed.
And even though I wished you a well nights rest,
While standing on the outside of the place where his stage remains.
I savored every bit of your voice that my ear drums captured.
And I sure hope you sleep well, dear.
Because I know you work so hard.

Your heart beat is now slow.
And your breath soft, and subtle.
I wish I could run my fingers through your hair.
But well, I'm here.
Standing among a crowd many different than my own kind.
And all I can say is
I love you, I love you, I love you. 

Engineer.

All night, elevators climb the inside of buildings.
they spin round and round
waiting for you, engineer.

steel perfection is your ideal
wires strong and sturdy.
standing still while passengers of each season
aboard your carefully crafted work.
and they are pulled, up and down.
passing floors,
you wait in the basement.
'till the red light is illuminated
above the desk at which you so carefully work.

oh engineer, please be truthful.
i watched you carefully,
as you froze all of your calculations,
all of your equations.
oh engineer, solve me.
gone are all of the trees outside of the window,
placed on the wall
beside the red light
above the desk
at which you so dedicatedly slave over.

those trees were young
as you tended to tainted wires.
and their limbs grew
as you searched for simple calculations
and they became old
gawking at sparrows which rest on their extremities
as you watched
and spotted things you thought needed fixing.
soon they were free
no longer outside your window.
late at night, behind the locks
you exist among the floor boards
and quietly you sit, trying to find a way

to become as free as the trees.
oh, engineer.

i'm comfortable with who i am.

so fuck you.

it's like

i try, and sometimes i succeed.
and i try, and other times i fail.
just the way an astronaut tries to remain sitting in his seat,
while in space.

he can't.
he'll float.
fuck.
because all i want to do is just sit there.
in my command seat.
like any other astronaut.

but i just keep floating.
and he and i... we're similar.
in the fact that his white suit is just as white as mine.

but his gold pins have a little more shine.
and my eyes dance around the dashboard of our space ship.
floating.
fucking floating.

i told it to sit.
and sit damn still in my head.
but it won't.

whatever.

fucking pills.

and no matter how many small chemical imbalances are placed between my brain cells.
and make them selves at home beneath my memories, it will make no difference how many pills i take to release them.
because their at home.
and feel safe among my thoughts.
and each time i've swallowed those white fucking ovals, each small imbalance stares it in the eye and screams bloody murder.
expecting me to do something about it.
but i can't.
mom's waiting there.
watching me.
telling me to swallow.
fucking bitch.

if only, if only.

Van.

We chased the sunset in our silver minivan.
And pretended we didn't see the sly, narcotic handshake between the two bad ass mother fuckerrs on the corner of blank and blank.
And we found the hill Nick recognized from his last travel in the silver minivan.
When he took the picture of Cleveland's fine sunset, among what looked like a slaughter house.
And David grasped the steering wheel with his energy drink in hand, ceasing every sharp turn he could.
And i sat in the worn in vinyl seat, allowing my pupils to relax upon images unknown.
And Van Morrison echoed throughout my ear drums, and i thought about how nice it would be to "fly into the mystic".
However, i'm in a silver minivan with four other bodies, just as confused as mine.
And together we searched for opportunities to become similar, united, somehow connected.
And we didn't realize it, but by searching for the same thing, we were one in the same.
Connected by simple thought and through mumbled depictions and vivid vocabulary.
Part of me feels obliged to say something.
like a topic producer, a conversation starter.
but it's hard to do that when all i can do is think of her.
it's like, finding that one cd in the back of your own silver minivan, that one you'll always love, and never grow sick of.
you know the fucking one.
and each over played track is like a new set of twenty-four hours with her hand in mine.
and we could be minivan-less.
in the center of a foreign utopia.
and the common soul would feel that it would be appropriate to weep.
the perfect time to tear down the walls of the forgotten, and feel cold.
but not me.
'cause i have her.
and she makes me feel warm.

i am merely a traveler.
with dust in my pockets, and you on my mind.
your silhouette acts as the skyline, the city streets are your eyes.
we all just want to see, we want to see.
you light up the surroundings, and allow us to be free.

we're waiting for the moment in which we will be buried.
and as we return to our shelters, labeled with the numerical code assigned to our existence, we close the doors to those outside, and we ask the wind to blow.
to pick us up.
and to carry us away.

we cry, and ask it to set us free.
but instead it gives us a revolution and convinces us this is all a grand allusion.
maybe it's time we figure this out, and call it the end.
but we're just getting started.
and your eyes will never close.
these city streets will always be bright.

and we'll aim for a new place we've never been.
asking the earth to fall to her knees.
and provide our empty corpses a new environment to roam.
and i refuse to see you in my sleep.
your eyes guide my footsteps and oceans keep me warm.
we're saddened by your infidelity.
you betrayed us.

and the streets are dark.
and we cannot see.
you're off in a new place.
being buried.
you waited so long.

()

And it may appear so simple.

yet no one will ever know.

each tangled thread of my existence unravels with your touch.

every perplexing thought, clarified with your words.

you are everything my mind has created through sleep.

and even though you're so far.

and even though my destitution for your body against mine is so prevalent.

you're still so close.

and when i lay on timeworn fabric, 

entangled within cold sheets.

i feel you beside me.

your breath on my neck.

and we drift off in unison. 

each dreaming of the other.

and as i stumble through positions throughout the dark hours,

my eyes open.

and i see you there.

you're soft.

and beautiful.

gentle, yet fearless. 

and i drift off again.

and my mind dances with yours.

it wont ever stop.

it wont ever stop.

i hate shopping.

they all look for new reasons.
new reasons to conform.
new reasons to mold with the universal clay of design.

they search.
with eyes wide, and set for an answer.
with minds open.
but closed from change.

and while on their endeavor, their journey for consistency, i'll watch them.
as they pick and choice.
and look and investigate.

they'll feel each fabric for the correct choice.
and examine every thread for a sign of disapproval.

and i'll sit.
in my worn in apparel.
feeling my way through clues of this and that.

and they don't see me.
because i'm invisible to their eyes.
their too busy searching, ignoring the demise.

but that's okay.
because their pre-occupied with reasons.
searching, searching, searching.              

her pace growing faster.

she covers my eyes as we walk.

she wont hold my hand,

ahead of me... her pace growing faster.

and our walk is smooth.

simultaneously running with the river behind us.

we swam through it together.

but she was ahead.

her pace growing faster.

i sank so deep.

and she swam so fast.

the mass of thawed solid, taking her in.

every inch of her existence.

her movement simultaneously flying with the sparrows.

whose wings were breaking.

but her arms were stronger.

swimming slower, out of there.. out of there.

her pace growing faster.

i floated in the river, and i watched her fly.

she said she would hold my hand when she returned.

be gone, be gone.

and her wing-span was larger than the clouds.

which simultaneously raced with the sun above us.

around her.

below her,

i was.

and i'll watch.

i'll float 'till she returns.

but i wont be there.

i'll grow with the modifications of my surroundings.

fly into the opaque mass.

her pace growing faster.

she'll search for my hand to hold.

it will be with another.

and i wont look back.

..

what if standing still was my only option ?
walking was something i watched, but did not participate in.
how do their muscles feel ?
the legs themselves.
as moved by involuntary movement, forced to participate daily.
or do they decide when their done ?

what if those with a mouth couldn't speak ?
Again watching the movement of lips before them, the grace of sound.
yet do these lips truly desire to dance?
do they long to perpetually move for the sake of others?
or do they wish to stop. to put their constant action to rest?


what if those with ears couldn't listen ?
although these few are restricted from even viewing the movement.
yet they can tell.
when lips are moving, but want to cease.
when legs constantly move, but obtain the desire to simply stand still.
they know.