BREAKaBEAT
Ex-Bluelighter
I took some of the rubbish I was randomly posting last night and turned it into a story I havent finished!
Enjoy!
Sometimes I put my head into a space of a million bright lights, all at once. The lights they do not come and go, like traffic lights, but are constant, like an office building. They are soft pink and blue. When I want to be free from soft light, and lighter lies, I simply pull my head out and get to work. I draw a trillion lights, and they distract me from my elbows, which have tickets on them. I cannot reach them, as my hands are tied to my work, drawing these trillion lies and hopes that sometimes are not pink or blue. It seems my truths are a distinct yellow, like that of urine, full of nutrients I should have kept instead of pissing away the things I needed.
A lot of the time I request peanuts and vodka while flying high in lieu of an acceptable destination. I do not eat as frequently as I would like, yet I drink till completion, a perfectionist destination, full of missed first dates, missed parties, frustrated energy. The peanuts Ill throw away, I do not want to miss my next party.
Im in love. We do not breathe tornado’s nor do we sit in our small house and break glass. We beg by each others side to touch the inside of collarbones, where we keep our humour. Inside our humour, we keep each other satisfied, as though humour was always the truth, and nobody had to get the cold cold snow out to show us.
I am a worsmith! I speak the language of a million designers. Bauhaus, golden mean... I can speak many more words that make up this special language I have acquired while having designs on myself. I draw the tickets up evenly and place them on my elbows. Anyone can take one, they are free. Notice the boarder ? Thats what us designers do. We move our fingertips while blinded by lights, dripping in urine.
I know that I will not always be this bright, and have so many colours surrounding my head, getting to choose at my will when to pull my head out, and when to be dazzled. As times slows, growth glistens under my layers of defiance and concealer. I am no longer that girl with the torch but an attempted lady, full of confusion about which colour my light should be.
I have finally decided to let my brilliance shine through, and even though many people will be blinded at first, their eyes and minds will adjust, and I will reign on their to do list, as if a vegetable were the first thought they had of me, which no longer exists. I am a cleaning product, a list of ingredients that neither of us can pronounce. I am your favourite sweater you no longer wear, as it reminds you of that relationship that turned to dust.
Enjoy!
Sometimes I put my head into a space of a million bright lights, all at once. The lights they do not come and go, like traffic lights, but are constant, like an office building. They are soft pink and blue. When I want to be free from soft light, and lighter lies, I simply pull my head out and get to work. I draw a trillion lights, and they distract me from my elbows, which have tickets on them. I cannot reach them, as my hands are tied to my work, drawing these trillion lies and hopes that sometimes are not pink or blue. It seems my truths are a distinct yellow, like that of urine, full of nutrients I should have kept instead of pissing away the things I needed.
A lot of the time I request peanuts and vodka while flying high in lieu of an acceptable destination. I do not eat as frequently as I would like, yet I drink till completion, a perfectionist destination, full of missed first dates, missed parties, frustrated energy. The peanuts Ill throw away, I do not want to miss my next party.
Im in love. We do not breathe tornado’s nor do we sit in our small house and break glass. We beg by each others side to touch the inside of collarbones, where we keep our humour. Inside our humour, we keep each other satisfied, as though humour was always the truth, and nobody had to get the cold cold snow out to show us.
I am a worsmith! I speak the language of a million designers. Bauhaus, golden mean... I can speak many more words that make up this special language I have acquired while having designs on myself. I draw the tickets up evenly and place them on my elbows. Anyone can take one, they are free. Notice the boarder ? Thats what us designers do. We move our fingertips while blinded by lights, dripping in urine.
I know that I will not always be this bright, and have so many colours surrounding my head, getting to choose at my will when to pull my head out, and when to be dazzled. As times slows, growth glistens under my layers of defiance and concealer. I am no longer that girl with the torch but an attempted lady, full of confusion about which colour my light should be.
I have finally decided to let my brilliance shine through, and even though many people will be blinded at first, their eyes and minds will adjust, and I will reign on their to do list, as if a vegetable were the first thought they had of me, which no longer exists. I am a cleaning product, a list of ingredients that neither of us can pronounce. I am your favourite sweater you no longer wear, as it reminds you of that relationship that turned to dust.
