Lightheaded

 

My head feels light, really light.. though I’ve yet to take a drag. It’s five to one in the morning and I’ve got a ridiculous craving for ice cold cola. The closest I’ve got for now is a glass of transparent liquid. That will do, i guess. There’s a banana muffin in the fridge, the thought of it makes me sick to the bone. I don’t really know how the previous sentence has any link at all, but i feel the need to express my current nauseousness in relation to the banana muffin. John Lennon currently plays on my Itunes, he’s whistling to the tune of ‘Nobody Loves You (When Your Down and Out)’..

 

Well I get up in the morning
And I’m looking in the mirror to see
Then I’m lying in the darkness
And I know I can’t get to sleep

 

I don’t know where I’m headed to, but help me get out of here?

Save tonight

 

 

She laid flat on her yellow sheeted spread. Her stomach in a line, the only place she felt she could fly. An echo of music humming against her ears. The lyrics muted from hearing. Her fingers punch the keys of her make-believe piano. A music sheet of thoughts, seconds of mental block. The next song plays.

The battery life of her pen ink  runs low. She smiles at the beauty of a future’s masterpiece. Will she save it though? The critics on her shoulders speak to differ. Will she listen though? To a lie, or the mirror of her only truth? Always questioning, always dismissing. Her palms rest against the mask of her skeletal jaw-line. Tips drum restlessly, what was that crawling? Or was it her mere state of paranoia? Eyes move along to a rhythm of peripheral vision, refusing sleep.

 

 

Traces of comfort

Yesterday night, was a good night. Drenched in acoustics of the talented, at Pigeonhole’s open mic.

I don’t know, tell me when do i ever? The night’s young, my mind wanders. Physically yet mentally unaware and a cigarette in hand. Smoke diffuses, air rinses a smell of music. Young voices, capable of so much.. humor of senseless elation. A line usually drawn; too guarded for my own being-,not everyone fills my wall of space, yet i manage to feel a sense of comfort. We’ll drink to a night of happy endeavors. We’ll soak in laughter, emotions and freeze the hands in time.To escape, to feel.

You don’t have to understand;

 

Why?

 

 And she asked herself, “Why are you so weak?”

(title postponed)

 

I’ll find something useful to do with my life.

 

If a black cat crosses your path, it signifies that the animal is going somewhere.

Interpretation is irrelevant

 

 

Her kitchen filled butter and jam
Her favorite kind, have them toast or french
Crumbs or lumps as long there’s jam
She’d have yards if she owned a ranch.

We’ll have tea or coffee, maybe just for you
I’ll stir up a mug of my best recipe for two!
I’ll eat it with a spoon, chopsticks if i may
You’ll sneak a peak and ask if I’m okay!

A pool of  jam, her tub will do
A trickle of water, or of squashed berries too
Obsessions of cars, or of roasted lamb
“I’ll stick to mine, jam jam jam!”

 

Life never really makes any sense, neither do words or people or actions or art or laughter or well, anything honestly. Do you or i make sense? Will tomorrow make sense? Did yesterday make sense? Did my dinner choice make sense.. or should i have skipped it? Did the movie you watch make any sense at all? Or was it just an untactful narrative of zero morals.  Will the choices i make the day after make sense? Will school make sense once my semester begins? Or will it be a senseless routine of  ‘another semester down till I am done with my diploma’. Will i make sense in the next five years? Will the places and people i meet make sense? Will the friends i love make sense in five years? Will my family try and make sense out of me? Do my thoughts make sense? Though i love my thoughts, its the only place where i can laugh to myself for silly things i think of, where others would stare if spoken out loud.. Nothing makes sense, isn’t that just beautiful? Maybe anything beautiful makes no sense either. As for now.. jam seems to make quite a bit of sense in my life. Or not, i was just having breakfast really when i wrote that. I don’t actually quite fancy jam, unless on Mondays and Wednesdays, probably New Year’s too.