"soon baby"

"touch your lips just so i know. in your eyes, love, it glows"

rusted, sitting in music and craving the tension in the world to stop. the smoke billows and we wave our ways through the night, hoping to find something to live for. i've got my gun and i'm ready for the street war. hanging on every second that the phone doesn't ring with your sweet sweet something on the other side. this town is a pig sty. weary begotten souls, this can't be what it's all about. i'm learning that now, taking after the great footsteps of my fathers and ever greater strides of lovers past or present. don't you think you have more to offer than this? proud in the way you're finding your convictions. it never was for you in the first place. breathe. you will be something i never could be, far greater a feat than the climbing of your hills and the way you'll change the world if only by saving my heart. it's tied to monotonous and the knots in my shoulders. one, two, four, nine. it's like the stars coming out to follow the sun and we're all listening to the guts of the world. you're all around me. reason and conscience and all the devils packed into one and nothing but sounding like angels. this rainy faithless tongue of a town shudders in the face of the fall. buildings with broken teeth and dewy eyes all runny like aging men in dapper coats of outward scanctity. come and sweep up the massive dusts of years and eons caked on a soul of a sleepy little place that holds only torment for the heart of my own and the beloved. be the victory in comming appocalyptic white horse from the clouds splendor. will you be the savior of the sick and the broken, crying like the damned, screaming for the fury of the earth to rain upon them? yes, and soon. and soon. and soon.

"i'm bare boned and crazy for you"

days

so this is how it's feeling to be wishing you were here yet a million miles away. all i really care about is you being absent of beautiful faces and outstanding bodies that crave the slow feeling of how great it is to be fucking you. i can't figure out if i want you to stay away from them or them to stay away from you, but one thing is for certain, my lack of feeling for myself is making me nervous. and the past two days have been walking a highwire across razor blades barefooted and praying i won't fall. it's getting to be too much for me, the anger, the passion, the paranoia, and the fear. i've got far less than few hours before i'm put to work again, and i missing what it is to be with you again. through the events that will come to be called the great flood of 2006, and the black light pornos of bowling alleys and cigarettes, i've begun to want you all for myself in the worst of obsessive ways. waiting to hear that sweet tune screaming out to me and the sound of your beautiful soul mixing up the night and calling my name writing how much you love me across the stars and in my heart and making me bleed with repenting anticipation for tomorrow when you'll be in my arms, because i'm not even mad at you just the world and the booze in my veins, along with all the people in it. i hope you'll still

need/want/have/hold/trust/love/crave/believe/feel/own/fuck/be with me...tomorrow.

sick

i puked on the side of the road tonight on some god-forsaken stretch of darkness most of us like to call georgia. it came on in waves of dizzy sick comprehension of the illness. i sit here now, mouth clean, teeth brushed, naked in this blanket, rehashing a seemingly meaningless event that no one really cares to hear. why? because the reality of it is, we're all just as sick as we want to be. and i want to feel better today.

everything will be alright

i can't remember when i stopped believing in santa, the date of the first day i kissed the boy who later took my virginity, the last time i wasn't constantly hungry, the first time i told my best friend she was the only person in the world that really knew me, the first time i held josh's hand, or at what exact moment i began to feel empty. what i can remember is always having lexi by my side, my daddy to support me in everything i do, joshua to provide me with endless conflict and entertainment as well as unconditional love, knowing i was about to give away my innocence to a very powerful presence, spending a summer between two ex boyfriends, and spending junior prom night at emily's pool house, drunk for the second time in my life.

i have seen the evils of men and the terror of darkness in places i called home that were never quite safe for me to be in. i have borne whitness to a circle that is both exclusive and life changing. i have been sick. i have been hurt as well as harmed. i've been struck, and i've hit back. i've been loved, accused, cursed at, spat at, laid, held, believed in, trusted, and a let down. i am my father's daughter, my best friend's other half, the bane of my own existence, a smart student who lacks motivation, an artists, a lover, a shadow from your past, a sister, a writer, and a future maid of honor.

i have been a misstress, a liar, an addict, a cutter, a victim, a bright spot in someone's life, a secret keeper, a hopeless romantic, a RENT fanatic, a junk food lover, a smoker, a survivor, the baby of the family, a dancer, a teacher, and a highschool graduate.

i don't know myself the way i'd like to, some people have known me in ways i regret, some haven't known me nearly enough, others far too well. i am finding self actualization.
i'm a fighter, a singer, a girlfriend, a woman. i am far more than what you think i am, i am me.

everything will be alright

accusation

it hurts me that you would think that. you should know better. in short you have no reason to think it's going on. i love you, please don't say that again.

cold weather bound

the fires are over and we're lulled away like babes at the pacifier. but with the coming of the crisp new fall, i am bristled and shocked into some odd seclusion. windows down, air flying about me in cold feverish autumn.

it's therapy.

football and carnivals and the every present onset of the death of the leaves all about us in frosted splendor. large harvest moons are rising up out of the town all redish yellow with that sweet orangy glow over hay fields and trick-or-treaters.

"it's getting easy"

and in just a few days, i'll be slicing my way across that timbered line to the tiny steepness of that little town where waits my lover, missing me deeply.

i hope it's cold there

before the storm

i fucking HATE how much you sit in your own disgusting filth and blame the rest of us for the state of things. get up off of your own lazy god-damned ass and take some fucking responsibility. because i can get really mean and nasty. you don't want to see that happen. you've got a shit ton of bitching out coming to you and i mean the wrath of all hell. this is your LAST warning.

show me yours

you deserve it

hypocrite
liar
whore
lush
trash
bitch
child
inconsiderate
irresponsible
dog
filth
wretch
thief

the list goes on


you are fast bringing about the side of me that even i am afraid of. i urge you to continue to push, because for as much agony as you bring to me, i promise it's a cake walk compared to the wrath you are conjouring your way. let this be a word of soft warning. this poison is welling up in my blood like some putrid sickness thick with hate for every tiny atribute of your wretched existence. you have never seen anything like it, and you never will again.

some come one, bitch, lets go toe to toe and walk a line, i'll burn your world down around you before the first word leaves your pathetic fucking mouth.

love, lisa

the embers never fade

and now, an epic

believe, believe in me

persephone

can you help me?

i want the promise of a real spring.

old emotions coming back to me.

---------

when i think of getting out of this place i think of what it would be like to miss hearing the music. sometimes angry, or sad, or soothing. the music of this place sings it's own songs to each of us. and every day i feel like it's playing just for me. there is nothing like the sound of loving the people around you, even if they make it almost impossible to be within ten feet of them sometimes. because, we can't all get along with everyone else ALL the time. we move past it. we get over miscommunications and heavy words. because we love. and we make music of our own.

so when i think of leaving this place - leaving that is, not this town, this state, or this area, but this life - i think aboout the songs we all sing, and the people who's songs beat in time and key and pulse with my own. and i stay, to see what sound we can create.

to the music makers, you know who you are: however loud and angry, or soft and sweet, or fast and dying, your songs have touched me in different ways at different places. always changing and yet so engrained in me. just when i think i've heard a song in every way, you each surprise me and make it new.

to the music makers, i can still hear my song in all of you.

as always, much love.