We're hidden right there in everyone's face.

I found some old-ass writing today.

i don’t usually post shit i write, but oh well. i’m th’only one who s’looks at this tumblr, so why not?

“Standing in this stone-laden meadow
With the sun shining down on your head,
It’s hard not to ask yourself questions
While you’re dancing on top of the dead.
The grass rustles softly around me,
The granite feels cool on my feet.
I’m standing on the graves of our ancestors
And the greatest people you never will meet.
Can they all feel my footsteps?
Do they choose to just let it go?
Or are they merely all rotting,
Their features melted away with the snow?
For now I will have to accept the fact
That I may never know the truth.
But I’m content with knowing I don’t know,
And I drown myself with the Vermouth.

March 5, 2008”

ha. good night.

What he said:

sprocco:

3 MONTHS, 6 WEEKS, 30 HOURS!

(b)Rain Dance

There are people dancing in my brain,
And they will not go away.
I can hear my cerebral cortex
Pounding as if to say
“Excuse me all, I know you don’t mean
to take pleasure at my health’s expense,
but in case you can’t tell by the pounding,
things are getting rather intense!”
now I can hear the gears grinding,
and the dancers are starting to shout.
They’re pounding their fists on my airtight skull
Shouting in vain “let me out!”
Their incessant screaming annoys me,
In fact it tears me to shreds,
So I grab handfuls of hair in my throbbing veined fists
And clear the forests atop my head.
This confuses the mob for a bit,
The dancers seem temporarily subdued.
But even the silence doesn’t help me
To deal with the mental mayhem that ensues.
“How did you get here?
Answer me now!
Why are you here in my skull?
You’re dancing in my mind as well as my brain,
And burrowing through me like moles!”
The worst part, I finally decided
Is that I do not know of their origins,
But if the dancers are feasting on brain cells,
I’ll make it so they’re constantly foraging.
10/16/08