Duly Noted

bad poetry worse consistency

[trash-poems]

they say “distance makes the heart grow fonder” and i’m starting to wonder if they might be right. it feels like forever since the last time my tired hands got to hold your own. the saddest part about us is every time i pass by the smudged-up window of this cluttered dorm, a dead and freezing tree catches my eye. its branches are always reaching, reaching sometimes snapping. just like you were always reaching, reaching, sometimes snapping. i promised everyone i would wash my hands of you, and i truly believed i could do it. but that stupid tree outside my window makes me miss you every day.

(via trash-poems)

[conlost]

it is somewhat of a travesty, the way friendship's bonds can appear so real  when broadcast en masse,  seeming nearly cemented in time through the eyes of all watching, all the while being held by a thread this pathway along which these strands lead is precarious, of that i am certain, though, no evidence catches my eye the windows are tinted and all shutter snaps filtered the lens life is looked through, now fatally impaired, is affixed on a shallow copy. i'm keeping tabs through a snapchat story and wearing glasses to pretend i can't see the scrutiny is heavier the less we wear and tethered to rapport uncommon to our favorite places or the areas we sleep One cannot live without being questioned at least once. this paltry venom, thinly-veiled, pushes through veins  of shadow friends and, for effect, reveals itself to be a self-asked question after all.

j.a., travesty

[conlost]

i absolutely hate writing poems on paper well, actually, i guess that’s not true what i hate is how awful my handwriting is what i love is that the poem is mine unique to me, in this moment, i’ve made something new but at times, i feel i’ve given birth to a monster (frankenstein, that’s a shoutout) then, there’s this. this medium. the way i tap at my phone and the words complete before i’m finesse no, wait – finished (that’s autocorrect for you) but at least it looks pretty, the typography smooth and refined and not shaky these trembling hands react too well to anger and better in sorrow. paper or not, it’s the content that matters. is this topic drivel? the train of thought nauseating? the cadence is off and the rhyme scheme infuriating but i can’t shake the thought that i’d hate it as long as the pen’s holding hand was mine from the start.

[conlost]

My senses engulfed in a mixture of dim lighting and broken sound waves,  I remain as if fastened to this pedestal by tendrils unseen,  this steadfast addiction, and accompanied only by erratic limbs and the prospect of untainted liberty I’ve, now, a new collection of bottles arranged in orderly fashion and placed succinctly, if I may, in a tight squadron to further boost morale The recently formed mob, alongside a letter from Germany litter the balcony below, though, they seem to pale in close quarters with this god-damned pedestal This aging throne unmarred by jagged scar tissue or a crushing self-image bears no similarity to its captive and yet is quite possibly the only one that can understand Because I, for as long as I can remember, have been here drinking, existing, calling out this haze my skin since birth, this stupor a default state of mind and still, after this nightmare of a glorification, I just want to go home.

“Where ‘home’ is anywhere but here” (via conlost)

[conlost]

Sometimes I feel like it’s all just luck I found success lined in several of my favourite drinking mugs and spiked in my morning smoothie They wrote “winner” on the tags of my best button down shirts so that they’d be returned directly without fail, or in case I dared forget The white Picasso spread on the insides of a servant’s quarters-like abode will, without doubt, provide terrific insight on weathered down artistry or else how to crack under pressure I am the bland, near-white varnish splattered way too thin over concrete prisons and half-finished roads, on unnecessary stop signs and bricks found under bridges burned, though I could use another coating.

"Reinforcement"

[conlost]

I’m pulling hairs out barely minutes into a new day some odd jazz riff humming in the back That old sense of urgency a dam dried up in lieu of a recently rediscovered sun and is certainly no use now I used to care so much about reading, about abs about cars and writing and making my mum happy But then I wanted to be happy And just lost interest in this obscure information exchange, this mundane monkey act Perhaps if the quietest parrot is the smartest then I could be quiet just a little longer until I could talk about what I wanted to I know that the caring the fire that once breathed life into my actions is still there though reserved for other things.

[conlost]

I'm staring from the backseat at your reflection in the sideview mirror. You're beautiful. Eyes full of wonder, you're watching the scenery move. I want to watch with you, but it's hard to pull my gaze. I want to know what're you're thinking, how you perceive all around us. Occasionally you'll check your phone or comment on the outside. These little things about you don't always go unnoticed. Sitting here, I remember  how very lucky I am to be with you. I'm not sure if everyone in love feels like this, but I sure hope so. 

Kids on a car ride

[conlost]

Tortured temperament, your indecision is a fault not resting upon your shoulders or over your head, but in the air you breathe and the alignment of the stars But what foolishness divides your (in)ability to affix your gaze to ascertain your disruption we may never know and ("For the last time, sir, please pay attention!") I'll never get to sleep.

[conlost]

Misplaced in my own skin, I feel so lost Deep breathing increasingly difficult as I find my head enveloped by clouds I’m not myself. It’s like there’s half of me getting by and another half just watching- I switch between them seamlessly. Distracted by my inner thoughts brought on by the world around I am a ghost, unaware of cause of death and still floating along.

[conlost]

My god, it seems I've carved your name in crude, but careful cuts on every wall and crevice of my inner thoughts and I love it all. I do. In every direction, as far as the eye can see you're there, somehow, and you won't hear me complain of too much fondness or recollection of time well spent. You won't. Because there're too many uncertainties and too many stories to be sad about I could list all the reasons why you're just too good for me if I had the time, but I don't. I'm terribly lucky. This is something I can't stress enough.

[conlost]

Wasps that flutter only on the edges of blurry telescopes and battered lashes swarm from solar system to clouded minds so far away Expression vacant and mouth agape I find myself subjected to questions I can’t answer and people I do not know. These heavenly pests, these celestial insects buzz around at the speed of light and sting me in the eye as I fight to understand. The swelling has stopped and I still don't.

[conlost]

Lost in translation is exactly how we felt that day Words and feelings enunciated- but not grasped- escape to the ether and I, more than anything, wished for them to know how small it felt being the closest to the ceiling but the farthest from being comprehended. Girl at sea, lost only in that her voice was far from heard I am a mermaid today. But legs won't pour my heart into their minds.

[conlost]

forlorn man, you near the ending of a lifestyle so close to the final chapter and i can't wait for the epilogue. this ivy bridge is rife with thorns and i am happy, to say the least, to find that times i prick my outstretched hand will minimize and screech to a final halt. the heat is on. i'm sweating happily in anticipation for those slow days that feel like re-read paragraphs and (even better) the final shuddering of that one bridge as it gets burned down to the ground.

[conlost]

cross-legged, contorted she sits comfortably about five feet from Death, except his face isn't a skull or mask; it's mine and she loves me for it. we shiver like the leaves do when they fall because now Fall is here and she plants kisses that tickle slightly-- i'm sure the ground must feel the same. The Winds are howling (out of jealousy, no doubt) for now the clouds of warmth that pass between us mingle with their shouts but the loudest sound is still our whispers. of this, i am fairly certain.

[conlost]

we wear paper clothes just enough to give us warmth but so, very thin.

[conlost]

a new space to rest my thoughts or an ingenious hiding place? running free, running rampant wildly trampling that which had previously restrained me; I am a traveler and the road ahead has never been this long.