unthinking

[unthinking-angel]

popcorn

pop

pop pop

the smell fills the air

your absence leaves a space

pop

pop pop

the emotions hit me like a tidal wave

the way you would always stand there

pop

pop pop

smell and memories are linked the most strongly

what a cruel fucking joke

pop

pop pop

i see you in everything and i try to move on

pop

pop pop

i hear your voice in the wind

i know you in every song

pop

pop pop

i feel your hair beneath my fingers

i taste the way you made the air around you

pop

pop pop

and i try to move on

pop

pop pop

but i get hit in the head by the smell of the popcorn

i smell your bags and i fall to the floor

the world begins to spin around me

pop pop

things will never go back to how they were before

pop

pop

i miss you more than anything

i miss how things once were

pop

i miss my baby

i miss my love

i miss the me i was with you

pop

i miss watching you eat my leftover

pop

corn

[unthinking-angel]

tattered velvet

i step back into the spotlight

to bask in the warm glow

the seats are all empty

nobody’s here to see my show

the curtain is tattered

the stage is charred beyond repair

the smoke will always

hang heavy in the air

but the stage lights are lit

the curtain is drawn

it's time for my solo

no orchestra to play along

my voice still fills the theater

though the microphone's long dead

i let the silence eat me

consume me and my dread

the words become a river

when the bed is long abandoned

with only the moss as witness

i act as a mere stand-in

for the actor i was then

and as the person i am now

i finally begin to leave the stage

i take my final, well-earned bow

there's no visage

there is no mask

i am no longer a fisherman

i know i am a catch

i step out from behind the curtain

i find myself a seat

i take a rest

i know it best,

i have earned nothing less.

[unthinking-angel]

fingers

i met an angel named whiskey

her fingers wrapped around my throat

they were warm and comforting

in a way that i couldn’t imagine

she said my name with a voice

that could bring a hardened warrior to tears

with its beauty

she called out for me to return

to her loving embrace

she smelled like burning wood

she tasted like oranges

her fingers slid down my throat

i loved my angel

i called her my salvation

i loved the way she drowned me

in her warm embrace

she wrapped me in her dark curves

fiery in a way i couldn’t predict

her fingers cover my eyes

blinding me from the world

except for her and i

my angel is named whiskey

but i worship her like blood

i want her inside me the same

my ray of smoke in the sun

breathing life back into me

i feel my lungs fill with warmth

heavier and heavier

i let my angel consume me

the way i have consumed her

she is all-encompassing now

i love her the same

i feel her fingers all around me

i let her hold mine.

[unthinking-angel]

name

whats in a name?

a name is a person

a name is a place

a name is a thought

a name is a face

my name here is angel

i feel but don’t think.

i act like an angel,

just come back from the brink

i tell myself it’s just emotions

i rationalize them away

i try not to think or analyze them

i try not to let myself sway

i sit on the roof of this building

and think what it would be like to jump

i couldn’t dare do it

i couldn’t go through it

but the wonderings keep popping up

a name is a mask

a name is a song

a name is what keeps dragging me along

because i’m not an angel;

i think more than i feel

i can’t break from that

that’s just the deal

so i look to the stars

and i wonder what could be

if i were just an angel

how that would be

[unthinking-angel]

hidden muse

calliope is hiding from me

i feel it in my soul.

i check inside each cupboard,

i check inside my bones.

i seek to write a poem

an epic, or a tale.

but i find the words won’t flow for me,

they stay beyond the veil.

they say lightning only strikes once.

the same seems to be true of inspiration.

i let my past works follow me,

hope they’ll act as motivation.

but they don’t, they won’t.

they haunt me instead.

they’re just proof of these concepts

that won’t come to my head.

calliope is hiding from me

of that much i am sure.

she’s gone and left me barren

she’s gone forevermore.

[unthinking-angel]

tired

exhaustion's a feeling i'm used to

it's a feeling that lies in my bones

it's a feeling i don't quite understand

how it sits and it lives in our souls

now i don't have it hard

i don't have it rough

i have "no right to be so tired"

but i am

and i was

and it's real fucking tough

knowing it isn't the worst

it could be worse

it is worse

i dont wake up early

i just stay up late

i dont have a reason

and thats what i hate

why my body is like this

i may never know

why no matter my efforts

they never do show

im so fucking tired

i cant fucking sleep

ive tried naming numbers

ive tried counting sheep

i sleep too long

and still i yearn

to go back to dreams

no matter how much they hurt

im so fucking tired

of dancing this show

im so fucking tired

of

of

of everything.

i wanna go back to bed

[unthinking-angel]

lost

i watch as my hopes float away in a bottle

i watch as that ship starts to sink

i watch as my message gets

waterlogged

i watch as my brain starts to think

was the cork on tight

was the paper bound right

was the dream too bright

is my hope alright?

though i can’t say i’ve lost it

when i gave it away

i can’t say i miss it

though my vision may sway

i left my small hopes on the shore with the goal

that maybe

just maybe

some kind little soul

will find them

and read them

and nurture them up

will save them

and grow them

and give them that jump

that start that they need

to flourish and grow

that bottle i need

to not have let go

i must find that bottle

i must be my hope

i can’t sit around

i can’t laze and mope

my message in a bottle

lands on a shore

my hopes in a bottle

have been picked up before

but this shore is far

and this shore is new

and fuck, who is this?

god is that you?

but i look down softly

at the bottle in my hands

at the dear little note

now covered in sand

i pick up my bottle

and pour out my dreams

and pull all back together- right from the seams

my world isn’t over

as hard as that is

my words in a bottle

are all that there is.

[unthinking-angel]

thirty five

i used to like that number

seven by five, the adult age

but now i see it in a different light

thirty five is a badge of my failure

i wish i could find peace with it

but thirty five is making my world crash around me

thirty five makes me want to cry

i’m 30, 1990?

it’s 35 but why

and i never wanted to do this

i knew i was going to fail

but i tried my fucking hardest

i didn’t even bail

and the prize, yet again, is my bitter defeat

why try when i know

ill never quite meet

that score i need

that grade i crave

hell, to these numbers i’m naught but a slave

the fool marks the start of a journey.

the fool marks the end of my time

the fool should be hopeful and happy

the fool sadly so, is i

a zero, he is, that beautiful card

a zero is now how i feel

a zero is not my definer

a zero was not the deal

a zero is not my definer.

but it isn’t even that.

it’s a thirty fucking five.

[unthinking-angel]

curtain

the room fades to black as the world starts to swim

why can’t i write quite as well as him

the words seem to flow so effortlessly

his poems convey what he wants you to see

and they write these lyrics that flow as a song

they write and they write and they write for so long

they’re a songwriter. he’s a poet. they’re a perfect pair

i’m a writer. why hasn’t that got me somewhere.

i read both their work and my vision vignettes

when will that butterfly land in my net

i’m jealous i’m angry i’m all too upset

and i haven’t even written yet

i can’t let them see this

i can’t let them know

it’s time to call curtain

and put on a show

i’m happy i’m smiling i’m rooting them on

hell i’m helping them write their damn song

“you’re a genius, i love you” i hear them but still

if i can’t believe them…

who will?

i’m splitting. i’m jealous. i don’t mean a word. i love them both dearly. i’m a double edged sword. i love so strong i hate so deep

how do they all handle me

i’m too damn much

but still so weak

but for some damn reason they still love me?

honestly.”

it’s not like they can see past your visage”

i hear from that voice- no, more a mirage

and now i’m stuck behind a curtain

putting on a show

to all of these people

who definitely know

they know that i’m fucked up

they know how i care

they know that my brain’s fucking everywhere

and i called this one curtain to speak of my show

the house lights dim

the stage lights glow

i put on a smile

i try on a laugh

i’m the actor and the viewer

the fisherman and his prized catch

do i want them to see what lies behind

that velvet curtain, these dark brown eyes

do i want them to see what’s behind my show

what the fuck do i want them to know

i want them to see me

meet where i am

i want them to lend me a kind helping hand

but i don’t need help

and i don’t need hands

i need someone to understand

but i don’t care this much.

i don’t believe a word i’ve said

they want it? i want it.

well. here it is.

the performance of

a lifetime

but gods what i’d give to cure my damn head

i’m sick of performing

but the show must go on

i’m acting here like i cry until dawn

but i’m fine, really

i only cry till ten

and even then

it’s only when

i just can’t put the words to pen