A Wave that Breaks.

Yes. This is it.

In a sudden and jarring response,
Like an overturned table.

China that tinkles to the ground,
Over the tiles,

In your flesh,
Under the walls.

Into the gaps
Like a train.

That, which but hurtles
In the right direction,

Never turning off,
And not certain that

All is clear
Ahead. A tunnel.

Save our Ship.
Save our Souls.

Sugar Water

Muscles are fighting-
Eels through weed-
To escape the
Thickness.

Water mills around
And freezes
To your tiny
Hands.

This is it.

Runs like liquid,
Still yet solid.

Terminal Velocity.

Terminal Velocity.


He brought the car around,
Drove it past
The soundshell-
Silent, if you ask him-
But for a leaf
That falls in a slow,
Aching imitation
Of humanity.
There is nothing
To imply that he was
Anything more
Than a tourist,
Parking his car on the
Loose gravel and
Quiet,
Staring
At the leaf that
Fell to the ground.

And he felt like he would never
Reach Terminal Velocity.

St. Patrick's.

You said you felt like an
Empty building,
Shelled and
Ready for demolition.

Well,

If you are that building,
I am the scaffolding that
Scars your
Face

Roman Candle in Hibernation.

I sit still
-Which is unusual
In itself-
Contemplating movement,
But unconvinced of its necessity.

This paralysis.
It eats at me
For hours,
Until, at dawn,
It has me wholly.

Stuck here.
Motionless in one spot,
Able to move,
But unable to conceive
Movement.

Needing to leave
My patch of horror
And misery,
And ignite
Into the air.

But, well,

I'm losing it by now,
Wishing there was some
Metric measuring system,
A way to evaluate
Gradual Insanity.

Getting Behind.

I don't think right.
It's like opening your mouth,
Knowing that there's something to say,
And finding only a deep well of thin and musky air.

On Waking Up.

Ew. I generally despise second person present tense, but this just came to me. So. Yeah. You can feel like you're reading one of those stupid choose your own adventure books. This one can be called 'Choose your own adventure; Salvador Dali' =)


"There's a wall between yourself and the clarity.
To describe it, one would no doubt call it a wall of mist,
Because that's what they see when they look forward,
But it's a wall of sweat,
Warm and languid.

You're trying to push forward,
But you reach the sweat wall
And it gives like transparent flesh,
Depresses, then rises again
Identical to before.

Furious, you tear at it,
Pressure building in your head,
In your hands, In your mind,
And you start to believe
the wall is real.

You can feel something else now,
Something that starts near the back of your throat
And rises, bubbling to the surface,
Like some biological volcanic eruption,
Travels up, and leaks out red.

Like a switch, you're out,
No more fleshy barriers,
Or mounting pressure,
But now you're out,
And you don't know where you are."

5 and 5, lines and verses. =) I don't like the number 5, but it was 5 or eight, and I couldn't make eight, no dice, no way.

Rah, I'm fairly certain this is the product of too much 'The Knife' and Stephen King.
Oh, and that second last verse isn't about anything deep and psychosomatic. It's just describing a blood nose.
Because I often experience horrible dreams, only to wake up to a blood nose.

Phillipa R. Ellis. =)

The King.

"Perhaps I should be like Stephen King and insert myself into my writing." Said the teen aloud, whilst tapping away on her Generation Four iBook.



Well, I think I'm funny.

Edito:

I took out the line that said "but then," She said, "I suppose I already do"

Because it was unnecessary.
This is way more subtle.

No Mirrors in Space

This goes with Stroke. And is actually called You Can't Marry a Dead Guy. They were written at virtually the same time. Crossing over in my head and shiz.

"I don't think I ever gave up on
Marrying Elliott Smith,
Even when I found out
He was dead.

I think I was so
In love
With the idea
Of him

That it didn't really matter
About that,
And despite legal
Technicalities,

I think I still think
That I
Could One Day have
What I want."

Kelly made me post it =)

Blasphemy of Aztecan Proportions.

The sun shines like a God,

But while our lives rely
On the orbiting motion
In which it is imprisoned,
It asks of us nothing.