Saturday, July 2, 2011

i'm really not photogenic

they are only perfect pictures,
of people,
and groups of people,
and everybody just seems so natural
and happy,
like they were born that way.

i see them
and then i look in the mirror,
and all i see are factions
of ghosts.

i just don't want to be here
at those moments.
i'm not big enough
or evolved enough
to comprehend any words
of a buddha,
or the actions of any artist who
has the balls
to lock themselves in their studio
apartment for days,
without phone,
protein,
or sex.

i'm smart enough to realize
how a thought causes avalanches,
and right now,
i've buried myself
once again,
in a past full of yellow snow.

people think i'm not afraid,
but i am.
i'm scared as fuck
that i'll die alone,
without one person understanding
at least
90% of my sum.

when i bleed,
i gush,
and my chest is covered
in these memorials
that already have roots beneath
my skin.

you love them,
then they are gone,
and you're gone.
you're lying on a bed,
alone,
wishing like hell
that every picture
ever shot
did not feel like bullets
festering
inside your chest.

1 comment:

  1. "and my chest is covered
    in these memorials
    that already have roots beneath
    my skin."

    i wonder sometimes, if everyone else feels the same way when they look at other people's photos. or if there is ever a true mirror of my insides somewhere out there wandering around.

    ReplyDelete