vervectic

So, I have been coerced the make better use of this here journal. It was brought to my attention that it would be much cooler if I did Actually, it didn't take much coercing after spending a really, really awesome night (and most of today) with plaingurl There's absolutely nothing better than spending a Sunday in bed with someone you care about, just talking and kissing, and cuddling....ok, i won't divulge too much just yet, but it was definitely a great end to this weekend. And now for what the week shall hold...

Oh, and I couldn't think of much of better way to make use of journal (besides going on and on about certain girls I just recently "met on the internet" ...haha) so here's something I wrote recently. I usually like to show people my writing and hear what they think, so ALL opinions (good or bad) are more than welcome

clockaphor sleeping.
i find myself always wishing
that the clock would strike somewhere ahead of me
at some moment drifting in future time
a hope or fear still buried in my mind.
And this swift attack would give meaning to today
to give these graying skies a more proper name
than the towering kings of melancholy and pain that they, for now remain.
this new year is different, unwelcome still as it shifts its shape into me
so fucking disappointing
the cracks in the molding, the tears in the carpet, the finish unfinished
i am the wishful unwanted
the selfish melancholiac hating his ways
and I wonder if any of this is worth the spaces that I create
tiny spaces between second-hands
at ten till midnight on the seventh day
soon, there will be god or end or morning come again
and without or without me, that will be the way
so I dont hold anybody tight anymore
and not because I dont want to,
but because I cant possibly hold anyone tight enough
to keep them safe from the certainties of this place

the assurance of an end will keep us warm in our beds
dearest sweetness I shall put you to rest, oh its so much safer that way
if you just swiftly collapse and cover thy head
this bed is the end
this bed is an end to mean, to mean something more than a dream
at least, thats what he believed
but its got to breathe and dilate and flirt with entropy
and if were lucky, it will simply conquer everything
under this falling canopy of stars
are we crippled, are wesleeping?
is this moment of contention doomed to be fleeting?
come now dark skies, open wide
lay flat our fears
and we will flee the forests only to be swallowed by the sea
so happily, tasting everything in this moment of purity