How do you contact someone on Facebook and say “Hey, look. Your pictures that you’re modeling in are absolutely horrendous. You want great images? Come talk to me.” Without sounding mean or conceited?
Totally just realized that I placed my books in the fridge with the food I brought home from work tonight.
They’ve been chillin in there for the better part of five hours.
My literature is as cool as I am.
Dressing up, going somewhere quaint and/or pricey.
The atmosphere of possibility.
When you push me, I’ll push back.
When you make me feel like shit, I will lash out like the wounded animal that I am.
Does that sting a bit?
Because that’s all I’ve been feeling for quite some time now.
Look who’s digging their own grave
That is what they all say
You’ll drink yourself to death
Look who makes their own bed
Lies right down within it
And what will you have left?
Out on the front doorstep
Drinking from a paper cup
You won’t remember this
Living beyond your years
Acting out all their fears
You feel it in your chest
Your hands protect the flames
From the wild winds around you
Icarus is flying too close to the sun
And Icarus’s life, it has only just begun
It’s just begun
It took me a while to be okay with this.
It began as a thought of something you said last time you were in town, and kind of evolved into a letter to you. It’s authored by me, so of course half doesn’t make any damn sense, half is me rambling on, and in between are snide comical statements that you would read with the precise inflection I wrote them with. Maybe I’ll send it. Maybe.
Thank the Lord! I can’t take a week off of work to volunteer at a camp. I’m saving and moving up in the world. For the first time in a long time, I can feel something finally within reach.
Things are going to change, drastically.
Along with three novels, two pens, my black book, journal, and computer for company.