Thursday, June 9, 2011

The Smell of Past Lovers Tortures the Heart

The problem with love is giving yourself over to it and in return being burned by the butt you were smoking yourself. A pathetic excuse for not partaking in drunken indulgence of love to come. One might say they're looking for love in all the wrong places but one's love looks in any place it knows best and sometimes it's best happens to be wrong. But more frequently I've found that one's best is usually a great place to start when the quest isn't quenched from what has been found in the past. I've loved a lot and the unspeakable words to past lovers never do justice the feelings in ones heart...because the lovers have found other goblets to drink; goblets much larger and golden than mine.

Come back to me intoxicating aroma of the past. The perfume teases with vanity. If but one more kiss could remind you of the laughter we once showed to crippled vagabonds in the streets. Homeless drifters in search of the story they once heard. As if their next fix could come through a simple pacifist memory. Love they shout from their juxtapose angle with the sidewalk. War I yell back begging them not to remind me of their gay memories. It isn't hate but a desire for the warm touch that swells through and through. And then I breath. You can't drown your sorrows in anything if there's nothing in the cabinet. And so this melon collie drifts on and on into eternal sorrow, begging to be picked up by the boots and forced back to labor. I'll pick myself up when I'm good and ready. But for now self-loathing is doing the trick that liquor could never. Never does the Bible talk about forgiving yourself but sometimes we have to do things that the Bible doesn't talk about in order to move on. love. war. 

Things to think about:
If this isn't real than death shouldn't hurt

Things to watch:
Californication

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