Holy Hell I have no face's blog: "In My Head"

Far be it for me to suggest that I am tempted to be something other than what I am, But now the time has come to face the demons that arise from the sequestration of floundering animalistic passion. And i don't write because it becomes a mess of words and an excuse to continue to hold onto how things used to be when I was normal and things didn't matter, I was just a hollowed soul with less to give and more to consume. Come here and sit while i tell you the tale that has become my story a fortunate feast of images and color beyond your wildest imaginations, and watch in horror as the details leave you begging for more. But I continue to be tempted by that life that was and is inside this wretch because it is me and my destiny and now we face eachother a mirrored reflection of what will never be and what will always haunt me. i am tempted I am tempted I am Tempted i am tempted.

I am ravaged and aching, this body quaking and the mirrors don't lie and the tears don't die because I've forgotten how empty it all feels when the vultures are nipping at my heels. Forgotten and lost these dreams just cost way too much to even touch with emotions that resemble anything real eyes closed judging all by feel. A wired frame and it's all in the name words made of vinyl an icy touch to my spine. The skeleton's watching a haunted soul. And his secret is safe burried deep in it's hole. A blackened expression and a new direction in which limitless boundaries leave us in a quandry of where we should continue being everything and anything we could. Ride with me, in confidence that I and your conscience get along more than you and she can. because I was made a righteous example just bones and clay.

And in your absence I find the empty cigarette pack along with your words scribbled down on a yellowed napkin, left ofver from any-day ago when things were alright. Your space, naked with the departure, screams in agony, knowing that not long before breath heated the now stagnant air. Fingerprints freshly left on couch arms, appendages that gripped us night after days, echoing the ideas which fooled our vision. A homemade walk of fame, by the door, scattered handprints and footprints but no stars. The dim glimmer of brilliance lost in obsidian haze. Lost to my intentions, your spirit occasionally knocks on my door ready to converse about nothing at all... which is where I finally swallow the reality that all I am left with is a memory, a yellowed napkin, and an empty pack of cigarettes.

Out of the seed, It's the life-bud filled with nucleic patterns that attatch meaning to the breath we breathe. We all start in a moment, when two eyes blink and the "Oh My GOD's" can't get any louder as the devil takes hold with his scaley grip. A man in his place, just a push and thrust to create the arms and legs that will yearn to know his story, but will only hear the deaf silence left by the smoke screen. Barbarous decisions as bodies flail in anticipated passion, while spirits dip into hell, sparkled with drunken intentions and forgotten promises. And the news is broken as the glass shatters on the floor, cutting deep to the bone while DNA drops of red spill into an empty resivoir of conditioned effect. Running scarred as the path has been paved and each step leads further and further away from the intersection of Responsibility Blvd and Love Ln. It only leads down a one way street, paved with a smattering of rotten carcses, casualties of the inability to understand the power of reproduction.

On the Top All these vices...trivial prices we pay for the constant stimulation of just a moments maturation when the brain decides that things just don't add up to what they should be in retrospect... and now we hold ..... All these wishes...wasted kisses that showered the skin of madness around desire's corner while my clothes shed at your feet and you corupted the sweat that pooled on the small of my back in this constant motion.... Of this fire....almost expired as the dim flames try to leap from your tongue to my ears but I can't hear the voice that once sang the songs so clear now only reverberated sound lost.... To this being...always seeing the examples set in front of eager eyes open to the staples we follow to the hilt and then regret the lives we've destroyed at the hands of bliss and joy... Now an issue...didn't think...did you the greivous ramifications of what would come when your hands brushed away the traces, the cobwebs and hesitant excuses that offered protection to constant rejection of... All your lies...reflections die when we see the truth that these vices bring to the table that sits in the middle of an empty room with you at the head and me on my knees.

And I'm bleeding...again. pools beneath my ragged flesh. As the red falls calmess once again ensues. It's all a ritual You cut, I bleed...for you. You know my damage because it's you. And this passion is just tears dripping. Pathetic attempts in recognition of my refusal. Yet somehow when your shadow touches me, I breathe.

A learned traitor to the masses, equipped with the malady that today's tomorrows are beyond reproach. Fathered in excesses of blinded youth they've become partners in crime far beyond the future Bonnie and Clydes. Their eyes sparkle with floundered ideas amidst the laughs and fornication that often leaves a slight residue. These drippings, just a beginning of sleepless nights and distant dreams while the whispers stay to terrify. But brave faces and tactful deceit comply with the trends among the bazaar of quaint little idols. These fractured souls of yester-year remember the fallacies sold by Mrs. Cleaver and Aunt Bea. The place where blueberry pie was the glue that held together a generation of maddened wizards... tins now blood/soaked and dripping with the intentions of some little dreamer's dream lost at random will. This being the provocation they seek and the excuses abound, they all seem satisfied to float listless, but the drowning bodies tattered and bloated remain in constant vigil against the censure of social intelligence.

It's in the labels, when you go to the grocery store. I've looked, you've seen and we constantly continue to create and recreate the misjudgment. These being based on the caloric intake of what your skin color or your current choice in bodily attire. And to look past all the big worded ingredients to the underlying "flour, water and salt" just seems way too difficult when we can continue to focus on how exaclty to pronounce all the "isms" that are carried around like badges. How much you are willing to pay seems to deem the value of how quickly they are willing to let you die a death in the hands of bad produce managers that can tell if you are ripe by feeling the goods for signs of tenderness or decay. Is it an inherent value brought about by evolution, to ensure the "survival of the fittest"? The aisles become longer and all the merchandise much cheeper these days because we have all succumed to the depravity that is inflation and we subscribe to Vogue and In Style which is running at a steep $3.29. It's an irreperable damage, what happens when the bag of sugar is open and all it's contents continue to spill over the floor, making it hard to walk, but inevitable to stop for just a moment and read the labels. Keep looking down at the checker patterend floor and understand that it's just one of the many avenues that you and I will walk upon and that these labels are yours and mine to own and exploit, and I am very very fattening. I am a mother, a fighter, a wanton sex goddess, a maker and a braker, a thinker and a dummy.

These are random things that just brighten my day. 1. Running a squeegy across a wet window 2. The sound a vaccum makes when it picks up a penny 3. A rainbow (it makes me feel 6 years old again) 4. The huge paint splatter on the Infinity commercial 5. The old and musty smell of my grandmother's closet 6. Saying "See, I was right" 7. The soft kiss a wine bottle makes when opened correctly. 8. Static Cling 9. The smell of gasoline 10. Watching him smoke that first cigarette in the morning.

Don't forget to include the instances where mommy and daddy didn't give you enough attention. Blame them for the nights you spent in your room blaring the stereo, drowning out your own sordid thoughts about the next door neighbor and his washboard stomach. Feign ignorance when you know that you've made the decisions that have put you exactly where you are. It's them, the men, that continuously take advantage of your tired and worn body. You have no mind to offer, so give them what's easy. Your dignity. The books don't make sense, so you don't read them anymore, but you act like it all makes sense. Life is your oyster, but you play it on your back...in defense of everyone and everything that touches you. And this is comfortable because Daddy gave you your name. Your stupidity is your trump card because it allows you to act like life is ok. Your malady is in the words you speak tho, because you can't begin to understand that your own reprocussions are your prison, and these lives, that breeze past you are trivial. Blame me, please, for holding you to a different standard...blame me for making you feel stupid, blame me for loosing control. I will hold it all for you because I have the backbone to do so, but understand this, I know the secret you hold. And continue with your beauty school drama, and the words they teach like dye, and lies, because the customer only needs to hear certain things. Play that game with everyone, in your life, because you are trained that way, from birth. I am not proud of what I own, but I know that I wear it well. Take some pride in your endevours, even if it is on your back. Society likes a girl that pleases. Keep it up and your friends will multiply! I like being alone.