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Everything © A. Reynolds, 2006-2008.
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Kevin, the illitarit.
somebody take my feet and string me up she is restless and waiting wanting more the crowd gathers below we are nights in armor we are shining and opening up flesh with golden skill and insane amounts of practice collecting the photographsstrewn about the dance floormother Maryis running in circles and chasing her tail Kevin, the illiterate is sticking out his chin ,but also more importantly, his legs while he spins the noise and whiskey away to the night where we crowd up the old ruins where we start the fires of our youth and watch them slowly burn until the sun comes up and we awake deep in the silence of infinity.
Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose
I can't
just can't
do everything once
it's rather hard to accept the fact that
you are not the smartest person in the world
you are not the most attractive person in the world
you are not that amusing
some people might see you as annoying
you are not that interesting
whatever you are good at, somebody is better
whatever you know, somebody knows more
you are not the best
you are not the worst
You are caught
in a useless, unwritten, unused life
in a middle, melancholy, modern American mind
in a bitter, unrewarding existence
all there is to do is
walk outside
look at the stars
and take her with you
Restless, relentlessly
Please don't make me sick again
don't make me breathe in the bitter
thick
exhale of accomplishment
don't let me see the future
and don't
please don't
let me drag you down with me
the sidelines tell a much different story
than the field
the sword tells a great tale,
but so does the shield
yet, we all fall asleep at night alone
don't we?
there is nobody in your dreams to catch you
from falling down the cliff
from breaking your wings in mid flight
from crashing down the bridge
only the killer knows the truth
because he
/she
has learned to see
the truth for what it is
nothing more than a sprawled out
red carpet
waiting for you to step down
all the while
taking you nowhere.
Shit Shit Shit
Soo... I just wrote an amazing poem.
I pressed the wrong button
and it all got deleted.
I mean, I know that I don't write for anybody else,
but really.....
my heart just kinda sunk.
It was good.
I don't believe in Los Angeles
Your primitive smile
quickly pressing down on my lungs
retreat, lover, retreat
looking out through your eyes
I can see the future
I want to move out
and off to new york
to the city that never sleeps
because there are no such thing as angels
and the south beach is full of tourists
take my hand
lover and let your glare
off my lungs
let your hands and your hips
be then end of me
Awaking the dead
Capturing your fragrance by the air by the by and listening to you open your lips I stare, in wonder, in anticipation for you to make a move for you to breathe in and open up your eyes You will be everything that hides in the depths of my dreams when I wake up sweating and screaming
T-shirt idea
Get this. A T-shirt with a picture of a Jesus centaur. Half horse, half Jesus. The shirt says "Jesus Neighs" Or a raver Jesus with glow sticks. "Jesus Raves!"
Tide (a song)
We're all just tiny grains of sand all lonely with hair pulling in colors hair twisting in circles and wrapping up our skin pull it out and take it off if the moon has the power to pull the tide and bring the sand into one than it surely has the power to pull us down to the ocean to the ocean where we strip each other down to our skeletons our skeletons and again sink to the bottom hand in hand to the altar, back in your backyard with the arch above, archers out in the stars and the moon watching out to bring the tide and connect us into one trapped by our own greed but we let ourselves free and pull us down to the ocean to the ocean the ocean
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