Blahblahblahblahblahblahblahblah, insomniac crappy poetry theater.

I'm to live in the city

That was built here for me,

Each brick laid by hand and warmth

Breathed into rooms.

I'm to sleep here where I

Was laid down in a bed

That held and contained me and was almost home.

I am to drive the roads you paved.

Every day, I am to live in this city

That you painted with me,

Splashed red, 'cause it hurt.

But we lined the streets with lanterns to hide in the shadows,

And tore down the walls to make love in the rubble.

I am to live in this city

Left smoking, in ruins.

Its architect off to more lucrative offers:

Paper skyscrapers and Styrofoam homes.

I will live in this city, 

And will sleep through its crumbling

And let it burn down

And grow back on its own.

Blawg

http://haleycrain.tumblr.com for everyday thoughts and bullshit. 

Dead Love Song*

Well my baby's a zombie,

I hit him ten times in the face

And he didn't feel a thing.

We knew we were dying,

Decided to fight it

But he up and walked

and I still feel the sting.

Where's all your peacocks and 

teacakes and teapots?

When you fall, your chin hits the ground.

I know in the end everything will get broken,

but we could still sit back and 

enjoy the sound.

He rose, well he rose up

From grandaddy's grasses

Decided that he oughta be a man.

But these days he's stirring  

his tea with the ashes 

Of all the things he thought he'd

play by the plans.

Where are your elephants,

Lions and ivory?

When you fire, your shot hits the ground.

I know in the end everything will get broken,

but we could still sit back and 

enjoy the sound.

It's better than rotting away,

it's better than rotting away.

You can't dance with a zombie, but baby believe me,

I would have tried anyway.

My babe was a zombie,

I hit him ten times in the face

And he didn't feel a thing.

We knew we were dying,

Decided to fight it

But he up and walked

and boy, I felt the sting.

It was better than rotting away,

better than rotting away.

I'm sorry you're sad and I'm sad you're not sorry,

But maybe it's best you don't stay.

*Or, "Haley attempts to write something resembling a song and probably makes a fool of herself in the process but oh well it's just a dumb blog"

Angels fall short of all that we could make this life

And they're all assholes anyway;

your heroes and your poets

are dead.  

We right here right now are alive 

and will live forever 

and we will have known our own names. 

"There are 6.7 billion people in the world," 

she said,

"And I tonight I will dance with every one of them." 

can'tyouseethat

we are only the monsters we make ourselves, that

we are only smashing our skulls with rocks from the inside, but 

we are only human, but you say

we are only beasts, but

we are only the beasts we become. 

All You Are

You and Charles Bukowski would slam your heads on a wall till you shatter apart.

But to be a flowering vine

pushing through time would 

ease it down so sweetly.

And to 

slow-dance with it, 

explore

every crack

and 

float your leaves out to touch the night, to stretch, 

and curl, 

and relish in your decay because 

you are all 

you are.