A song, a poem, a whiny young man

Crimson Underground

It's a friday night, so turn down the lights
In the Crimson Underground
Blood-stained London, brutal claws flashing bright
In the Crimson Underground

Little old boxer got mutilated late last night
In the Crimson Underground
Blood-money, money's funny
In the Crimson Underground

Heh, draw some blood, yeah draw blood
In the Crimson Underground
Contender dreams with matted fur
In the, in the,
In the Crimson Underground
In the Crimson Underground

This is the kind of supermarket that ghosts live in.

This is the kind of supermarket
Ghosts live in, bathed in early morning gospel-light
Sunday-morning gospel-light
Or born in Monday-morning rush-hour fights
For supremacy on the highway
First to the job
Or the scene of the crime
The plaza's empty as blue and white
Alike rush to their meaniality
As the age-old masses watch
Mindless unmindful descendents
From the kind of supermarket
Ghosts live in

In other news, I think I've met a girl I really like and I hope things work out well with her. I'm very much anxious and excited to meet her sometime soon!

(I'm sure something terrible will happen and she'll hate me, though.).
"They say love is a risk / that you might always get hit out of nowhere / by some wave and end / up on your own."...

Well, still, pretty good year

I feel... so old. So lonely and terrible and worthless.
I feel like one tiny snowflake out in July, somehow. I'm tired of watching all the guys I know meet girls, be happy, and just... be liked. Or loved. Or not alone.
I'm tired of being too weird or too ugly or too fat. I'm tired of the screaming and the names every other night. I'm tired of working far too much and still being treated like a good-for-nothing-slacker. I'm tired of not being wanted or appreciated.

Another year's gone by and not much is better.
Still, pretty good year.

This Digital Life

My life is defined by staccato black-or-white keyboard noises
Character after character punctuated by punctuation or white-space
Poems and stories and games and thoughts all wrapped up in tiny black pixels
Or speaking some obscure language like: if open paren string first dot trim open-close paren dot length greater than 0... oh. Yeah.
Hobbyjoblife wrapped up in electronic one-oh-one-oh-one-one-one-oh words is my life.

"Look, the east is burning red!"

I'm tired of "No hope" and I'm tired of "No harm"
I'm tired of drawn out, worn out, half-cocked alarms
I'm burning like a roman candle, bright and blue in the eastern sky
I'm tired of walking this weary road - I'd much rather fly

You want to sink, so I'm going to let you...

I need to stop falling for strangers
I need to stop falling like leaves
I need to stop falling in autumn
I need to stop falling in love
I need to stop writing poems that don't rhyme
I need to stop thinking these dreams
I need to stop dancing alone
I need to stop dreaming these thoughts
I need to stop feeling this burning
I need to stop falling for hope
I need to stop I need to stop
To stop
To stop
To stop

Another Finn-ian rant/poem...

Yeah, I know I'm not hot, I'm more like lukewarm
And when I say I'm Luke-warm, I mean I'm a little dark side, a little light side
I'm a little on the fried side, not too much on the bright side
A little on the little teapot side, yeah, here is my handle
And you can find my spout - spout off some nonsense
Make no sense, bad sense of time, bad timing
Dead living and bad rhyming

Hundreth

One-hundred written words
One-hundred fucking fears
One-hundred pointless posts
One-hundred terrible tears

One-hundred quivering quartets
One-hundred blameless blasts
One-hundred silly songs
One-hundred painful pasts

One-hundred darkened days
One-hundred little lights
One-hundred pitiful poems
One-hundred forgotten fights

One-hundred daring dreams
One-hundred misty mates
One-hundred waking wonders
One-hundred brilliant baits

One-hundred little loves
One-hundred angry acts
One-hundred cunning crows
One-hundred fiotional facts

One-hundred killing kooks
One-hundred grand girls
One-hundred funny friends
One-hundred prose pearls

Here's to another hundred!