|in hale ex hale in hale ex hale
||[Jul. 7th, 2004|02:04 am]
The Jesse train
who really uses a fucking toaster anymore?? maybe as a fasion statement, but thats it....I mean come its not the fucking 90s. Were not fucking cavemen and women. Get out of your chair and go comb your hair. Her marble eyes. Her brown eyes. Tremendous in color, in depth, in hibernation. I stare at them when they peak away hoping to catch an unsuspecting glance. I feel like a whale in plankton. She descends upon me like tuberculosis. I sit with my eyes closed clenching my fists. If i had a dragon id name him Esteben and move to france. But i dont own any fucking dragon. I dont even own a goldfish. So im stuck with those eyes penetrating my skull. Eating away at my brain like parasites. I feel the radioactive cancer licking my wounds with turpentine. If i was a floor, Id be in someones house getting furniture put on me. But i am half human half planet. Forced to live inside these eyes with nothing but my swiss army knife and a knack for nothing. So i swim in her eyes like an aborted fetus thrown in the deep end. Sinking gracefully to the bottom. A light thud that is inaudible. And ill sit there with my arms crossed, shivering, making little squeaks. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. U after Q is so fucking cliche. I think a salad is appropriate. I like to order mine without tomatos and then ask the waiter whys theres no tomatos in my salad. I'll wear nothing but lettuce, dancing like a cactus. And finally I see the eyes and i sit stunned. Without gasp. I want to stare and reach into the retnia and take it, and taste it, and chew it. I want those eyes in my head so I can pick up my dry cleaning. I hope they got that wine stain out of my coat. That was embarrassing.