xMissKairix's Xanga

it's been a while.

Thu, 13 Aug 2009 15:17:30 GMT

flavors of life.

fruit punch mixes with the taste
of mentholated cigarette,
and the result is a strawberry ice cream cone
melting with cancer.
the machine hops
over sections of pressed fabric
so my prom dress looks like shit.

it doesn't stop the men from staring.

society mandates
we can't play sports
and you are not to sing in public
no matter the circumstance.
teaches young girls
to be afraid at night,
makes men panic
when their last "performance"
was apparently inadequate.
we tell ourselves we are
experiencing deja vu
when our brains are just skipping
like an old record, scratched,
and corroding in dust.

i lick the last traces of flavor from my lips,
a hinted aftertaste
of a thousand burning photographs.
i turn my head and cough out
a hundred melodies never written down,
and twice the unwanted lovers,
the unmade beds,
the understanding of nothing.

you pay for dinner.
i'll let this kiss goodnight go farther than i'd like.

Friday, February 27, 2009

Fri, 27 Feb 2009 23:29:29 GMT

how i feel about vegetables.

there is very little left to say
you old couch potato;
sit and smile and mostly smoke
in saran wrapped microwave foiling.
artificial butter, it runs through your veins,
but you take more than a sycophantic sip--
it’s all that keeps you alive
and appealing to the corn stalk society.
cigarette holes in lettuce carpeting,
and spilled eggplant, who has a straw?
celery and asparagus do algebra and physics
in an odd fluctuation
between logarithms and temptation,
and someday they will own the local alphabet soup company
where you sit salting your damaged ego with self pity.
what can you do to keep from getting mashed
through your flimsy, calloused cloaking?
the pumpkin and rhubarb keep low-down tragic profiles,
stealing cars and free grandiose delusions
at the local meat market.
the beets are overburdened, choking
on raw, untapered euphemisms.
spinach, aberrant, alone at the lunch table,
how long before we hear about
your suicide in the morning paper?

Thursday, February 05, 2009

Thu, 05 Feb 2009 02:29:26 GMT

it's a fucking time box
set with rustic plastic padlocks
that break and bend like
chains of toothpick
and you don't know what
you're complaining about.

in the big whatever
you've got what ever and ever
and you never talk about the elephant.
whatever to the loss
of the argument
and the hiding hole of your rejected slingshot
swinging both ways with no appropriate target.
you may never remember
that you're not fine,
the greatest of one-word lies,
you say whatever like it's
imprinted there forever,
for godssakes
life is not a giant gothic battle
of wits.
and i clap and stomp and get loud
i snap back the receiver
and say you're
bullshitting through your ears.

Monday, November 17, 2008

Mon, 17 Nov 2008 22:27:42 GMT

Spasmodia.

A murmur of incapacitation--
This trite, digestive feeling
Has gone too far.
You sigh, a wave
Of memories, irreturnable events,
“Try to sleep,” I whisper
In admittedly depressive,
Desperate tone.
The stance, amiable,
But the eyes are cold.
You are a new doll--
Pretty, with sharply carved features.
Roll back glass into the socket head,
Searing, pointed, thread bites
At the seams.
It’s a sick convolution,
But I cannot take the stare.

In media res,
a convulsion in the land
Of Spasmodia.
March, one foot follows another
Straight out of my frenzied arteries
These broken-down capillaries
Refuse to hold you anymore.
What is with the sad conviction
That this silence is providential?
I fear someday a truce must occur.
And what will you do then?
You will talk pretty, singsong
Like a bird with wings clipped.
A paroxysm, the great disease
You’ve ripped my life a gaping hole
When I built yours a bridge.

The rooftops are tinged in white, I see
Atop the hangman’s knotted tree
I cling to my mistake.
My dear, my darling daring-do
Be glad for the escape.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Thu, 13 Nov 2008 00:17:06 GMT

lost.

it was a cold hallway
white walls
and empty food court chairs
the bathroom was a papered mess
what did i care?
i feel sick to my stomach
surrounded by people i barely know
we stared, absentminded
at kiddy movies. Pokemon.
sean, thank god
for his direction
or i never could have found the place
he led me back
to the sleeper,
charcoal marks around the face
i sighed a groggy sigh,
knowing we made it
but barely, and not happily
we'll hang around, sit tight, sleep well.
we are all forlorn but we refuse to leave you here
huddled and lost in the middle
of an unforgiving waiting room.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Thu, 13 Nov 2008 00:12:43 GMT

tales of the watcher.
[lunch]

they stand, food mongering beasts with raucous voices. the food is shoved nonchalantly into crevices, forgotten. they wander. they see me and flee. a new group is here to take their place. i see a person sitting among these others. he is like me.
backpacks, coats, and the ever-present scent of overcooked food. they wear their music on their clothes. more walking, talking, annoying voices. friends wait for friends, everyone seems to have a place, even the loners end up finding themselves accompanied eventually. quick walk, you're in a hurry. cliques of large purses and heavy makeup travel together, a horde of invincible. the loud ones think themselves a fortress. the little ones are unsure--just where do they belong? a cell phone is out, the owner walking like he's so tall and mighty, above rules. regulations phases few. one boy, three girls at his side, isn't he cool?
no one gets out of the way for the janitor. that's typical. hi-fives are exchanged between friends. someone is looking at me, and i stare right back. pumas and hollisters swim briskly past, exchanging furtive glances and whispering. people have openly stopped and stared. ripped skinny jeans, i must admit, are prominent in this facade of fashion. a bright neon tee--he wants the world to notice him, accept him. i hope they will. gelled hair, what's it for? curly hair, highlights? a girl is reading nancy drew. i guess i'm not the only one. the snack bar is closing. a lot of muddy shoes and wrinkled shirts. everyone looks happy, or at the very least content. when one is lonely, they tend to see only the good parts of people's lives. it is the opposite when you are surrounded by love.
i wish the vending machine crowd would not talk about me so. i can hear you, by the way. groups stop in the middle of an intersection to talk. so convienient! i fear and know i am being conversed about, and in a detestable manner. it's not surprising. security guards seems scarce. that's not shocking, either.
people can eat and talk and walk simultaneously. it's not a pretty picture, but it's an option. my cornered area has become quite bare and blank. i think they are afraid of me.
i see some people i can recognize, a few without shoes -- they've all left me be. perhaps they're frightened, too. lunch is ending, the people pass quicker than before. i see him. he ignores me, but i think i saw a passing glance. someone tries to speak to me. my throat is a dry well, unslaked and unable to make sounds. my mind is just as withered an unable to form words to scream.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Wed, 12 Nov 2008 23:58:17 GMT

election?

it's a petty race for popularity
the pin-striped suit and tie
pitted against our meager restitution
and the crowd's all here
to see the results.
positively unamerican soil,
they've drawn a line in rusty dirt
to demonstrate how far we've come.
too far, i'd wager
this can of beans.
we are reduced to simple figures
a point of a percentage
all we do is waggle fingers--
we don't know what we want
we've got forks and knives
to devour the competition
instead we whimper out a measly scratching
on the fleshy underbelly of the media
do we know anything at all?
overanalyzed, we're stuffed
into statistic-heavy boxes
and in demographic awe we gape
at the finish line.
i'm not much for the mudslinging
but it's an epidemic
one cannot help but join in
i salute you, brave heroes
of indifference.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Wed, 24 Sep 2008 02:11:58 GMT

sea grass sits along the shore
and no one picks him up.
they walk along to the boardwalk music
ice cream drips drop
to the beat
and old sea grass is waving
waiting
trying
begging to fit in
with the wind
and the song.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Wed, 24 Sep 2008 02:11:23 GMT

"second-best," i think
is what you called me
over the phone.
i replied a sad "oh, i see."
i cried for days.
i got over it.

your decision,
the friendship wasn't working out
and you said to "leave you alone."
was it me?
i cried for weeks
but i got over it.

now you ignore me completely,
you do not see me
i am a ghost.
i tear up every time i think
that i've not been quite the same since
and i might not
get over it.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Wed, 24 Sep 2008 02:01:07 GMT

nuclear holopie: and then i went online to check my email

nuclear holopie: and i went in my saved mail

nuclear holopie: and i saw something there

nuclear holopie: that is so sad

criMsoNaNdRed27: from who?

nuclear holopie: it was titled "please read"

nuclear holopie: and its dated june 20th 2006

criMsoNaNdRed27: wow that was a while ago

nuclear holopie: :[

nuclear holopie: its so sad

nuclear holopie: SO SAD

criMsoNaNdRed27: =[

nuclear holopie: its just really short

nuclear holopie: and it just says like "i really did love you. i just wanted you to know that. I hope that you can be happy soon and i just want you to forget about me. i dont matter but you do. If you never want to talk to me again that is perfectly understandable."

nuclear holopie: and its just like :[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[

nuclear holopie: like how much he used to care about me

nuclear holopie: and now he wont say shit to me

criMsoNaNdRed27: goddamn

criMsoNaNdRed27: =[

nuclear holopie: sigh

criMsoNaNdRed27: do you think he'll come around?

nuclear holopie: no.

nuclear holopie: and i feel hollow

criMsoNaNdRed27: would you let him back into your life if he did

nuclear holopie: :[

nuclear holopie: yes.

nuclear holopie: yes i would

nuclear holopie: but i really dont think he will ever talk to me again.

nuclear holopie: and i think

criMsoNaNdRed27: =/

nuclear holopie: if it was so easy for him to move on

nuclear holopie: i should try too

nuclear holopie: not that i havent been

nuclear holopie: but just

nuclear holopie: ouch

nuclear holopie: it hurts a lot to even hope that he will go back to being the person he was before--

nuclear holopie: my best friend.

nuclear holopie: :[