2:23am - Shhhh!

This incessant voice in my head won't let me be it's like a buzzing mosquito circling the inner ear of my mind - irritatingly loud, persistent and too invisible to slap away. It taunts my dreams and scares my nightmares till I'm awake with nothing left to do but listen to it ramble on about nothing and everything like some god damn petulant loquacious child. This damn chatterbox speaking loudly; cacophony of thoughts, seems so clear, yet so muddled. Why won't it shhhh! I can feel the grains of sleep on my eyes - feels uncomfortable as sand in the eye and burns as much as salt water; yet this motherfucking voice continues. The light glows brightly and the precious sand from the hour glass of sleep, slips away while my god damn fingers plugs away like a mindless zombie at these fucking keys. Won't you shhhh long enough so I could find peace, calm quiet and disappear like normal people into the hush of my subconscious mind. Why won't you let me just sleep, shut the fuck up please, just shhhhh!

Jason Mraz - a Beautiful Mess

You've got the best of both worlds
You're the kind of girl who can take down a man,
And lift him back up again
You are strong but you're needy,
Humble but you're greedy
And based on your body language,
And shoddy cursive I've been reading
Your style is quite selective,
though your mind is rather reckless
Well I guess it just suggests
that this is just what happiness is

Hey, what a beautiful mess this is
It's like picking up trash in dresses

Well it kind of hurts when the kind of words you write
Kind of turn themselves into knives
And don't mind my nerve you could call it fiction
But I like being submerged in your contradictions, dear
'Cause here we are, here we are

Although you were biased I love your advice
Your comebacks ‒ they're quick
And probably have to do with your insecurities
There's no shame in being crazy,
Depending on how you take these
Words that paraphrasing this relationship we're staging

And what a beautiful mess, yes it is
It's like we're picking up trash in dresses

Well it kind of hurts when the kind of words you say
Kind of turn themselves into blades
And "kind and courteous" is a life I've heard
But it's nice to say that we played in the dirt
'Cause here, here we are, here we are
Here we are [x7]

We're still here
What a beautiful mess this is
It's like taking a guess when the only answer is "Yes"

Through timeless words and priceless pictures
We'll fly like birds not of this earth

And tides ‒ they turn ‒ and hearts disfigure
But that's no concern when we're wounded together

And we tore our dresses and stained our shirts
But it's nice today. Oh, the wait was so worth it.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vIj42LYUOO4&list=AL94UKMTqg-9Cm9ZMI1CoWwyDEZd7fuLh1

Flaccid

I grow tired of the feel of my skin, the sound of my hastened breath, my self induced release. It is no fair substitute for your touch on my flesh, your moist tongue, the warmth of your breath. Self gratification pales in comparison to the caress of your arms, the heat of your loins enveloping mine. The quiver of your breath hastens my crescendo in ways immeasurable to my own - my engorgement feels not the same in soft slightly callused hands, as it does anticipating lips. I need desperately a reprieve from self-intercourse; self-love is slowly becoming self-loathe.

Speak not with haste

Jaded minds speak in angered tones of things we can't control
Confusion besets the mind inebriates the soul
Moments of vexed passion leads to venomous words carried with the wind
The damage is done; no rewind, no pause, no undo; fences to mend, vacancies to fill
Good sense absconded with logic, illogical confounds reason

Mr. Fix-It!

We're broken but not shattered
We've been here before
This feels fractured, but not broken
It can be mended
I feel at the point of severing ties, but not detached
We need to patch this up
This hurts, but I'm not bruised
Wounds will heal
My feelings are a bit bruised, but not too much pain
I feel pained, but I will survive
We're ok, but not quite good
We have work to do
It's getting good, but not yet great
The work never ends