vitric's Xanga

Monday, December 29, 2008

Mon, 29 Dec 2008 17:20:57 GMT

I watch your soul lift in some inspiring attempt to understand grace, and it isn't even morning yet, you still leave its beauty misinterpreted. I wonder why in hell you left the comfort of your body in the first place
Iv waited all night crammed in mine, Daring to reveal its softness.
And I remember when sunrise was nothing more than something pretty to look at. Before an angel spoke the shapeless aspect of god, throwing shadows to highlight what I denied. I know heaven held us long enough to lose interest. & we question redemption, getting lost in the shape of the sun.
lost in the repetition, redundant circles.
I pace the closest skyline for those hot shades to burnagainst. Wash myself in heavenly bodies & find the fire to burn me pure, when we cut the dawn.
despite the rays
day comes in small answers something easy to believe

The language of birds & wind gods playing dead in my hair.

Monday, December 29, 2008

Mon, 29 Dec 2008 17:18:12 GMT

She is the sweet, pinkmint swirls once crocheted to mimic the sunrise one lazy day in her bedroom
where she attempted to weave herself into the pattern
and busted the creation altogether. Her innocence tries the unprotected nature of a human heart,
a telltale weight shifting dramatically under her oversized shirt, a distracting thievery of charm. She balances my bright

and you would never guess beneath the shadow of her hoodie,
an unborn galaxy 5 stars removed from the sun.

Wednesday, December 03, 2008

Wed, 03 Dec 2008 09:57:23 GMT

These clocks are beautiful. hanging open, like the red ringed moon of a womans mouth begging for a good fuck;   risking all your stars for a hard luck you can touch. Call it a fetish. or nerves.
I found quiet holiness in parking meters. measuring time undetectable as god and i'm caught in an act of obsession. caught up in the clock and witnessing addiction midstroke. believing with an untrained eye the glance of a superstitious moon   when things go to be
so suddenchange.   you take your time. i take my chances. rolling dice in the cheapest corners of my mind when i remember the promise i made
when you asked to evoke a change.
these scientific saints, searching the sky for some reaction.
some testament that the numbers were right and add up to that night you dreamed up a prediction.
but i'm caught.
i let them tick tocks stop that clocks expired i'm trapped.     undetectable as god.
and i'm saying my prayers.         they roll like dice.

Wednesday, August 06, 2008

Wed, 06 Aug 2008 05:49:13 GMT

"Sirens are ringing in my head
Banging in the club like they banging in my bed
I need a light this song is dynamite
Cos' when we step inside this will take flight
Lip gloss shinning, Stars are blinding
Pocket full of girls and its off with the timing...
We shinning, It's blinding,
I'm in love with these Disco Sirens. "

Thursday, May 22, 2008

Thu, 22 May 2008 23:28:27 GMT

Starting with my skin, there is a hidden grace in self-destruction. I'll rip to shreds. sheet by sheet thin layers fray with sensation. im bleeding all over myself, and whats underneath is flattering. yet, the tissue takes time to seperate. i hum sweet hippie songs in my head, taring fresh meat from skinny bones. its lovlier than imagined, slashed wounds uncovering parts that remain till today inhuman. im finding the organic truths tangled in veins, distracting my soul with things more surrounding than body, with breathtaking shapes i manipulate to canopy whats been stripped and feed my soulhungry.

escape is rubbing salt on the infection. who can save me faster than i can shed myself?

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

Tue, 18 Mar 2008 06:16:34 GMT

stumbled across an army unprotected, a solder waving in her sea of claims.
and all i can shoulder is how she must have missed the warnings. sirens drain through the tiny speakers of my car; trick me into thinking these are the sounds of war and i hear i should be so lucky, stinging with the frankness of only a killers expression. tell me im not the killer; white slip beating in the wind. i feel sharper, smoother like the only bullet in a gun. i should be so lucky.

Saturday, March 08, 2008

Sat, 08 Mar 2008 20:35:18 GMT

were quieter now, us both. now that the conversations have been re-sewn, guilt rearranged into more agreeable patterns when really nothing has changed. arguments in circles but im desperate these days, eying the horizon for reasons to stay behind, for a miracle. you say iv been selfish
that iv become an escape artist. trusting in the afternoon junkie, trapezing through flaming rings of disbelief and hiding in memories of the summer it rained every time you came around. every time you touched me i sank. but these waters are more shallow than remembered. significant tunes break through the rain   displaced,     lost at sea.
we agreed. my storms have changed.

gusts of windrage and the distracting smell of two scents mixedperfect. like a rap song i couldn't rhyme wrong if i tried. and now were just holding eachother too tight, tonight im pulling threads to loosen the hug. one by one,
this is my rebuttal.
the laugh you offered and sounded like cheap jewelry.   yet, i let it jingle from my neck
like mabey you'd mistake it for gold. listen carefully, within reach. this could be the last time you witness terrifying majesty, tree branches slashing at a lavenderflower sky. pressed carelessly between me, weak espresso shades bleeding through, outlining the afterthoughts. bloomed brighter wider shrinkwrapped in memory. spun, perfectlytogether
youd think you saw me
trailing the afternoon, rust tinted and weathered
jagged in the moods you conspire. taring myself apart then finding solace in sharper arms to fall on, even if they aren't yours. my shrieks ripped at the seams the death of me
re weaved
bleeding through the heavens. twisting colors... last year could not compare to these winds switching direction.   tideaschanging like dyed hair
catching the muted tones. my seaborn charms dangling
beneath pulled skin
    A skyline unnaturally real      painted to feel
"and iv been waiting my whole life for this attachment
who knew through the faked abandon?"

crayon colored gypsy could stay inside the dryink lines.

Sunday, February 24, 2008

Sun, 24 Feb 2008 10:34:57 GMT

2 years is hard to swallow. this time in may rainbow trippy shades will rampage the walls of my day

and mabey i'll celebrate. but confetti cant catch my eye tonight. its me in a period too fabric for my attention and iv been hiding from the appeal. im chain smoking blondeheaded judgments to keep sane through this. and mabey i'll wake up next season to more striking shades, to brilliance i cant seem to find this month. its febuary and

the winds arent as harsh they should be. as harsh as mine but thick eyelashes and vinyl jackets keep the soft touch away. im looking for stronger prisons because these wont do. and i wish you would. the only thing i fear rightnow is gentle so im waiting for that evening scratch. next season im begging for attention. im screaming louder than these lovely winds for an abuse i cant cry for

Monday, December 31, 2007

Mon, 31 Dec 2007 19:51:07 GMT

it's a swallow the moon thing. a terrible fleeting feeling trapped in the birdcage of bones in your chest kind of nightscare. & your brain caught the dreamwebs you dreamt up in another head. the tangle of tales like an 80's song recalling the scattered bass line of music on the horizon of night-fall.
the night we fell tracing the outlines of homocides predicted. the stroy was a side affect of the medicine cabinets you collected & didnt anyone ever tell you? It's classic to overstay a welcome.

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

Tue, 24 Jul 2007 23:04:53 GMT

their walking... with steps no more predicted than the first
and i cant help but question the age of a destination, and how long it sits in your head
before it makes it to your feet or   die
these strangers are dragging their age and spreading a causeless movement.
a walk no less enchanting, or with more charitable cause than going hungry
and what makes us human?
i figure the paint on my friends fingers match the strokes in his head
hes just so high tonight
laughing then silent.    because the leaves are falling sooner than remembered
walking is no less enchanting....
and the time we keep dosen't match the clocks
or the weather
but the steps are indiscernible.
color chipping from the sounds we make

quieter messes on the floor