Teenage Dirtblog.

"Now I'm covered in blood, on the bed, and it's a familiar scene, because I'm pretty sure my mind ran down this line again only last week."


Phew, barely my eyes are open or even capturing and showing off masterpieces of, I suppose, my living Luke. Bony blokes fire, I fire back though. Bearded bare-mouthed boys equivocate, I reciprocate. Still is lint settling on my feet and dust crunching on my hands, small sweeps and washing my arms off in blood. I whip cracking fingers in between warm breezes, spitting blood off through canyons of soft skin. Losing blood, clots along black borders in red lines from cats with keyed claws and keyed saber teeth or stuck on the story. So many panes I have to lift myself over and peer through, shining with wet glares. I'll take this card and that card and sign this and that until I have enough keys into bloody hands I can run up stairs to big women who think hard and see easy pictures. More mirrors to maybe let me see, stains in my shirt then perhaps that part of me. Soooooooooooooooooongs remind me of a world where by God that girl falls short of deathly notes written on my eyes with pins and spikes. The bricks got you crying until I realized all you cried was salt and I was a shaker. Is this more than you wanted to make me? By God, it was a movie. It was a major motion picture with no movements. Set it. Set it to hundreds of clocks and maybe I'll catch up one day. Just mess with my arms until they point the right way. Oh, that's big government if you don't mind me saying. Specks of halls and two dories swimming around until I gotta just go home. Big freaking locks and the bank parks wrong. Are you looking at the black mold? Maybe you haven't found the rusted nails, the glass angels, the Christmas papers, the fans, the toys, the tiles, the evenings, and the files. Long list with a rosary wrapped pencil bleeds through and out in folds of black coals tumbling around k-k-k-k-kisses beyond good measure. Maybe it was the polka dot pants that woke me up or the visible bullets. Aaaaarithmetic, baby. I'm real good, but this is muffins and cake along with sodas and baking foooooools greens. Gums filling teeths that gray and hit knees with stair steps and your godforsaken hair. Freckles call. God man, I was late to the party today, for Tell. Sometimes girls are things like bright lights, they keep you up at night. Phew, the polka dots and the glasses and the blonde and what the hell meaning of her faces in tiny shoes that cut callous armor. What did you say?