Jaydenbot

I.
age given 20 where I lived half a year since I smoked cigarettes

Drunk me thought I was walking down the Shadow lounge again this is for each moment and i must never run on the cheap D

It's national Alliance on Mental health issues are being themselves, please fix that.

feels the Leo horoscope in the zombie apocalypse.

was still able to stop myself.

hey, the end of one phase and writing in this aparmtment

Actually I think there is no paranoia in my dream apartment

I like glass and some plastic, i bet her panties

Super pumped to compare prices/experiences though

I'm so happy i am a fairly lucky thing today but I knew how you

no, i'm not giving her a gun. but i'm still really care.

I remember watching the love and thoughts go out retroactively makes life so

better luck tomorrow


II.
Two cars broke within the love and then disappear from people's names.

this is gonna be an ethical complex.

personality diagnosis on the amount of tar i'm 100% sober.

my kingdom for men with THIS.

I got a book on a single "guilty" verdict is $29,600.

but they were accurate in a bureaucrat's worst nightmare X

listen, whatever ;

so what i post has come up to allow my body to be wine

My strange little less intimate if yanno wat im sayin.

ugh my pen name Navidson

I got ink all over my fuzzy head

well we can hitchhike to interpretation

many thanks and my poetic license does anyone want to be outweighed by the skin of pictures.

it's nice to relax, hahaha

Happy birthday to my debt. breathe.

Annie

Annie
fell from a
sparkling sky, crying
wordless, the perfection of
the attempt. She was an unfinished
story about human nature, full of
noble intentions that would never be
realized. Giant irises that could
swallow the sun, circle the silence.
An endless
upward battle toward the stars.
The yellow daylight bathing everything
reminded us of sepia-soaked afternoons on the water,
running on grass, fucking on sand,
freedom that always comes with
politics. Except when you're
weightless, accepting all the
unanswered questions,
welcoming the
ground.

fall fireworks

It's mid-November and I hear fireworks, a ton of them, invisible but echoing in the night. Either that or something terrible. Explosions that wouldn't be art. Our art is made from explosions. I always at least slightly fear the outside world, and simultaneously resist that fear, resent it as a signifier of being on the losing side of a culture war where this world works against me, not for me, except of course for the ways I don't realize, forever taking them for granted. My fear has been enforced by unwelcome intruders in my bodily space, places I didn't know how to feel until they felt pain and then later I began to like it because I had learned to live with it. I imagine people who live in this world without a foundation of pain, who walk alone without being afraid, who feel this world exists for them. I am occasionally told they exist but since they're not me, I can only approximate a philosophical straw man. The opposite could be true-- a foundation of fear and pain and ego and mortality may be universal. Could be the only things that we have in common as humans. I imagine it's a fluid, fluctuating value between those all or nothing absolutes.

in the nearing of the end

The cold air finally catches up to me in early October. Breathing it in brings memories I wasn't prepared for- times when I was not safe, times when safety felt like being lost, and sleep was a gift of the glow from a TV. The heat & humidity of the summer that had edged me on, pushed me forward into the futureless oblivion of the night, has been fully replaced now with a chill that demands longer, slower breaths. The way it draws me out and bites my skin reminds me of visions I've had before, somehow conjuring vivid images of marble column ruins where the treeline meets the field, dancing on the ground where we summoned Nyx, Artemis, Narcissus, and I wrestle you to the grass with kisses and the knowledge that our homes are built at the edge of the world, the first domino in a chain of historical events that future history books will arbitrarily revere as the dawn of great ideas, but we will know the truth- nothing now is more remarkable than any other era except in its sameness, except in how many other lovers will tumble through this grass.

Lex's favorite

I see my first stranger of the day, a silhouette
while I navigate the sidewalk in the 6 a.m. sunlight.
All shadowy figures shamble from a distance,
dog leashes mistaken for exposed entrails,
joggers as the last fleeing survivors
my disbelief suspended in a blood red horizon.

The second before the stranger and i pass each other
I think that if this turned out to be the ground zero bite
you'd be so proud of me,
I think that I'd try to be the first to find you.

dead or sleeping

Gracious nonsense, guilty conscience
Carl Jung is not your friend.
I will cut down a million trees for you
so that this story never ends.
Fire-walker, favorite stalker
teach me to play dead,
idolize my tits and ass and get inside my head.
Broken mirror, nothing clearer, something left unsaid
the bleeding Heart in my back pocket
should Convince you I'm not dead.
City-slicker, window-licker
hold my flashlight while it flickers
wicker in the attic, I'm attached to you instead.
Rocky soil, summer toil, a fatal flaw, character foil
You were in a dream I had, but never in my bed.

Pretty gibberish

Give me pretty gibberish
I want rambling piano and words I've never heard before.
I am never more useless or more fulfilled
than when mixing the toxins competing to end me in a poem like a cauldron.
They say that in return for our marvelously complex and larger larynxes
we pioneered the capacity to choke. Not the first or the last that
nature unanthropomorphized demonstrated a clear preference
for form over function.
So my mortality may be certain but I can make it beautiful
but if there was no disconnect created by artificial polarization
how would I know who to fuck?

cloud cult

Maybe it's not really love until you find yourself taking inventory of all the adorable animals you'd gut over a pentagram to restore someone to health to pass time in the waiting room. If that's the case, then today I earned us both a merit badge in useless gestures. Any idiot can worship the sun but today as I walked from an air conditioned drug store into the overcast summertime gray, the tension in my solar plexus took the form of remembering you and a buzzing appreciation for your lightlessness, for all the words you would never have used so I could have them all. And the only sentence I want to say with them more than "I love you," is "I wish not to use my love to limit your existence to the person I have known, but to celebrate all the things I have yet to see you be".

return if only to sift through the ashes

I beg for you a better gift, a tongue to bridge the bitter rift.
a plea and a prayer to heal your wounds when there was nothing I could do for you.
I’m not good at pretending, so I won’t act like I don’t know this story
or its condescending ending
my passion always betrays my attempts at control, eventually.

But with you— naked and bathed in sunlight
wistful and blissful and youthfully unfulfilled
ambitious and gaping oraphices and plans to rule the world,
there was nothing but honesty in my fingertips
and every moment that our spasming lungs spent
spilling battlecries together,
cursing history together,
celebrating the fact that nothing lasts forever together—
each of those moments taught me a language to speak my love with:

I’m the wind-up limbs on a suicide machine,
and when I get these last shreds of skin off my bones I will finally be free.
I’m a sandpaper bird in a nest made matches, soaked in gasoline.
I’m broken glass near a playground slide,
I’m a truthful accusation that’s repeatedly denied.
I’m a muffled cry from the neighbor’s door,
I’m a jagged slag of grey slate rock on a mountain near the shore.
I have agonizing edges that refuse to be ignored
and the only way to make them smooth is to make them feel adored.