A Full Heart On An Empty Stomach

Those last moments before the deepest of sleep are the best. They're the climax at which we all become vulnerable to our subconscious, as it toys with the synapse of each extremity.

Calories and mistakes. Aren't they one in the same? Counting each, cutting back, and getting angry as the tally increases. I'll trade fat free for trouble free any day. If good intentions were metabolism, I'd be the modern day Adonis who was able to swallow all of our regrets. BingeOnLove PurgeRegret

I've given up on winter. No wonderland in sight. Charging batteries and scrubbing docks. Ready to jump back into my pigment and later sunsets in the PM.

BeOnTheLookoutForBuffaloAndTheNumber86

Missing You... But Only In The "Connecting Flight" Kind Of Way

Passing exits on my way to see you, I get lost in the whirlwind of towns that pass me by. The meaning of home was lost years ago in the number of names I hear on a daily basis. Meeting so many people has me only remembering my own name.

I dream of your hand on the doorknob and your fingers trailing off the cool metal. One twist right and this is gone. Forever. I worry that your phone won't want to be woken up and that it won't work both ways.

Since we've been together holding hands doesn't feel like holding grudges. I've reverted back to the corners of libraries where no one could ever find me. Why do I think of you as more than an exercise in futility?

Phone on standby is just wishful thinking. It's okay, it's practically my major.

To be completely honest you're not like all the rest.

1 Underdog, Under God...

I love the way you wear your skin as a suit. All the while it is clear that you are only pretending to be yourself. And it's all just an act to make sure that your friends will like you more than they used to.

Old memories are just like phone calls that you always find yourself hitting the ignore button on. It's times like this that let me know that the flowers on my grave are all turned down, and I'm turning (colors) in my grave.

Contact or existence... which verb will follow you as a human?

When you said "I'll be back", you must have meant it in the relapse sense.

We are all just the change-up that you opened your hips up on too early. Full swing ahead, you're only around to hear the umpire yell "foul", as everyone watches the ball crash through the windshield of a parked car.

Like the last splash from your only bottle. Toss me around, cheek to cheek, before you down me.

Reflections of our former selves have been appearing in each of our mirrors. 3 complete rotations of this Earth around the Sun with us on top. Poster children for the lake scene. And even though we represented ourselves as a group, socially we were all one-hit wonders. We will never hit the charts again, unless they're on hospital beds. Daily reports of a sinking heartbeat.

I've been living the wrong way. Always comparing tears to scars, but scars don't wipe away. Been scratching at a scab for the last 6 months. Left arm memories, to remind me where we started.

And we all continue to meet up in Arcadia. The last safe place to bleed. I'm the manual transmission on an upward hill. I'll roll back when you pause, to allow us all to move forward.

Rehenes De Un Amor

Had lunch with a legendary friend. Learning from him the importance of attention to detail... but in the personal way, not business. 20 beats of the heart for friends who are golden. Brickyard to Brickhouse.

Back home I'm racing through the corners of my mind. Feeling like I'm playing hard to get and everyone knows but me. It seems like the only finish line in sight is dying and I wouldn't be surprised if even the walls are laughing. I hope my back pocket peeping-tom carries a windowsill with him at all times.

She is as holy as Jerusalem on the tongues of the holiest men that live inside my head. And the last four letters in friends is what it's all about. Let's see if we can fulfill it.

We all just want to be a better version of those before us.

Transitions are lacking.... consider this a segue.

Back at my traditional home, you're still the blood stained rag to me. To you he will always will be the stitches on my nose. Rubber bands make me think of him. True life is so last year.

And since you made the arrangements... if I asked to be buried next to my best friend, would you tell the court his precise location? Would you even be allowed to bury me in that manor... because half of me is already there. Best friends in landfills.

SoberYetTrashed

Dear World, Quit Whoring Out My Moon

From my head and room 203 in Wythville, Va.

Snowstorms as targets. Still falling in and out, trying to figure out where you learned the art of heart breaking and side entry. From the couch, each of your inkblot tests look more like my insides than anything else.

Kicks, hoodies, tees, and sleeves. Now you can hold yourself hostage. Negotiate yourself inside and out. LoveHostage AffairCrisis

I'm not just another carrier for this disease, I'm the host. Supplying your next fix on a daily basis.

And it's all just an attempt to see you s(w)oon.

"Santi" On Repeat Is how My Stereo Is Livin' These Days

Found this on some hotel paper in my luggage from last year:

Hollywood, California. Live via sunset boulevard. Last night I leaned on a lamp post and it almost fell over. As hollow as a Charlotte night, you were my first thought. This week has been made up of jets and movie sets. Faux streets of NYC. Stairs that lead to nowhere and doors not meant to open.

It makes me wonder what's real and what's not and if we're really building cities with our hearts. I've found our home. Tonight it's only me. 3000 miles from you and a clear head for once has me feeling at home.

Vindictive valentines. West coast write-offs. Tonight I will be crushing all of your postcards into the form of pills, lining them up and taking them in. I promise you this won't be the last. 2-14-06

Spent most of today staring at a picture or listening to a song that opens a flood gate to a million memories... and I allowed them to all flood in.

I hope my name is as foul in your mouth as you are in my heart, and I hope you think back to me every time you look in the mirror.

(Y)our problem: you have pushed me far enough to write it all down. You're still recovering from recovery.

DoubleDogDareYouToSingOutOfTune

Room 2129... or... I Spent The Night In The Skyline (A Panoramic View Of The Enemy)

Somehow Halloween and Valentines Day have juxtaposed themselves in my memory. They've swapped emotions.

Sometimes I wonder why we do this. We're all just plastering our secrets across billboards on this month's trendiest interstate. And we're all just praying for time to pass without any assistance or convincing.

Ma-Nah Ma-Nah and a mouthful of pizza. Flipping through the channels.... the only thing newsworthy that tops perfection is tragedy. And tragedy doesn't come in threes anymore. It comes in weeks. Put those lips to work and start counting all seven days at a time. The irony is the better part of my honesty. If there is nothing here, you can rest assured that it's probably mine.

I'm so much more alive when the sun is out of sight and my lips are chapped from my favorite poison. Afternoons are like paper-weights with a heartbeat... and the way they hold me down is like paper cuts in between the fingers of hope.

I Want To Re-Invent Your Heartbeat

American jet set. Take-off. Land. Return. Keep quiet. We are so young and cinematic. Just take the keys, start the car and lets go. You know I need my blood stirred. Think of all the New York nights that we spent chasing afternoons, finally paying off.

It's only the dead that say "there's no heaven." And their eyes are Berlin right after the bombing. Agent orange.

As of late, it's pretty much just me and this affair with words. Words that you can hang onto or hang yourself by. At least that's how all the right ones hit me. Every time I find myself here, pulling the skin back, secrets and half truths, for everyone, anyone, and no one at all, it always feels like I have the one set of words inside me that will make all of this make the tiniest bit of sense. At the end of the day, if I haven't made your heart skip a beat, then hate me.

2nd round of lovehostage gear is ready. Keep an eye on the shop later this week, it should be stocked.

I'm Just A Scratch On Your Favorite CD

Spent the afternoon filling out "assessments" for my former self. Paying penalties in retrospect. Clearing myself for the leap.

A few rotations of the Earth and I'm already at a loss. Shaking hands and beating hearts, neither will stop. The narcoleptic and the city that never sleeps. Who knew such a perfect match existed. So turn your umbrella upside down to catch the rain, because it could be the last drop of faith you'll have.

I'm fully clothed and strapped with confidence, but they only want undressed and defenseless. I'm always wrong for the part, and right for the whole.

AnyExcuseToStayAwakeWithYou

Don't Sleep Said The Sheep With Wings

Waiting on numbers via circuits while hiding behind bar codes. Checks and balances. Sealed lips have been acting as a thundercloud, accumulating and preparing for a sudden and brief release of energy.

Throat, wallet, or head. Everyone is expecting the best. Until now I've only been barely able even coax out the worst. The best years of our lives. No longer dashing between or cutting lines. Pens hitting lotteries. Private trusts and the truth are finally adding up.

Sunshine eyes, chasing sunsets. Let the stars guide you home. They belong to the streets.

Toes numb in the damp grass. Walking my best friend. I've been wishing on the second hand, and now I'm wishing for dead batteries. Consume the moment. Trust the beating of your heart and the tapping of their toes. And aren't the budgets always bigger for the sequel?

From 1404 In The Waldorf Astoria

Out of town for the weekend. Returned to find "welcome home" as an oxymoron. And I'm sure if you gave me a path I could find a way to come off of it.

The final scores have been tallied and it is now official; I have more friends on the other side. We took two holes to the heart this weekend. Speak Easy. 2 friends have been literally "86'd." But at least they made the tour.

Previous journal entries seem eerie. The littered paragraphs below, express an emptiness and the urge to see you in NYC. I'm always seconds behind, stumbling upon tragedy. I can't even get the timing right. Chalk up another unsaid goodbye. You wore brown eyes the best and I'll be sure to take you everywhere I go.

WreathsForBaltoAndStouty