Your jewels glimmer in the dust
Through the ashes of light dancing in a dash

Your smoke blazes through storms
Through the hazes of words lost in a maze

Rock Me

Do you love me? Love in the way I feel? Will you protect me and you from harm? From losing charm? Wrap me in your arm? Wrap me in your arm like a child, like a baby, your baby rocking slowly to a song...? Rocking me into a storm? A stranger to you. A name. A face. A place to rock me into a storm.

The delusions of youth slip away slip away dripping like a dog's wet tongue into yesterdays months soggy soot.

Table Talk

"I wonder what dying is like..." she said with intention of reaction, an attention she felt was deserved yet leaking out the sides and pouring down the garbage filled gutter, the love rotting drain.
"I don't think its like anything, really.", He mumbled and sighed, fidgeting, uncomfortable and unsure of the tone in his lackluster voice, in monotonously re-hashing a conversation had with too many other sob stories and basket cases in the dirty rat race of a city. He looked down at the menu. She looked down too... biting hard on her protruding lip and welling up with tears the size of the globing droplets pacing down the window with a smeared candlelight reflection of their distant faces dripping off the rusted pane.
"Yeah, you're probably right", She uttered with a whimpering breath and once again bit down on her lip now turning a deeper and darker shade of rose. Breathless, he stared at her swollen lip and briefly imagined her hips before being seduced back by her sadness and his daring to care.
"Sometimes I think about it. I think about if I died what would happen to the girl I'm with. What things my family and friends would remember. I worry I could die without accomplishing my dreams." She intently listened as he spoke, unable to look him straight. Slouching and curling with hair embracing her face, she kept focused on the napkin below her, continuously folding it with her fingertips. The foggy glass of wine, the foaming beer, the flicker of fire atop melted wax, and the worn out wood where others had intertwined their hands like a puzzle waiting to snap apart were all the distractions she could handle. "But then I realize", he went on "death is probably just a black hole. Nothing. The end. So, there would be no reason or worry, no reason to care because you simply wouldn't be able to."
"Sounds kind of appealing..." She smirked with tears still on the edge of her glistening lid and fearing they'd fall into every part of their surroundings and pulling his head and heart into her crooked mind. "Getting rid of all your worries, all you care about... It sounds kind of appealing"she said.

IS

Is a suitcase of belongings longing for a place on your shelf on the road to happiness not enjoying the happiness that is the trip, tripping on my feet are numb, tingling senses, lack of direction directed into oblivion and black lights breaking the sun out of day into night. Run run run run to nothing from something you cared about.
Is talking in your sleep...
Is another broken to be broken...
Is waiting for the savannah starlight to come pick her up...
Is in the darkness of my night and in the brightness of my day...
Is a dancing queen, machine, fiend...
Is always last call in a nowhere town...
Is a heart shaped china dolls face, sad eyes, crooked lies to match her nose, her cheekbones...
Is beautiful and ugly and charmed...

Sink

We die until the day we're born again into open bloodied heart, mixed up broken part, loveless and lurking after muddied art. You paint me puddles in the ground with your lips your tongue your sounds. Sinking over and over and over again. Sinking over and over again. A kitchen sink, nothing to drink. Dry and try and oh my oh my. Dry and try. Dying day in and out day in and out, in and out. Day in. Day out until we're born again into open bloodied heart, mixed up broken part, loveless and lurking after muddied art.

You made a devil in my heart.

I am lucky, like the grinning siamese cat, chased out of the night as it cracks. Love follows me haunts and taunts me, hovers on my back, breaking on my neck breathing words from a boy I once met.

Caught in tow, unknown to the darkness of your shadow.

Sweet Sweeping Sleep

Sweeping dreams over a shoulder, sweeter to taste, heart to heart to face. Blooming in a garden of voices , soft pillows, candy colored strangers, drowning highway overdoses from safe to unsafe unplace...

My mind is fire, my heart is gold. My dreams are swimmers of tortured souls. My love is bruised yellow to green to blue to black to you. My hands are wrinkled of faded wet paintings in colors of soft pain, hard and true.

And The Sun Would Last Forever...

And the sun would last forever to blind pulses of a lighthouse screaming at seagulls signals swooping over me. The summer romance is lost in black clouds, storming waves blended through gray days and a cold ghost's sweat who remembered me once but so soon forgets...

I remember when 1985 seemed so close, when I felt so young and no one was born after me, and those before me were strange and old. Where did my memories go? What can be replaced? Do I need them or do I need you? Do I need him or do I need you?

330 am days get shorter as her heart grows thicker and he grows sicker. The dead hour night eclipses over a soul, turns to shadows and his angels to dark, invades his spirits and burns them clean with white light in lost happiness, in lost sight. The changes she fears dawn in unchanged tears, painful and draping her cheeks crowning of forgotten years and the mornings wind blows curtains to shelter and wither with a song by an unknown artist to never be complete tying us all together, a melody lost into tapping toes and dancing feet.

I wake myself whimpering and shivering, clawing with hunger pains moaning and angry for your hands and lips, blind and waiting to feel your eyes covering me and keeping me under you.
Restless and aching like the city, a visitor, something strange and extraordinary with its lackluster smog, concrete and steel, too sharp, too existent, too real. I sit and stare at the ordinary cloud cover over ordinary buildings, and ordinary people as insignificant specs of dirt, as insignificant as we think we're not.
My thoughts flash backwards to the smoky ring oozing from your mouth as a steady stream of the same monster derails from my fingers, ashes onto your floor, seeps through your door, breathes into your dream. Restless as I sit and stare, simple and clean and wishing my body wasn’t there. If the sun did not rise so early, if my head would trust how you feel, would I be awake worrying in a lovesick daze after crying in my sleep. Do you really see me, or am I just your ghost of years past? Do you really see me? I wonder, will I last?

Buffalo

I sit on the roof of a forgotten home, staring at the sky line of some fallen city. Its lights begin to dim with each breath from my stale and smokey mouth.
The night is clear enough to see all which I do not need to know...and the cruel wind seduces me, warming me, asking me to follow as it passes on.
In my life I know I will not go. In my life I know I cannot stay. To stay here...To stay on this sunken roof. To stay on this broken frame. To stay with those dimming lights, To stay with that fading city, To stay with a beating heart...

I Don't Need You

I neatly lay the directions to your place face up in my garbage. A scribbled mess on the back of some receipt, 24.99 for a pack or two and a drink. I stare for a moment wondering if things would change should I place it the other way, destroy it, destroy you and place it away. The leather bound book she gave me last year sits on a shelf and I think of writing her a note about losing a friend, losing my ends. The lines are crossed, the pen bleeding, the ink smudging, I don't need you, I need you all at once, I don't need you at all. The paper is torn, a heart is scorned by the lyrics of dylan and derek and more. I don't need you, I need you all at once, I don't need you at all.

Red Lips

I kiss your wounds and my lips bleed red. My lips bleed red lips, dirty and weighing heavy from my head. Blood red lips on a messy and foolish nuisanced lover. Blood in our fighting, in our struggling hot city pavement. Red melting and tripping as we walk into a wet heat dripping from our eyes leaking with tears that cannot cry. Lips touching hovering sending another love away, drinking forgetful dialogues to words remained unchanged. My lips bleed red lips while wishing the dusk magic hour glowed into black churches, glowed back into us. Red love lost to an ashen bloodshed.

New York Bricks

I could smoke myself into a hole inside your skull, fast and hard and sharp. Before you know it your head on pillows and bricks faking up on the wrong side of my bed. Empty suitcases, crowded staircases, piles of people dust, lonely cities, lust. And New York was just some aimless dream of hazy rancid crusts.

The Crash

Flying with hazing lights, glass shattering off the sky bouncing sharply into glistening congreeds. My stomach, weightless, turns knots like a machine forging slur and slush on the long road home as wheels fold in the bathtub waters of west side highway. A missed exit leads me high above skyscrapers, high above everyone, above myself. The road ends. Miles below is a fall from nothing and my weightless stomach flips into a crash to end it all.

The Horses Hear

Her hair like strands of mud strewn hay waves effortless and crashing to her face, wind knotting and tangling golden highlights into dirtied darkened roots. She breathes in the unspace left from a heartless chest, gasping the air of cigarettes, blackening her crumbling soul to dust to dust.

The horses hear these melancholic sighs, heaving towards her on the highwayside, through the clay caught in their hoofs and the thorn ridden whimpering brush. An echo chimes, reverberating the dissatisfaction of their ordinary lives to never race against the winners instead to hide amongst the losers. To sit, to stand, to eat, to sleep, repeat repeat and to wait for lust lost lovers in dust in dust.

Her hand grazes the peachy softness of his heavy nostrils, feeling his burden palm to touch, alone and caught in the tarnished rot of her malignant green eyes twitching exhaustively and starring into a benign glimmering black as he stares back. The sun browns her china doll skin imperfect moles scattered grass-chewing dandelion seeds blowing wishes into the dusk, wishing for night to fall shadow upon their manes, with dust with dust.

Dead Angels Dirty Wings

Driving the Jersey turnpike, sucking in, dead angels in the back of a truck, dirty wings hanging over the edge and I'm up to and out of my head.

Sunday Morning Jesus

A Sunday morning Jesus on a television flickering, burning and imprinting, leading and feeding false misery into somber mouths. Serving philosophies of dry bones until tongues are stale, panting, yelping, bowed down on all fours to get fucked in falling down on bended knees and my legs are bleeding. My elbows are breaking, my spine is weak, my veins are open and hollow like his.

Mum

I wake in a dead fog to breathe with a smokey breath and stare at shivering trees. The sole star above me quivers, the moths hiss at me. I sigh, quiet, lonesome, keeping company to the muted fishbowl surrounding and I'm wondering how people can become mum so easily, so easily controlled. I hope this neighborhood is not what I become. I try to defeat this warped dream everyday. I hope until hope escapes my head to toe beliefs and until I find it once again when looking out at all of them.

Tick Tock

Minutes, seconds, milliseconds talking and taking life with a tick tick tick. There is no time, no time, no time for nothing in my mind as the clock takes over the sun, the moon, my claustrophobic room. I watch myself bouncing off a bland canvas of white doors, white ceiling and white people with white personalities under fluorescent lights of headache hangovers forcing me to pain over the colors in my mind.

Depth

The darkest depth of my soul has become sick. An illness hollowed and rotting from inside out and upside down and through my mind and past my eyes and into yours. I've infected you. Teeth grinding, tongues clattering, lips oozing. You can't save a soul that's been slaved, bought, sold. You can't be a Saint. Not even a Mother Teresa's child. You can't save me with a kiss. You can't save the darkest depth of my soul with a glowing halo, a neon fight, a mouthful of pride's smile. You can't save my soul.

Rain is a Tear that Never Cried, a Tongue that Never Lied, a Love that Died...

A cold mist hangs onto your nervous lips as they crack and blister and freeze. We lay, puzzled, pieces, broke. The sky is mute, still, we cannot move. Your eyes glaze over, your body fades. My memories rewind and I'm afraid. My body battles against the hollow bottles thrown to the ground. I hear your black and white sounds. No sky, no clouds.

Today I wonder if love is real.

Chinadoll Pale

As my lipstick faints to a shade of chinadoll pale I remember less than a dream with no lucidity to offer, no facts, no history. A life lapsed. Flashes thrown in drapes of paint knocking over the memories, knocking over a knock on wood. I lost my eyesight and cannot see in front and behind of the mess that is me.

Lonely Is The Color You

Close at hand, I'm trapped between his vagabond fingers. The noise of Closing Time piano is distant and deep and somberly lingers. I hear it. I fear it. My thoughts have tried to hide in a lost and found of dirty sounds and today the tune is new. I listen to a lonesome Sunday blues haunting me with the color of you.

Wane, Wilt, Wither

I began my original Sweet Pretty Things blog December 31st 2007.

However, in February 2009, the blog I cherished for over a year was mysteriously deleted. Unfortunately I failed to backup the majority of these writings, memoirs, tall tales and stream consciousness insanity. I never thought my account would be hacked. Frustrated to say the least, uninspired and angry, there is no time left in waisted moments feeling distressed. I am starting over. I believe I have only matured as a writer. I will also attempt to recreate posts that are burned into me.

Some things never wane, never wilt, never wither...