Are These Roman Numerals?

Children are born for the summertime. School was created for the summertime. The sun was born for the summertime. Tell me then why our summertime was covered in stormclouds and power outages? Why was our stretch of laughter and smiles and friendship ruined by jealousy and betrayal? Are you able to explain why you left with the thunder and darkness? I cannot blame you for leaving. This town never was your taste, but what about the girl you loved? What about the girl in the red polka dot dress? What should I tell her while she cries when the power goes out? What should I lie to her about?

- - -

There's a lot to explain. There's a lot to tell. There's a lot to bury. I was chatting with my shadow early this evening, and we came to the conclusion that despite doing so much this summer, we still felt abandoned. I'm not so surprised actually. Afterall, a lot of promises were thrown into the street.

- - -

As cliche as it sounds, some important things have happened this summer. I reunited with old allies, made new enemies, grew away from my "best friend," crushed on someone for about a day, and hated sound boy for something he can't control. (I feel bad. I should apologize.) I still feel like throwing up when I hear the word "beautiful," and I missed my friends more than my father. I realized what I want to do with my life, but I know I'm not smart enough to do it, so I'll just cope with something less special. I know who to confide in, and he confides in me. It's a beautiful friendship; I'll cry when he leaves for the west coast.

- - -

I haven't photographed anything in far too long. My eyes are getting blurred, and my fingers are cracking like they're breaking. The wires in my head are curling around an old idea and giving it new insight. I feel like this might work. As much as I would love to work with someone prettier, a self-portrait will have to work. I need to do laundry then.

Even If We Stop, Someone Else Will Always Be Counting

It was like a circus: all of the people in facepaint and feathered boas wrapped around their throats like constrictors. The flashing lights in a rainbow of colors made me dizzy as if on a carousel, and I could feel my heart throbbing behind the cords in my throat. Oh, how it wanted to leap from my lips and dance with the women in suits and men in gowns. My dizzying legs dropped me before a man in a top hat with white doves as gloves who pulled me to my feet and pushed off the tightrope. There was no net.

- - -

ah-ha-ha. Little sound boy has been cured of his disease, and it will only be a matter of time before he's on his roof again, screaming for the clouds to speak to him again. He will scream of how sorry he is and how badly his ears ring at the need to hear the clouds sing to them once more. The girl in the polka dot dress will ask sound boy, "Just once more? That will never suit you." So he'll record the singing and listen to the playback every night before falling asleep on the shingles. Then the girl in the polka dot dress will steal the recorder and listen to the playback.

- - -

But all she will hear is the wind and sound boy's breathing.

- - -

Oh, how badly I want to leave this place for somewhere with sun and wind and people who love each other even if our parents were horrible to each other because we aren't our parents, and all we want is to love and be loved because we've all grown up with hate on our backs and words of defense in our mouths, but that's not us just because it is everyone else because because because we aren't everyone else.

- - -

That's all I've got in my heart and head. I just hope it's enough.

Numbers Leading To Infinity

He's the kind of boy who feels most comfortable walking the highway in the middle of the night because it scares him so badly that his hands shake. He is always safe, but he won't return home until he has succeeded in changing at least one person's life forever.

- - -

I haven't much to say this time around. Honestly, I think I'm writing here because I can't write for real. I'm back in another lapse of writer's block. It doesn't make any sense since I've been handed the absolute best sources of inspiration these past few days.

- - -

An old friend who's had a grudge against me for years now has finally chased away that stormcloud. It was so calming, and so enlightening. If she can fix her problems, so can I. Things are about to get real!

- - -

I've been scraping layers off my nails for the past hour, and now they're all chipped and rough and ruined. They leave little trails of red down my arms when I connect my freckles, and the picture doesn't come out to be anything beautiful.

- - -

Your blushing bride said the word "beautiful" the other day, and I wanted to die. Every step I took throughout the past month was erased, every wall shot down, and every hope had its wings ripped off. It's ridiculous that you've made me hate that word so much. It's ridiculous that I let you make me hate that word so much. I figured I should warn you because next time she gets a baseball bat to the back of the head, and you and I both know who would win in a fight.

- - -

Ah, my violent tendancies are spilling over my collarbones.

All Countdowns End In Fire And Stars

Whenever I think of us, all I can imagine is two-person planes crashing into the ocean and catching the whole blue disaster on fire. I wish it could be the snow that we crashed into for once, but you hate the snow and love the ocean, so it's always that damn monster of a sea. If only my sailor's legs could overpower my terrified mind. If only the plane didn't drown me every single time.

- - -

Within the past few weeks I've been exposed to more negative influences than I ever have in my entire life. It's almost like I've started over from the beginning. The summer always drags me away from my school year friends, but this time around I'm replacing them with all the wrong people: the users and abusers, bad seeds and royal fuck-ups, the drop-outs of society. These are the people I've surrounded myself with. Despite the feeling of corruption crawling up my spine, I do not regret this rotation of friends.

- - -

It's kind of funny how simply I can tell if I'll befriend someone or not. When I was a child, I picked my friends on looks. If they looked like a crazy person, we were cool. Now that I'm grown I've begun to see the truth to it all. It's not the way someone looks that sways me, or even the way they talk. It's all in the way a person thinks, reasons. I think of all of my closest friends, and I realize that I have befriended only multi-leveled people. I have no friends who are simply one level. In other words, I have no friends who are what they appear. Everyone I like is so in depth and worldly. I have smart friends, sure, but my dearest are all world-smart first. It's beautiful.

- - -

It seems like everyone I know is having a crisis of faith. Hey, guys, your god is just testing your faith! Isn't that what you all say? Well, dears, I'm pretty sure your gods wouldn't test you six times in the last two years. That is called doubt. Welcome to the world of disbelievers. We're more accepting anyway.

- - -

Why doesn't this shit hole city have a church that's open 24/7? Maybe then when it's four in the morning, and I have no where else to go, I can go there to sit in the back pew and mutter poetry under my breath. I'll write about saviors and boys with angel wings and salt water.

- - -

And it's 9am, so I'm gone.

Decimals To Fractions And Back Again

I was raised by my mother's hatred. She called me by my father's name and beat me with the fire iron when she caught me trying on his olds suits. My sisters were saved from her wrath, but she said she saw his violence in my eyes. I was the bastard son that reminded her of the monster husband. - - - I haven't lived a long time, but I've been through a lot. I've played culprit and victim too many times to tell them apart anymore, but I remember it all too well. Most of all, I remember the words. I've been given the greatest of all compliments, and I've been called things worse than what most people hope to never be called. Once you've witnessed both ends of the spectrum, what's left? After you've seen it all, what do you do? - - - Sleeping and I aren't on good terms, but after tonight - after tonight I think I can sleep again. I can feel my arms and legs breaking down into bones and flesh, seperated by a freezing river of blood. My wrists are waterfalls and the sink the sea. My eyes feel like marbles in my head, and my skin is made of torn sheets of paper, all held together by stapled freckles. My insides are shutting down, and my mind has fallen to the back of my head to hide from the light shining through my clear eyes. - - - What the fuck was that? - - - I've been staring at fireworks for my entire life, and I've been watching things explode even longer. These fires in the sky are nothing to peak my interest anymore. I'd rather stand with my arm wrapped around your waist, smile on my face and fingers playing a song on your ridcage. I'm staring into the face of the man who pulled you into the night, and he's trying not to catch my eyes. He's burning my fingers as we walk side by side down a splintered street of the city we once called home. Now it is nothing more than our cage.