call•me•jonah

something has gone terribly wrong. when i feel a need to conform to dress nice, speak right, watch my manners. when everything must line up make sense define. what went wrong? someone give me a good anarchist book to read. when did i start making the rules? and stop breaking them. when did i start telling you to be careful? when did i stop writing poetry or thinking philosophy or taking pictures of random crap? or walking alone by the river? when did the fuse suppress? when did i stop caring and start accepting? i traded pain for comfort, and spontaneity for order. kisses are the gentle, subversive suffocation. love is a reason to let the paint dry.

i raise my glass to discord and doubt and anarchy and rage and loneliness. to isolation and longing and idealism and pain. but i drink down the peace your presence brings. till i'm stumbling drunk on your love. and the familiar discord that i love so much sifts to the surface of my stupor to comfort me like sandpaper and lemon juice. and i float away lonely on a vast sea of your tears.

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