MUNon.

Hello this is to let you know that I was alive at 12:49 AM, December 29th

Once upon a time

I'll spin you a story, something so devastatingly beautiful, you'll have to know my name. It'll be sensational. I'll tell you  a story of every man I have loved, whose name starts with every letter in your head right now. It's everything you already know, everything inside your heart, but nothing ever said out loud. I don't talk of love, or my lovers. This is not a love story, nor is it about you. It's my life, and yours, and you won't be able to break away.  This is so you will remember me every time you live the story, or every time you dream about it. It is comical, fantastical, tragic and sensual. Particularly sensual. it's every feeling between happy and sad. You'll see. You'll want to know my name, because I made you aware. It'll haunt you one day, this story of mine. 

What's the matter with you man

There's not a cent I could scrounge off this, but this is alright, because I like the familiar newness of it all. It says 'Hello, I need you to stop making those noises with your mouth so I can hear myself think' like nothing does.
A minute goes by, and every silent move is a supersonic reality. He pulls back his hair, and it sounds like a sigh. A scratch, and a tap of the foot, added to something being dragged across the floor combines with the sound of my eardrums throbbing. It makes a symphony of mess in my head. It's the map I leave for you, in times like this, when I am not making sense.

I am trying to say I need myself to think so I can finally piece together what I've been feeling for the past 3 odd months coherently. But I can't. And I can't write anything, although so much has happened that I would like you to know about. I've started to rely far too much on what songs can say for me, instead of actually writing. You know, I'm just being lazy.

Yaar, I'm not funny enough.

Yours sincerely, M.M

I give up

there's too much to lose, not enough to gain, and I am tired.

Used to be one of the rotten ones and I liked you for that

Now you're all gone got your make-up on and you're not coming back

That's not my name

What's Up, Tiger Lily? ;)

Vancouver

In the corners of her heart, you'll find what you seek, a photograph, just a peak, In Vancouver, in the corners of her heart, you'll find what you seek, her love.

Find my way to Vancouver, to our shotgun wedding, in the barrel of a gun, Feel your way to'ards her tongue, the kiss of her lips, just as she slips, Sweep her right off her feet.

'I could kiss you, with lines of escape in my mouth'

Find my way to Vancouver, where I'll wait.

Mindfucked.

I need to wash my memories clean. I am unclean, perverse, riddled.

You help me forget, so I can block out the music, so we can make new memories.

It's that simple really. Hello, good night, goodbye.

Back to school.

Life's back on track, what UP. 'Til Monday, anyway.

*bites into her lemon*

Let's party on the weekend. xD

Off the top

This'll be the last time I swear I swear I swear I swear I swear I swear I swear

it makes me pull my hair out
it makes me bite my fingers through

The Cure.

Narcissus

She blames him for many things, mostly because she’s unhappy. But she blames him most for leaving her with the emptiness. It pervades through her days, you see, and has now even  managed to permeate  her dreams. She has never liked the feeling of being lost, and that is all she ever dreams about anymore. She blames him for leaving her dreams, because it is always him she is looking for. She is not a princess because she is neither delicate, nor beautiful, and she fears she cares far too much to pretend it doesn’t matter. Her element has always been water, not earth. She likes callous people. She believes the truth only ever comes if one is slightly insensitive. She likes the blunt truth, although she realises it is another thing that often makes her unhappy. She has decided she is far too much of a cynic to be a princess. She is not a princess but she likes being cared for, being looked after by someone who is slightly callous, and a cynic. And this is what she wants more than anything. She is unhappy because the emptiness prevents her from getting what she wants most. She fills this void, however, with Take Care Music, and this is how she tries to look after herself. She believes in having a mirrored perspective, although she takes this far too literally and gazes upon her rippling reflection for hours on end. It is the only thing that truly captivates her, because she is not a princess and the water shows her what she truly is – mottled, volatile, tainted. She is riveted, never enraged. She knows that when she finds what she wants most, she will not be able to say no.

Cadence

The first note hits and it's Revolution all the while it is sustained. The next and it's Resistance and the song melts into a liquid mellowdrone that is Acceptance and Relief. The music merges so that it is our Pen and Ink world…the song resurfaces, Twists and Shouts, and is Yearning, Pain and Desire simultaneously. Just when you are fooled into believing the cadence must mean it is her swan song, it erupts into Promise, orchestrating into your heart Desolation and Abandonment.

"You always disappear," she accuses.

And the music just weighs them down into its cornucopia of Feeling, while voices like oh-so-many melodies whisper, "we will not let them hurt you," over and over again, until they have you completely.

Linger

The blush creeps up
apologetically, burning, blooming,
Like the bruises on her back
Like the red heart of her pout
Like her rose-coloured world.

I will only stay
juste milieu, bending, breaking
bowing, sighing, swaying, 
Hearing strains of  his powerchord chortle
Feeling my way through the ebb and flow
Looking through my rose-coloured world.

I am yearning
comme ci, comme ça, begging, blushing -  
believing, breathing, surreptitiously seeking, searing
Hearing strains of his powerchord chortle,
in my rose-coloured world.
Feeling my way through the ebb and flow,
of his powerchord chortle.
Looking through my rose-coloured world,
yearning, entreating, bowing, breaking, swaying, sighing.

the bluest light

I won't touch, touch, touch

  we're all afraid of shedding thick skins

This is my country, here is my blood

Throw your head back. Supplicate. Tug on that dream, ease that itch. Bite that thought, stroke her brain. Sink that slough.

Wait, you've got to get that mood music, man

Cut that quest. Climb out that cesspool. Drop that gun, tread on your tight-rope switchblade - up, down, slash, stem. Dig your ditch. She is your tool. You will use her. She is your tool. You will own her.

Hey, don't forget that mood music, man

Stroke her oxygen. Touch that nightmare. String in the stars. Mirror my malady. Thrum my sorrow. Soak it out, squeeze her heart. Ease out the objectivity, you are jingoistic. She is your tantra, and you are only her anthem. Shed your thick skins, she only wears you. You are vociferous only because she is your tongue.

Listen, now, it's only your mood music, man

Cut that clamour, it won't bring anything back. You are here, you can be no better. Kill the ideology, hold on to that thought. You're tuning in and out, how is she to catch you?

Hey, it's only your feel-good music, man

Lose sight. Fall in. Your certainties are only fallible delusions. You can only turn to her. She is your life. You will breath her. She is your life. You will own her.