22 March 2009


she speaks quickly. seeming to deliberately avoid pronunciation of each syllable, inable to sound-out-words. verbally.
everything is in her mind. the best way out is on paper. or, keyboard.
she's a mess. and a disaster.
life was a straight path for a moment. no bumps, cracks...
now it seems she's approached a huge, menacing STOP SIGN.
after the sign, there's a gap in the road. gaping wide open and disturbingly inviting.
inches her
to the fall.
who is she? where is she going? when will this end?

there's a justification to every fuck-up, every mistake.
i know what i'm doing, i just don't know how to stop.

05 March 2009


i am justified in everything i say, do, and feel.
even when i am wrong.

this is because i am me, and i don't care about you. you, you, and especially you, or what you think.

the artist gone wrong, the rambler, the pessimist, the heart breaker.

i love to use, but not to be used.
i love to chase, but if you chase me i'll run away, and you'll never catch me.

so what if i lie? so what if i drink and smoke and stuff?
so what if i say things i don't mean, and even more, so what if i say fucked up shit that i do mean?

who cares?

i love to watch movies over and over and over. and i leave good songs on repeat. yes, and i do it, just to annoy the living hell out of everyone.
if you don't like it, take a hike.

or eat my clamburger.

either way, i win.

27 February 2009

oh hi

i'm bianca.

i'm happy.

not much else to say.


12 February 2009

works in progress

im not accustomed to this notion
a standstill, witholding devotion
the useless parodies of
delusions of grandeur
wherein my fragile heart
can no longer endure
the most beautiful disaster
you'd ever lay your eyes upon
the way i felt in your arms,
and when you spoke, i was wrong.
you are not the idea i beheld
just bits and pieces of the sought out picture
the main vowel in this love, mispelled
inflicting my grievance, becoming a fixture


i just can't deal with your chronically combative constipated ways
i mix salt with water and make tears in a jar
readily available for me to pour
the feeble attempts i put out to put-you out
leave me sauntering between, at least, a burdensome mishap
and, at most, a breathtaking release
i'm eavesdropping on the meaning behind your screaming
drastically fanatically picking apart questions
releasing the demons, and losing the essence


and then a complete:

fervently anticipating your arrival
i make motions with hands, impatient
tap tap
you are the fuse to my shortage
making more use out of the fact that
your love, i can't afford.
im slipping, slowly,
and i feverishly spit out hurried causes,
then sew my mouth shut
so you can't crawl down my throat.
i'm no damn fool
but what is it that's got me feining you?

magnificently i caught you off guard
and you called me the wife type.
the type that you could very well make do with.
don't make that mistake
by talking sweet nothings to my ear.
i keep the nouns in a box,
and i wear the vowels on a chain.
for i am the epitome of your blueprint,
the idea that you behold, but are ultimately blind to.
wake up, i am waiting.

so complacent and unaware that this actually might not be
exactly what i think it is
i am smiling with a blindfold over my eyes
and my heart on my sleeve
waiting for the hollow point to pierce,
emtpy with your words.