Practicing for the actual recording, hope you enjoy!

Once Again (Beta)

Just another spoken word test run based on hereditary.

Bad Blood Test Run

The bells of production begin to hum between the hours of 2 and 5 in the morning,
Where a messy haired maiden spends her time performing acts of Genesis,
She's no stranger to creation due to sleep deprivation,
Stays at her station methodically mending makeshift clouds that suspend throughout our house,
That I can't help but use as an excuse when I leave the milk out.
And tucked behind every cumulus I have a creation of my own,
Sewn amongst her constructed troposphere you will find,
A young, scarlet bow witch soaring and searching for life,
A boy with rockets for legs and servos for eyes,
Two teenagers with a touch of pixie dust, 
Two pigs, one with a crimson ride,

And two smiling silhouettes. 

I place papier-mache sprites beside her orange soldiers that patrol the windows,
She likes to fiddle with their functions as her hum crescendos.
They convey different messages, presents and a presence for her day.
"It's all gonna be OK,
And you look stunning today."
I keep everything the same, static and unchanged,
Knowing that even the slight notch of a picture frame would send her mind in dissaray.
Everything oh so evenly placed you would think and thank there was a walking level with shocking interior ways.

She likes to call me childish because I leave yes or no romantic notes
Still filled with the frantic hope that she will allow her star to shoot past my telescope.
Or when I get too excited when it comes to animated violence and scan the home then disappear in ninja smoke
Do a cartwheel towards our dog in resting mode and give his snoot a little poke.
She also hates to love when I give her forehead the quickest slap when she gets really mad.

She often gets dismissive during daily tasks,
When she pours water from the tap and then stares at the glass.
As if under enough pressure the cup will crack and pour fourth the answers to questions she's never willed herself to ask.
It doesn't take long for her head to pass between 
The realm of awakened reality's seems and a somber sleep
So I tuck a life vest around her knees and place rubber flippers on her feet.
I won't let you drown on me.

And when I called her beautiful, the room rung with silence.
A cry from her usual, misguided gloom and shyness,
She glanced at her gnawed cuticles I still can't help but find this 
Vibrant and indecisive siren of my nights spent,
Toppling tidal waves on a ship made of paper-crafted love notes so my swelled finger tips can touch the bounty below the seas.
A sailor's suicide, they call it. Well that's fine with me,
I'd kill myself a thousands of times so she can see
The same image in the mirror that vacantly looks past me.
That's when she likes to inquire as to what I see inside her,
I clutch the hands of my fellow friend, the felled fists of a fighter
And tell her she's the comforting warmth that accompanies my fire.
That in her bedside drawer there's a pile of letters that contain the things that I admire.
Her baffling baggy eyes that she's acquired even after taking naps that last for hours,
Her frozen feet that can't help but touch me when she sleeps,
The way she holds me close when it gets cold yet she is enveloped by all the comforters that we own.
When she can tell I'm not in the best of moods so she wills herself out of our room and cautiously cascades down the staircase to cook me a plate of food.
She throws an album or two in the air and plays with my hair and I can't help but stare at the grub laid before me.
I found its appearance of a certain appeal, it's obscure dark hue makes the image surreal,
"Love, black is beauty, except on oatmeal."

A sure-fire guarantee to receive the painless slap that never fails to sting.

I'll take her panic attacks, memory lapse, and anxiety-ridden calls, I'll keep picking her up until one of us falls.

A Little Cloudy

A lil trackeroo I did with a couple friends of mine. Give her a listen!

poet(h)ics