Out of My Head [Poetry]

[Oddball]

It's all out of control,
Even when I have it in rein.
All the more sense when
I just cut it off from my
own thoughts. There's no
Connections because I don't
let it outside my head.

Love is fruitless when you're the
brooding fool, alone for eternity.
Not that it matters, we only
have a mortal lifetime.

The rhythm keeps me in tune
with the discordant melody of
the strumming. Sweat stings my
candy sweet eye but it matters not
because it all glows at the end,
the union of the both, two wholes
of a half make a nice couple.

The very idea offensive to my
virgin eyes, take me now but
do it quick so that I might
live for the morrow. But it's not
so, I'm alone again and I
know why now, though I will
not speak it. A self sustaining torture.

The wrists call for the razor but I
will not meet their call, I never have
and I never will. Each
passerby asks me
courteously to kill them but I
can not oblige before I'm eating
man made man meat from a tube
of cured and tempered hide of persona.

The art of the idea always superceding
the idea of the ending. I give nothing
and take all, it's a hate hate
relationship and you all stay.
Everyday I abuse you but it's
okay, and I'm trying to figure it out.

But you don't understand because I
open my mouth to speak it but
only mouth the words in my stereotyped
fashion. Way to be original & unique,
Taylor, I say. You doubt the truth
but go for it all the same. I don't
remember giving up the idea, but
it gets around, in the same way
I try to, but can't force my way in
through the denim and the zipper. It's
the warning cry of teeth threatening me
from a treasure I couldn't claim without
alcohol or money.

It's not what you think, I
promise it's not. you all assume too
much, and the blanks weren't filled
but you went ahead and read on.

Hi? Hello, what's your name?
Taylor, nice to meet you.
Bullshit, Bullshit, Bullshit!
What about the
"I just took a piss without
washing my hands and then
shook yours", or a
"1 in 15 people are gay, are you that one?"
or a simple sincere apology for what you know
you're about to do. I don't cry every night but
I've fallen asleep in rivers before, the
marsh, the bogs of the empty sorrow.

The hollow rattling of your skull with
the racking tears of a thousand
dry summer nights. The nights when
you'd sit on the back of your car and
let the music weave the sky, everytime.

I'm heading home, you know,
coming to terms.
For what it's worth...

[mors ontologica]

The nights when
you'd sit on the back of your car and
let the music weave the sky, everytime.

I'm heading home, you know,
coming to terms.
For what it's worth...

The only bit I liked.
This didn't seem to make much sense, I'm afraid. All that I got from it was the you seem to be feeling realy sorry for yourself, over your sexuality? I don't know, I couldn't really make head nor tail here.