me and night

Mind and no soul. Writing around the Themes of my Mind.

I reblog and answer asks at: mwtnreblogs.tumblr.com

How free are you from what the sheep think of you?


The answers to this question will tell me something about your happiness.

One and one make two.

Headache breathing, hold tight.
Why does the man think the woman think him a fool?
Sighs leaving, another night.
How does the woman silent the fight against himself?

Relations are playing tricks on love.
A written guide by ones gone wrong.
When the thing going right is made of
What we’d been missing along.

Headache breathing, sighs leaving.
Hold tight, another night.

Title: Mewiththenight

I’m Pisces in the skin. I’m an embodiment of frequent mind change.
My wings are still damp, my gills stay the same.
Morphology.

I’ll turn out alright. I’m facing a warm cheek drying wind.
My heart speaks to my sleeve, my beats are for you.
Biology.

I’ll rhyme for days. I’ll sleep for months in a position of upkeep.
My words are spilt, my meaning is milk.
Cryptology.

I’m speaking in maybes. I’m the whispers after a sad song.
My lyrics are dim, my song is not heard.
Phonology.

Escape travelers guide

mewiththenight:

Escape, north of Pisces. Far, north corner greatness.
Don’t turn around, don’t lay eyes on the chase.
Contemplate no other route, turn circles in place.
Lick Cassiopeia’s heel, right mind she’s unwashed.
Lay in and bask the vast open far north corner greatness.
With no light in this space,…

Smells like dinner or something there after

mewiththenight:

When your dry skin flakes and you’re eating noodles for dinner,

you swat at the fly, bust up a position of thought being trust.

Remember the lesion in a round about fashion,

merry go round like the pony is a cock and you’re riding.

Hang nail your way into sleep that doesn’t count against

We fail to emit the frequency

mewiththenight:

Sometimes I look up and wish the sky weren’t there.
I’d like to see the planets and pretend we don’t breath air.
They found out cellphone towers were hijacked and were shooting cancer rays at random.
Unlucky ones thought up fast food risks,
And riding condom wrappers, they peeled back on…

Seventeen different ideas, seventeen different ways, wrapped up in a blanket, tossing, turning changing shape.
Emptier than you, the glass does not produce a riddle, mystery or question to answer.
I thought about the moment…. I thought about the moment….i thought about the seventeen different ways.
We’re expected to recover. We’re expected to remain, that rev rev rev is turning a landslide into day.
Remember when thirst is running well, the glass isn’t a question and the answer is oh hell.
Why not does the handler hold the four corners of the blanket? Because with seventeen different ideas and seventeen different ways, counting on the appropriate hold isn’t going determine secrets that she holds.

Heathen light

I’m the pungent honey upon your breath
I’m the maker of your scent
What you offer me isn’t equal to the uniqueness that we’ll be.
If upon a tree we were to grow
I’d be the sapling that you sow
What meaning have we
But to see
The vile entity
That we’ll be
Once the life does cease to grow
Upon the brow of makers glow
Hold me still and hold me tight
For only life is worth the fight
When lovers do not loose the sight
Of what it means to be alright
In the midst of endless blight.

They're creating all this shit just to confuse us.

mewiththenight:

The only places I can really think is three. Bed. Car. Shower.
In my head is all three. A bed in a car with a shower. Soggy thoughts falling asleep while driving.
Imagined crashing into the truck to the front of me just so my death could momentarily tragically affect someone.
Explain to me…

Crying children

Dreary, dreary, dreary. Oh teary eyed one, how do you caress a wet blanket?

How do you find comfort in the cold press of tears soaked in cotton?

Soft as your hair is, fingers can roll through it like a marble down the drain.

Soft as your hair is, tears don’t linger across its lines but fall past your face and symbol all your pain.


Dreamy, dreamy, dreamy. Oh forgetful, I am the one who can’t recall what it means to be learning it all.

I used to stare past the lighted faces too, I used to pause and wonder before I got up from a fall.

I’ve nearly forgotten, in growing, what it feels like to be a flower pressed against the wall.

But my baby, let me teach you. Do you believe in magic? Because baby, I do.

I’m going to weave the wonders of the world for you, cast up a spell of knowledge, magic, baby, will see you through.

Captain Mystic

mewiththenight:

To tell the difference between a story and a plan

the speaker must shush visions of dreary man.

She tells weaving dreams of planets far away;

planets metaphoring for lives listeners hope will stay.

Lyricism wrote her middle name

as she sings songs to put fallacies to blame.

The difference…

BangBang

mewiththenight:

I carry heavy artillery, weapon vagina.

Wipe the blood that trails behind me.

Quote the presence that I speak,

hear the words that don’t come out.

There is nothing that you can do

but follow the way I tell you too.

Sing softly, this is a metaphor for love.

I only rouse the loneliest men and…

Red, Yellow, Green

mewiththenight:

How are you relating everything to circumstance?

You exact, exact-o-knife, the sides to be straight.

The steps are aligned, feeling like a straight backed dance.

I can’t stand the way you pace together extras at a regulated rate.

How are you relating a feeling to anything not worth a chance?

If a back bend is efficient I’d surely perform for you.

Elevator roll

Elevator roll