Godspeed Space Cowboy

It took her and me two weeks to finish that chocolate, a whole week of barely sleeping and the same song on repeat for at least three days, for me to realize I like you more than i ever should have. I got to care, and you slowly became another chronicle in the chaos of my psych. And it was never about having expectations. You’ve had been hunting me for some time; and I smelled your insides, reached out and exposed my neck, leaving the blood pumping through my veins lead you to where I was. You found me at a very strange time in my life, and you stepped inside and closed the door behind you. Little did I know. We handle this morbid adult life, and I juggle in between songs and movings and pink thongs while you categorize feelings and pages and thoughts and the words you’ll leave unsaid. Oh boy, if I should know about those; the ones that always come back to haunt us, they cling to our eyes, and become a part of everything we see. So I spit them out, unraveling how my head rules out.We corrupt ourselves, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted from you, since day one. I wanted a night with your mind, as raw and instinctive as it gets. But i was moved with the way you see the world; the way you went by me, getting everything off grid, spinning vigorously out of orbit. You’re a riddle I felt compelled to solve, and it has been from here to there and I still don’t know if I’m meant to solve you, or if I’ll ever be. And now its being rejected by everything about me; It’s like being stuck on a dream, and it doesn’t matter how fast your muscles contract and your joints bend, you are going nowhere, your feet paved to the ground. And I’ve come to terms with it. And You’ll be replaced by whiskey and outer space and books and I bet that you’ll miss me. I’ll be around this and that, you might even come across me while going through your favorite songs. Mine are there too, but you never bothered to check. It probably was just me, got built up over it, like sharing things with you; It was warm company, like the one my scarf gave you some time back. I think and overthink and my ferocity might have had something to do with it, and I'd also dare to say your own head scared yourself. All the things surrounding you were simple giving in; letting gravity do its job. But in between weeks and excuses it became motionless, and all those things started to crawl back up, surrounding you again. The tingling sensation my stomach used to get, doesn’t reach my eyes anymore, and I cling to myself rather than anybody else. Because Im always up to no good, as you hoped. And hopefully you’ll learn to flow at someday, and take care of the little things. Because you know, it’s all about those. But I won't ever apologize for leaving things a bit more shaken up than they were before. And I wont ever apologize for being too much for everybody else but me to handle.

Riddles

 And I find myself in a situation I’ve never been before, its incidental. I can’t help to reminisce about the things that led to this, the tiny things that fell into place for it to happen. I knew where I was getting myself into. It’s a riddle I came across.
 And I felt intrigued, so I went ahead to try and solve it. But logic and rationality rule this riddle, and I myself am made of mystical and intricate thoughts. I might be a little too much of a savage in comparison, not hoaxy but candid, and willingly. So I tend to flow. 
 And flowing is good; emancipating yourself from gravity and wandering to life itself, to the flashy and mischievous. But it makes it all that much puzzling, and mesmerizing even. 
 And I can’t fully grasp this riddle. It’s conflictive, antagonistic to what makes the wholesome of my psych; and it only makes sense that the longer I wait, the more alluring it all gets. 
 And I can’t seem to find any answers. So I still don’t know if I was meant to solve it. 
 And I lay here, in between words and thoughts and songs and cigarettes, hoping my rowdy, scruffy self won’t be too much for it to take. Hoping it wont startle with its own conception. 
 And I still can't find any answers. So I still don’t know if I was meant to solve you.

The hunt

You is pretty, you is smart, you is nice. All those things you are; and a million things more you are too. I flow in between albums and playlists and cynics and dungeons and dragons; but the good kind of dragons, not the ones that need slaying. And I'm late again, it's so easy to get caught in the frenzy on moving trains and people and humidity. I hate that one, and feet. My mind is sharp, and its fulfilling to let it flow through me, reaching every corner and every bone and every muscle and every nerve. I let it all go out. It might find you. But this is just me hoping to give you a good kiss and patch it all up with some soup. It feels funny, your gut speaks words you cant even begin to comprehend, even if you try. So i don't. I take leaps from here to there and everywhere in between the two. Every one of those met me halfway, I've never been the kind that doesn't get in return. At least in that sense. And its always freeing to be whatever you chose to be, as always being able to chose what to do with what you feel, or what you need; think you need to be precise. It leaves me bewildered how close it can come to home, the one that's a feeling and not a place; the way I learned it a few years back, when everything about me was voracious, and not in a good way like it is today. I'm still alluring, bold and deranged, and maybe a bit too much of a savage; everything that comes out of my psyche is the combination of all the good intentions every soul i ever touched had. I have this snare inside me and every thought and word drips through it, it only catches pleasant things. I've been blessed with knowledge of all kinds. There's this resonance to it, a limbic resonance if you ask me. And maybe that word is the key to everything i feel, all those thoughts with deep roots, making up the wholesome of my brain. It can be a key to you too, the one that opens doors of all kinds and shapes and colors, unraveling you mind, leaving a bit of mess behind without a doubt. I find every bit of it, the good, the bad and the ugly, appealing, and indeed, worth it. Its a kind of ride that leaves you aghast, and bewitched; it takes you everywhere and nowhere at the same time, its always up to us to have it lucid and vibrant, to know what we hunt for and go for the throat. All this things spring from my fingers, not sure if wanted, but blunt and raw, and driving and brittle and inevitable, so I let myself flow, hoisting higher, smartening every grisly detail about me.