untitled #666

i've got some questions for the latest jane doe,
like 'sweetheart, where did all your beauty go?'
and i've got to confess my love affair with names -
with the first name mary and the last name jane.
nights in amnesia, spent avoiding my friends
and figuring out a teenage heart's odds and ends.
if nothing else this so-called town has changed me,
and if nothing else it taught me animosity.
you'll find my childhood self two floors down,
strung up by support beams, wearing a noose as a crown.
more than likely in the form of a cross turned upside down
but forget about that; it was years ago that part of me drowned.
but while we're on the topic of my pitiful disposition -
i'm a cynic, i'm narcissist, both by my own admission.
but here's the part where i begin the contradictions;
i'm self-conscious, i'm awkward, my mind is a constant affliction
but before the apathy of this verse falls in on itself,
go read the poem i dedicated to hating myself.

http://theskiesarefallingaboveus.blogspot.com/2010/09/i-guess-its-time-i-turn-pen-on-myself.html

tilde.

people are silly and i dislike most of them.

untitle #666 fuck owen.

in the eye of this storm is an abandoned house,
inhabitation only by ghost and mouse.
door left unlocked and lights left turned on,
sustained upon the memory and urges withdrawn.
yet it still falls apart something once adorned,
that lowly abandoned house in the eye of this storm.