LOST, the incubus.

Damon Lindelof.
the raper.
the mind fucker.

there should be a law.
against cerebellum sodomy.
i feel like.

there was this guy.
and ive known him for a long time.
we were bffs.
like, superbad.
i love you man.
no homo.

and then.
one day.
we ate some salvia.
and he flipped out.
and started speaking in tounges.
and spittin out pea soup.
and came back to the island.
and shot ben.
and then didnt let the fucker die.
and then fucked everthing up.

I JUST DONT UNDERSTAND.

why let it play out.
why be so "reality time travel tv"
just go ahead.
kill ben.
fuck it all up.
make us think.
drag it on for 2 more seasons.

but no.
now we must sit here.
and watch it all.
ben becomes an other.
the purge.
peace out darma.
the others.
fight with widmore.

but who is ELLIOT??

i think elliot is locke.
but.
i just dont understand.

all this exposition.
do we really need it?

we all know the story.
and unless your gonna pull the rug.
we dont need to walk on it.

and i certainly wont take off my shoes.

stop fucking around.
Damon, and cum already.

the mist.

my head is cloudy.
clogged and i cant think.
i cant move things around or
form sentences that make sense.
i am sick.
i feel like a zombie.
walking dead among the doomed.
i cant imagine.
the rest of today.
tonight.
what to do.
what to say.
"oh yeah that cool"
or
"wow, i know right. You too?"
how many awkward situations must i be in.
how many time must i drink my way into conversations.
how many time must i fade into the background.
pretending like i wouldn't rather be.
anywhere but there.
as much as in the past.
ive tried to convince myself
that these are my friends.
but.
they aren't like me.
or us.
all of them.
they look different.
talk different.
love different.
my jokes are good ones.
yet they are reluctant to laugh.
i am not an elitist.
no matter how close it is to grasp.
my priorities.
have changed.
yet my name stays the same.
and i still
i see right through them.
even with my foggy brain.

its dark and hell is hot.

im paranoid.
nervous and on edge.
for some reason.
unbeknownst to me.
i keep feeling like something dreadful is about to happen.
i look towards the sky and see clouds.
behind me shadows.
people whisper and i know its about me.
last night as i was sleeping.
trying to force dreams into my head.
i do that.
i lay away.
i stare at him.
and i think up all this wonderful ideas.
small thoughts.
like tomorrow and the days ahead.
i pretend like we just met.
and this is the first time.
and im nervous and eager to please.
but then my mind fades from those pleasant illusions.
leading me down the road less traveled.
for obvious reasons.
goddamn.
i just want to relax.
i feel like ive got the voodoo.
under my skin.
i can feel it growing.
i see it manifesting its self in my daily routine.
that anger.
that fear.
and they all see it.
friends and strangers alike.
it in my hair.
on my face.
in my head.
under my feet.
in my bed.
the fear.
of what.
i cant find it.
ive searched the files and drawers of my life.
ive ransacked my history.
clean out my emotional attic.
and still.
it lingers.
it waits.
for no reason.
its there.
i live with this.
this night terror in day light.
this "something doesn't feel right."
out out damn spot.
and deeper it goes.
and it waits
until dark.

through with being cool.

ive finally realized that im slowly fading out of style.
its no longer trendy to be me.
i have lost all sense of cool.
what happened to the bar hopping.
club stomping.
get in your face.
make or break out.
fucking shit up.
get kicked out.
fuck you.
screw your mom.
gimmie a line.
pass the bong.
bahama mama drama queen.
ive traded my studded belts for muted colors.
my piercings for portfolios.
my sluttiness for sensuality.
for the better?
i guess it could have been worse.
to think back to what i used to be.
a user.
a lier.
a fucker.
a bitch.
loud and abrasive.
rude and misunderstood.
cocaine is one hell of a drug.
and now.
domestic.
controlled.
with out substance.
i never thought i would.
sometimes i feel like i could just turn around an walk right back into that girl.
turn around and she'd be there just waiting to fuck shit up.
but then, again.
its only a matter of time before.
being out, is being in.

in control

staying there.

inbetween.

finding a comfortable place to be lost in.

there are days where the lights are far too loud.
sounds too bright.

inside is the only way out.

if you lose its over.

nothings left but the thought of screaming shouting out.

reaching over someone.

persons turn to the pursuit.

and happiness is all that remains of.

what you choose to remember.

washing down what you force to forget.

fee d the nature.

nurture the beast.

there are things far worst than giving in to it.

there are things far worst that being a part of this.

there are things we suspect are suspect.

so we interject.

we fill it with doubt.

up and away.

let it go.

they look at you as if you are made of glass.

they touch you like your body is compose of sand.

looking through and drifting out.

salt on your tongue and under your feet.

you are solid .

you insides dry.

trying to control the high tide.