Something to live for.

This is the soundtrack to my existence.
Money woes and lack of shows. Dancing to the beat of a widow.
The winds in decision, it’s blowing through my car window like the icy kiss of someone who used to leave you standing at their door for too long.

In all my borrowed pity and pride I’ve never felt more alone.
I’ve carried this burden for far too long.
Perhaps I should just swerve of the road in all my beauty and prolonged suffering. I could end this in one explosion of desire and catastrophe.
Scatter my belongings to the children, in a lucky dip.
Just give them longer arms to keep digging.
They’ll never be satisfied. No gratifying grip on something worth living for.

So you give your hand to the one willing to take it, and ask for it, until there’s nothing else possible but defeat.
I’ve been circling with the thoughts that fight like wolves inside of me.
I don’t know which one I’ve been feeding.
It’s too hard to tell when they’re constantly fighting.
I just need some time alone, to gather my thoughts, words and dreams I own. Write a list of things I need to do so my mind can feel capable.
Start crossing off problems and setting some timetables.
Then perhaps I wouldn’t consider swerving off the road.
I’d pack away my suffering and write my hard-ache in a poem.
I think there’s something out there waiting.
Something to live for,
A sunrise through an open window and opportunity at my door.

to whom it may concern;

so we might not have much in this world darling, but at least we got each other and sheets to keep us warm. it feels so perfect when we’re wrapped up alone, together in each others arms. live lights in your blue eyes, the spark of sudden insight and you just smile and laugh and brighten up the room. watching movies of teenagers far more fucked up than we are, or were or will ever be, and just being so grateful, for the moment were in, and for every day that a new morning brings us. losing time in great portions of weeks, just getting left with memories of you and me revolving parallel and perfectly; a circle dance around the moon.
getting caught up in you is better than sinking into a well worn couch and sleeping away an afternoon. getting tangled in your legs, and in your hair; stories in whispers and icecream before bed, you’re the single thing that keeps me hanging on; when the tides rise, drowning wolves cry and i cannot write my pain into a poem.

silver in my sheets.

don’t let you’re brain escape from the graveyard.
jump high, little one your long legs will catch on the galvanized fence and you’ll fall teeth first into rocks.

no, not me. hang up the phone casually. better let the laces tie themselves tighter.
the traffic is congested and the highway looks like lego, broken over a tiled floor.
caught up in the sunlight.
i keep singing
until i feel like i have no more insight,
like all my sorrow is just lies,
and my tongue feels worn and touch dry.

sleeping in cars, near beaches. just drinking because it puts me somewhere better than where i am, somewhere closer to sleep and to a place where i can dream again.

rolling up yesterdays newspaper in bright balls of fire that just burn, casually.
theres nothing that smells as sweet. i could inhale it like nerve gas and smile until my eyes burst and back rattles and shakes from the core.

i hope i see you downtown, in a cafe somewhere. sitting on wooden floors or walls, overflowing with ivy that pours all around us.
i’ll play you for a while, stamp your wrist raw.
see you next week you say, as i leave and just walk idle down the street to a bottle shop and then who knows.

i found the back of your earring in my sheet.
and i miss you.

NEW SONG UP

www.myspace.com/karlchristoph

lick.

wishing well.

i just wrote this, the tune and the words, in a sudden moment of inspiration, and i feel okay, again. a newspaper cry from a boy on the corner, the days are well numbered, dated and ordered everyone waiting for their time in the light. so puts on his gloves pulls his coat a little tighter, fumbles in his pockets for his cigs and a lighter and watches and the sun shine through the smoke. there is no idle escape that he see’s from the beauty she leaves when shes walking, the people stop talking shes suited up with desire he and waits for her scent to blow home. the birds are awake but the parks still in slumber he stumbles slowly passing the occasional gardener the daises stretch deep in their beds the path he walks bears a moment of silver, a coin for his loss, a fortune for beggar, a wish, as its thrown into the well. there is no idle escape that he see’s from the beauty she leaves when shes walking, the people stop talking shes suited up with desire and he waits for her scent to blow home.

A collection of photo memories.

Things keep changing till I don’t even know my own neighborhood.
My childhood memories consumed in dark woods;
by rogues cut too loose. 
Rope swings, lunch without strings
and holding hands meant more than something.
The girl next door was always just a little older;
She played with your hair and called you her brave solider.
I can’t even breathe the same air,
I keep searching the rooftops like climbing might take me there.
Jigsaws and puzzles, knee deep in puddles.
Holding my pen wrong and swappin’ notes that were trouble.
Nothing can bring me back;
In one piece and still intact.
Tt’s broken in pieces, scattered with reasons.
A collection of photo memories.
It’s climbing the hill and finding the other side is your enemies.

new song up!!!!

www.myspace.com/karlchristoph

nuzzle.

NEW SONG UP

WWW.MYSPACE.COM/KARLCHRISTOPH

i just wrote it, the lyrics are my last tumble. xo

Rings on a teaspoon.

Sitting at my old desk i feel low again. I’ve been taking baby steps, baby, I’ve been walking on my own again. i don’t want to lose my hope, and promises wont hold. Talking to the pen like this story was never told. Abbreviate my mind. Making bullet point lists of things I’d do if i had time, or if i could work my priorities right. Dodging bullets, older figures, drugs / alcohol and guilty pleasures, but the story lacks an ending. Saturn’s rings on my fingers and I’m walking forward in no direction, staring at the stars again, choking on air I know I never should be breathing. Spinning in circles, watching as the photos on my wall blur into colouful portholes. I want to slip in. I’ve got my shoes tied and backpack waiting. Perhaps there’s hope on the other side… A pretty girl waiting with love in her eyes. Maybe she’s tying her shoes, perhaps she been longing to slip into my room. It’s better than it seems, across the hallway of the loop. Going through schoolbooks, I think I’ve forgotten all that was useful, gave up my knowledge for a lighter and teaspoon. Seemed somehow more beautiful. I think i was misconstrued. Perhaps I was lied to, and I would have lied too, if i needed to keep my child’s mouth filled. It’s such a shame to society, children knowing no words but profanity. Walking to school in shoes not fit for gravity. Maybe i just need to lie down, stop drinking until i white out and figure this shit out before it too late and it’s lights out.