I never really do anything. The most I’ll ever do is stand up and make cereal. Occasionally, I will jump off a building and kill myself because I am immortal. Please refer to the 120ft building in Winslowville.
she had more than the occasional doubt that she’d made the right choice
but she’d only seen the one option at the time
so what else could she have done?
it’s just the green screen dreams
of the emblematic scenes
that populate extremes
the timeless takes those endless japes
you long to be obscene
too occasional to be extreme
so occasionally unpleased
I find that this has become a key among my life. I always wait for the occasional glimpses into the life I desire. The moments when I get to flee away into the good night and be the hero i dreamt of being. Reach the heights I dreamed of not just reaching, but soaring from. Occasionally. It’s the feeling of silk and the rushed and hushed moments of grabbing his tie and being uniquely his. Allowing myself not just to give in but to love the adventure. I never needed him, but I have always wanted him. He is the definition of an occasion at its finest.
It’s more of a sometimes thing than anything else. It’s not like I need it. No, really, I’m okay without it. Or at least I’m pretty sure that I’m okay. Not needed. Not addicted. Not necessary. Just fun. Yeah … just fun. I’m okay. I’mokayI’mokayI’mokay. Pleaseletmebeokay. I’m NOT okay. I’m not okay. I want to stop but I don’t know how to.
Thinking of you is not an occasional occurrence. It’s constant, but non-intrusive. Sometimes I try to imagine your life outside of the house where we work away our days. Sometimes I try to imagine who your kids are, who their mother is. Sometimes I try to imagine your wife, whom you only spend the entire night with.
occasional happiness
marred by insanity
slow left turns onto cobblestone dreamscapes
left behind in the past, like a blonde baby smiling
a lost memory, an occasion to be occasional
softly in blow
in snow
end though
broken bones
lead to
occasional happiness
rarely. christmas! wearing dresses. seeing my best friend, kissing my girlfriend because she lives far away. a very nice feeling of relief after a long time of waiting. and a feeling of relief after doing what you had to, if it wasn’t pleasant.
Sometimes, we went out. And sometimes, we poured out our thoughts over the occasional drink, spilled our guts like lime juice squeezed into a Moscow Mule, reminisced on what we pretended were better times. Sometimes, we walked until we couldn’t see the street lights anymore, and it got so dark that you couldn’t see your hands in front of you unless the moon was out. And we would listen to the tide. That cold, swampy tide, etching its love letters in calligraphy on the seaweed-strewn shore.
There’s the occasional hour when I stop not-wanting you and I consider saying yes just because you’re present. But the truth is, I never want you to convince me. I never want to give in. What I really want –
I never really do anything. The most I’ll ever do is stand up and make cereal. Occasionally, I will jump off a building and kill myself because I am immortal. Please refer to the 120ft building in Winslowville.
Occasionally. Something that comes once in a while. Happiness. Bliss. Festival. True Love. A late night snack. The last one’s a lie and you know it.
Sometimes. Not that often. But sometimes more than you think. A word used when you don’t want to commit to either extreme, always or never.
On certain occasional days we go out for supper and go bowling with our whole family.
on the rare occasional day the we are out I get to grab something for myself and go home a happy camper.
it’s occasional that we eat at macdonalds
she had more than the occasional doubt that she’d made the right choice
but she’d only seen the one option at the time
so what else could she have done?
it’s just the green screen dreams
of the emblematic scenes
that populate extremes
the timeless takes those endless japes
you long to be obscene
too occasional to be extreme
so occasionally unpleased
I find that this has become a key among my life. I always wait for the occasional glimpses into the life I desire. The moments when I get to flee away into the good night and be the hero i dreamt of being. Reach the heights I dreamed of not just reaching, but soaring from. Occasionally. It’s the feeling of silk and the rushed and hushed moments of grabbing his tie and being uniquely his. Allowing myself not just to give in but to love the adventure. I never needed him, but I have always wanted him. He is the definition of an occasion at its finest.
It’s more of a sometimes thing than anything else. It’s not like I need it. No, really, I’m okay without it. Or at least I’m pretty sure that I’m okay. Not needed. Not addicted. Not necessary. Just fun. Yeah … just fun. I’m okay. I’mokayI’mokayI’mokay. Pleaseletmebeokay. I’m NOT okay. I’m not okay. I want to stop but I don’t know how to.
Thinking of you is not an occasional occurrence. It’s constant, but non-intrusive. Sometimes I try to imagine your life outside of the house where we work away our days. Sometimes I try to imagine who your kids are, who their mother is. Sometimes I try to imagine your wife, whom you only spend the entire night with.
occasional happiness
marred by insanity
slow left turns onto cobblestone dreamscapes
left behind in the past, like a blonde baby smiling
a lost memory, an occasion to be occasional
softly in blow
in snow
end though
broken bones
lead to
occasional happiness
rarely. christmas! wearing dresses. seeing my best friend, kissing my girlfriend because she lives far away. a very nice feeling of relief after a long time of waiting. and a feeling of relief after doing what you had to, if it wasn’t pleasant.
occasional. not all the time, every once in a while, once in a blue moon, i know people who only drink booze occasionaly yeet
Gene
Sometimes, we went out. And sometimes, we poured out our thoughts over the occasional drink, spilled our guts like lime juice squeezed into a Moscow Mule, reminisced on what we pretended were better times. Sometimes, we walked until we couldn’t see the street lights anymore, and it got so dark that you couldn’t see your hands in front of you unless the moon was out. And we would listen to the tide. That cold, swampy tide, etching its love letters in calligraphy on the seaweed-strewn shore.
There’s the occasional hour when I stop not-wanting you and I consider saying yes just because you’re present. But the truth is, I never want you to convince me. I never want to give in. What I really want –