Complicate Electra

She walked through the house with her head in a cloud of inebriated dreams, wondering her next steps to becoming the center of the universe. She could feel the madness inch by inch. She wanted to be a part of it. For the things that seemed so solid and unbreakable like family or friendship or love deteriorated in her hands. Her self-confidence eroded like the rocks that drown in salty ocean water on our greatest beaches, or ice that condenses at the bottom of a liquor glass. She was up for anything that had the slightest ability to make her feel important. That feeling that has been so neglected, but yet so integral to her personality.

Her peers look down on her and throw stones. The manifesto of tough love says shunning and punishing those who have done acts unspeakable is the only way to formidably revamp the psychological reasoning behind her misdeeds. But those go way back. Nobody knows about them. Nobody asks.

Maybe she wants to kill her dad. Maybe she wants him to love her. Thus, creating a context for every bottle, cigarette and xy chromosome she reached for. Each at the expense of others and herself. But turbulence and trouble were her prerogatives; self-destruction came as a side effect.

She reached for whatever she could get her hands on, then she took it. When she was young and short, her father would always leave the cookies on the counter just so she couldn't get any. She cried and cried but her father would never bring them down. To this day, she is still reaching. To this day, she is crying for his help.

But as a conniving female, she might have more self control over her subconscious desires than immediately noticeable. It must be noted, that she has a background in theater.

Loud and boisterous, loud and obnoxious: her actions were gently planned so those surrounding could fall in her grand scheme. And her critics, gave her more power; they made it a scene. Everything goes according to plan, and there is no way to escape it. The only defense against her is time.

Get Me Love

Summer spoke to me in tongues
and clutched my every move
like the devil I just sold my soul to
A gentle greeting at the crossroads
He grips the guitar in his left hand
while the strings cry for understanding
as he says his final goodbyes
to what he once knew of himself

I learned how to play that summer
I learned the blues
I lived the blues

The comb does not finish its journey through the jungle of my hair
it just explodes in the humidity
like before the cotton gin
when the evil overpowered
our bloody hands and strained backs
almost destroyed by the lash
and by the heat
we didnt forget something
it was taken away

Lordy don't leave me
All by myself
Good time's the devil
I am a force of heaven

But we still rise against the nobility
with song and spirit
shaking the earth in a culture so in touch with power
something so lost within us that we cannot forget
even if we leave this hell dressed in sweat
We still love ourselves
It don't matter what they do

So many time's I'm down
With the ground

Unbearable this heat
Unbearable the Mason Dixon Line
Unbearable my distance from home
Unbearable Maryland summers

I must not complain

Through this water I must wade
Because one day this sun will fade
and I will study war no more

And if you make it through the summer
and relinquish the burden from your back
You may realize
that its quite nice in the autumn time
the red and orange leaves mesh well together
Just like freedom