setting goals and making changes.

So I just signed up for NaNoWriMo.
Which, for those not in the know, is National Novel Writing Month. Basically from November 1st through the 30th, you're supposed to write a whole novel. It makes goals for you and word counts, to keep you on track. I feel like I'm going to fail at this, since I'm such a procrastinator and I'd rather watch Supernatural or Pushing Daisies or one of my million other shows instead of concentrate.
Plus poem writing has been my thing recently.
But what the hell. I'm living a little.

Random, but I have had killer headaches for the last few days. I wonder if it's because of my sudden obsession with music. I mean, I'm always into music, of course. But lately it's become this addiction, where I need it and crave it and spend my whole day waiting for when I can listen to some Rachael Yamagata or Sufjan Stevens. Calming.
Though earlier, I couldn't stop listening to Beck and William Tell (specifically Fairfax).
So I guess my ear isn't quite as discerning as I'd like.

And finally, awkward note: my frequent OC watching has caused a renewed crush on Benjamin McKenzie, aka Ryan Atwood. He's soooooo adorable. Why has he done nothing since this show ended? Why are there not more big strong protective Ryans in the world?

Though at this point, I'd kill for a funny, sarcastic, too skinny, incredibly dorky Seth.

purple lines.

You traced the cobwebs with a fingertip,
Coloring me purple, pencil-thin.
My heartbeat in your hands
Facets of life, dulled
By your skin on mine.

Candlelight and tears
Keep me awake at night, waxy
Reminders that cut the evenings in half.
The sun shines in my window
Some days.

Tasting the color blue--
Sweet depression, a faint revival
And the beginnings of reasoning.
Meadows stretch for years on either side
But red is all I see with you.

In all my memories, your stripes are faded.
A product of the time, or
Symbol of what it meant to be me:
I can’t remember anymore.
Forget about it.

Your sentences spread across the page
With all the twang, all the talk
I’ve come to expect.
You say the right thing at the right time
She laughs and leans in, ready.

Keep it simple, but don’t ever let me go.
Lines spread out from your fingers
Purple ropes
Binding my pulse to your contact.
My scissors left rust behind.