9.2.12

fucked up words. lots of words. words to eat.

words -  with their heavy artillery.

they drag you around- tied up, gagged. no sex time escapades, few beautiful teases. they can hold you hostage, and pull all your cards out on the table. one word, one wrong word during a fragile moment with the right person - and everything crumbles. good luck trying to control it. it slips out. there it goes. spilling, milk, milk spilled, all over the kitchen counter. no - forget the counter. it was the living room, and you've got shag carpeting. it stains. blends in with all your furniture. modern decoration with a hefty price. a nice reminder that you couldn't keep it together even if you tried. somehow it's too powerful. you are 112 lbs. how much do syllables weigh? in a lifetime, or on a particularly daunting day? they push you, haunt you, so you let it out. and there it goes go - scattering, rummaging through the cracks in the walls, underneath your bed, in your sheets. digging under your finger nails, scrambling your brain. there they go - you let them out. tiny little ghosts. sometimes they come back and you're coerced into examining the unexamined.

most of the time they just want to be heard.