the last few months i was stuck with the final blow. this gut wrenching realization that there was never anyone here but myself. i was angry with you as i've been angry with everything. you were the object of my affection. and i mean that genuinely as i would have gone the distance if you allowed me to. and though you took advantage of my admiration, i really did become trapped in you the way I've been trapped in my own bitter hell for many years now. you were an empty satisfaction, fixated on destroying. and you fed me as easy as I destroy myself. so much of you was familiar and draining. the darkest part of something i could never unleash on anyone but myself. it's no surprise i stuck around.
Showing posts with label He and I. Show all posts
Showing posts with label He and I. Show all posts
20.7.14
11.10.13
the truth, the warmest hug
what a savage end : to have followed you into shadows.
stitches on November skies, a mouth of tribulations -
what gives to your lies. the moon is a bustling scream
of purity so do not think you
have fooled anyone but your wretched men. you owe the night a merciful apology. what a coward.
do right, and come through the wound with true deceit. do not finish with lines
apologetic, empty, and narrow.
a harmful lover where once was sweet,
follow through and keep your menace bright.
stitches on November skies, a mouth of tribulations -
what gives to your lies. the moon is a bustling scream
of purity so do not think you
have fooled anyone but your wretched men. you owe the night a merciful apology. what a coward.
do right, and come through the wound with true deceit. do not finish with lines
apologetic, empty, and narrow.
a harmful lover where once was sweet,
follow through and keep your menace bright.
15.5.12
Well, he is gone. And I take with me a little piece of understanding of who I am. A similar train ride and the destination leads to nowhere.
Self imploding little machine. The disappointment is neverending, but it's a waste to dwell on what I knew would happen anyway. Our interaction was a paroxysm and I was at the forefront of it all.
A stranger to love I don't do it very well. Whatever it is I'm supposed to do...
It kills slowly. Interrupts a flow that could be simple and warm. I didn't allow him to explain - though I don't think he had anything left to say. Always a quiet one. A distant one. He is what I am and how silly of me to push it away.
I wonder what he's doing, who he's talking to, what kind of love he's giving out and why he never shared with me. I could have reciprocated if he had shown me something. Something light and worthy. Instead I mimicked his charade. Oh well.
I tell my mind to stop. All day. Think of something else.
The sun, the sun is out. It's gorgeous and I've missed it. I bought delicious tea and it's soothing my insides. (makes me think of my grandmother) I bought a skirt, and a shirt, and a silver ring that I'm sure will begin to rust soon.
I think of today, and tomorrow, but most of all I think of yesterday.
Self imploding little machine. The disappointment is neverending, but it's a waste to dwell on what I knew would happen anyway. Our interaction was a paroxysm and I was at the forefront of it all.
A stranger to love I don't do it very well. Whatever it is I'm supposed to do...
It kills slowly. Interrupts a flow that could be simple and warm. I didn't allow him to explain - though I don't think he had anything left to say. Always a quiet one. A distant one. He is what I am and how silly of me to push it away.
I wonder what he's doing, who he's talking to, what kind of love he's giving out and why he never shared with me. I could have reciprocated if he had shown me something. Something light and worthy. Instead I mimicked his charade. Oh well.
I tell my mind to stop. All day. Think of something else.
The sun, the sun is out. It's gorgeous and I've missed it. I bought delicious tea and it's soothing my insides. (makes me think of my grandmother) I bought a skirt, and a shirt, and a silver ring that I'm sure will begin to rust soon.
I think of today, and tomorrow, but most of all I think of yesterday.
11.1.12
3 birds.
Ate a cobweb, birthed a spider. There were moist summer nights where I stumbled through secrets. Opened locks, and caressed the devil's hands. Drew a life plan on windows - slightly cracked. Broke away from chains glistening on lustful skin. Premature, and naive. I gave my knowledge a chance to bloom. Gave my enemies a chance to surrender. My youth I copied on paper, or at least tried. A slab on pavement, I thought my insecurities were beautifully designed. Never did have color in my eyes, so I used theirs to inspire.
Death came on the porch stoop. Grabbed a hold and refused to let go. Got to the age where I was a woman. Not by choice - by the clock's order. My heart, a submissive little mistress - gave in and breathed some life. From oppression a willing host appeared. Your love could have set me on fire. It did, but I never burned. Should have tortured my mind to stop on its feet. Should have, but chose to walk on coal. Took the road taken by all, cared for by no-one. Never did I exist, not until I picked on a blister that turned into a scab, and then a full on infection.
Gave a bird a free trip around the world. Grew her wings with patience, and innocence. Took this bird by my hand, a handicapped outcast. Sculpted her body to fit, contour around mine. She flew with words of yours. Breathed in and lived to moments on purity. Horizons opened their arms with scorching fire, and fellow birds wished to replicate. I saw her veracity and remembered - I never did like to exist. I shot her down.
Always did keep myself at bay. A rat in a maze, you were - waiting for an answer from a wild soul. I shot my baby, she fell on my window pane. How she got so close inside I never knew. How she crept up - loved me under her wings, cared for me. Why did she chose me? I let her stay for a minute, a minute too long. That day she came back to life - I remember her feathers in ruin. When the rain came down it washed her stains. She was my symbol of what could live again.
Used to take walks to clear the words leftover from midday mania. Close my eyes and sleep away every hour - for at least an hour. Everyday I let you in a little deeper. Until you held me up, proper like a doll. Daylight was kind to me with you on the side. I shot my baby down, but you were mine. A resurrection of what lay on the window pane. What a laugh of love that bird I let fly again.
The mind blocking any light or human form. Smoke from my mouth - standing still. Your bird was mine to kill. The room is frenzied with colors of the sky. Colors of the night, black for too long. Blessed the hand that brings curses to heal. Now only a shadow of what a girl used to be. Unattainable, the sky laughs with misery.
19.10.11
Ciao darling. It is what it is and that's about nothing.
I am dead he says. Dead from heavy burdens, stories, peoples infections, and lies. Dead from myself, the city, my family. Dead, but I don't think so. I feel too much, instantly. Too furious, too melancholy, too happy, too pessimistic. I am not dead, I am just walking on a fine line and torturing my mind because it's what I know. The drugs can be a nice escape. They are. I am aware of the burn. I may have low self control, but I am not stupid.
I'm in a blue and red bubble. There are lines, but they aren't visible, and suddenly, everything becomes blurred. There are no tomorrow's, no paychecks. There are no responsibilities, bills to pay, bullshit to say or people to smile at for the sake of smiling. It is a scary kind of comfort. It's parties and naked people dancing in the street with their bottles of Monet, and the fake fur they got at Trendy Wendy. It is nothing and everything. Creative junkies. No false niceties. They wear beautiful clothes and they have beautiful money. Everybody is somebody.
You see the screw ups and the ditz. The flash mobs, the dancers, the depressed kids with nothing but cuts on their arms. All these fuck ups, glamorous fuck ups together, holding each other up. It makes sense. Everyone is on some hippie shit. There's no need to tone yourself down. In fact, people amp themselves until you're dangerously close to being deaf. They all love to hear themselves talk about life and culture, and politics. It's all equality this, the government is out to kill your family, big brother sucks dick. You know, everyone's got something to say. And all of it is intriguing, even if it's not. I don't need to tone myself down. I am one of these fuck ups.
Barbiturates, you know. They catapults me from wall to wall, taking me to euphoric hallways and mesmerizing skies. A lifestyle that keeps me preoccupied. Spinning. Woo do I spin and sweat and phase out until I am frightening. Interestingly enough, the mind, the one part of me I wish I could strangle does not sleep. Yet with the right amount of dosage distortion is liquid heaven on a hot summer Vegas afternoon. It comes in handy for a creative one.
Am I one? The creative kind? How pretentious. It would be a nice excuse, but no. I am not. Well, I don't know. He tells me I don't need them. The alternations and the pills and the lines in the bathroom. I don't need the dirty boys with their gin soaked dicks and their ass hole personalities. But what does he know? He has been my crutch for a while and its probably fueled the ginormous ego in his pants.
He likes to play the savior part, you know. He comes riding in on his white horse and everyone deems him the special one. He's the one who can save me. They all bow to him. He makes me a better woman and with him I *gasp* actually have feelings. Without him I am apparently just a wasteless tart. I love him, but he is taking on too much and then complaining about it when no one actually asked him. Love will do that. You want to hold the hand and fill each other with security. You want a life of simplicity, peace. Breakfast love, afternoon love, dinner fucks. You want it all, but then you turn to your left and see the screw up clinging onto your arm, barely able to stand, barely able to string together a sentence. She is hanging on by a thread. Life has tossed her and fucked her, and in her mind she's just taking the precautions needed to survive.
I have swallowed my pride, put on a brave face and tried. The swallowing came easy, the brave face - not so much. I'm letting it go completely. It is what it is and at the end of the day, today, it is nothing. Walking on leftover glass pieces and getting cut every which way. It was fun at first, but now it's just masochistic and dangerous and we have grown and got tangled in the process of trying to hold on to the past He says I helped him open up and trust more, which is ironic in a way. Whoever he seriously dabbles with next is in for some theatrical performances of romance, cuddles, kisses, and 9 inches.
I hope he's happy. I'm off in my blue and red bubble, and my dysfunctions are my friends. For now.
I'm in a blue and red bubble. There are lines, but they aren't visible, and suddenly, everything becomes blurred. There are no tomorrow's, no paychecks. There are no responsibilities, bills to pay, bullshit to say or people to smile at for the sake of smiling. It is a scary kind of comfort. It's parties and naked people dancing in the street with their bottles of Monet, and the fake fur they got at Trendy Wendy. It is nothing and everything. Creative junkies. No false niceties. They wear beautiful clothes and they have beautiful money. Everybody is somebody.
You see the screw ups and the ditz. The flash mobs, the dancers, the depressed kids with nothing but cuts on their arms. All these fuck ups, glamorous fuck ups together, holding each other up. It makes sense. Everyone is on some hippie shit. There's no need to tone yourself down. In fact, people amp themselves until you're dangerously close to being deaf. They all love to hear themselves talk about life and culture, and politics. It's all equality this, the government is out to kill your family, big brother sucks dick. You know, everyone's got something to say. And all of it is intriguing, even if it's not. I don't need to tone myself down. I am one of these fuck ups.
Barbiturates, you know. They catapults me from wall to wall, taking me to euphoric hallways and mesmerizing skies. A lifestyle that keeps me preoccupied. Spinning. Woo do I spin and sweat and phase out until I am frightening. Interestingly enough, the mind, the one part of me I wish I could strangle does not sleep. Yet with the right amount of dosage distortion is liquid heaven on a hot summer Vegas afternoon. It comes in handy for a creative one.
Am I one? The creative kind? How pretentious. It would be a nice excuse, but no. I am not. Well, I don't know. He tells me I don't need them. The alternations and the pills and the lines in the bathroom. I don't need the dirty boys with their gin soaked dicks and their ass hole personalities. But what does he know? He has been my crutch for a while and its probably fueled the ginormous ego in his pants.
He likes to play the savior part, you know. He comes riding in on his white horse and everyone deems him the special one. He's the one who can save me. They all bow to him. He makes me a better woman and with him I *gasp* actually have feelings. Without him I am apparently just a wasteless tart. I love him, but he is taking on too much and then complaining about it when no one actually asked him. Love will do that. You want to hold the hand and fill each other with security. You want a life of simplicity, peace. Breakfast love, afternoon love, dinner fucks. You want it all, but then you turn to your left and see the screw up clinging onto your arm, barely able to stand, barely able to string together a sentence. She is hanging on by a thread. Life has tossed her and fucked her, and in her mind she's just taking the precautions needed to survive.
I have swallowed my pride, put on a brave face and tried. The swallowing came easy, the brave face - not so much. I'm letting it go completely. It is what it is and at the end of the day, today, it is nothing. Walking on leftover glass pieces and getting cut every which way. It was fun at first, but now it's just masochistic and dangerous and we have grown and got tangled in the process of trying to hold on to the past He says I helped him open up and trust more, which is ironic in a way. Whoever he seriously dabbles with next is in for some theatrical performances of romance, cuddles, kisses, and 9 inches.
I hope he's happy. I'm off in my blue and red bubble, and my dysfunctions are my friends. For now.
22.6.11
March 15, 2009
Leo my sweets,
It's a cold, sad day here in the city of the rain. The lights are hiding, my mind is shaking. I'm sitting in the living room devoid of you in my mind. I cannot stop my self from going down memory's past. I wonder what you are up to now? What coolness is breathing down your neck? I miss the sun. I miss it's warmth, it's smile. I haven't heard any birds come out to play. Maybe that's because I'm never up at 3:00 or 4:00 AM like I used to. It seems as though my birds disappeared when you did.
I'm feeling too beat to sound proper right now. Proper is for silly fools anyway. I want to call you, but my fingers can't set into action what I'm feeling. I can never find you anyway. Always the busy body. Doing something, somewhere.
I miss you. I love you.
(The things I write in my journal sometimes.Emotionally amusing. How smitten.)
It's a cold, sad day here in the city of the rain. The lights are hiding, my mind is shaking. I'm sitting in the living room devoid of you in my mind. I cannot stop my self from going down memory's past. I wonder what you are up to now? What coolness is breathing down your neck? I miss the sun. I miss it's warmth, it's smile. I haven't heard any birds come out to play. Maybe that's because I'm never up at 3:00 or 4:00 AM like I used to. It seems as though my birds disappeared when you did.
I'm feeling too beat to sound proper right now. Proper is for silly fools anyway. I want to call you, but my fingers can't set into action what I'm feeling. I can never find you anyway. Always the busy body. Doing something, somewhere.
I miss you. I love you.
(The things I write in my journal sometimes.
17.6.11
destructive little girl
He stands up to me when I proclaiming loud adjectives. Ones that cut him and run through me with smiles.
Humors me until I am content with the madness as it is. Madness = love.
And I sit on the couch for mins, what seems like hours? I say I don't care. I don't give a fuck. Find some fucks for me to give, please!
I do, I do. He knows, and let's me have my stage anyway.
I don’t fantasize about his body, nor his touch. I look at his eyes and I read nothing. This is not new. I feel no eyes can inspire me.
He has a tender touch. One that opens my mind to reality-
that there is someone who stands to be with me. I won't let him mold me…
I am not the woman in which his eyes are safe with.
that there is someone who stands to be with me. I won't let him mold me…
I am not the woman in which his eyes are safe with.
Step back like I always do and wonder if I am truly worth his attention. Is he worth mine? I start to crumble. Panic attack.
I cook him on the back burner, where the heat of love can barely reach.
If I cut him short there will be nothing to heal from.
I cook him on the back burner, where the heat of love can barely reach.
If I cut him short there will be nothing to heal from.
After all the turbulence I will wonder why he wants to clean up my mess. What does he want in return?
A simple hug will calm me. I’ll stay in his arms like a child. He smells like something I don't want to remember.
A simple hug will calm me. I’ll stay in his arms like a child. He smells like something I don't want to remember.
He saves me subconsciously.
I drain him emotionally.
He will leave and I will laugh to ease my tension.
Lifeless and boring, everyday will be a chore. I will hate him yet there will be no reason. I will want him for praise. Salvation, I'll say, save me, you can.
I drain him emotionally.
He will leave and I will laugh to ease my tension.
Lifeless and boring, everyday will be a chore. I will hate him yet there will be no reason. I will want him for praise. Salvation, I'll say, save me, you can.
I will inform everyone of this pain, but midst it all I will remember -you and I never fucked, we never made love, and that will hurt even more.
5.6.11
Love on acid
That type of love was one of a kind. It was more intense and beautiful than I had ever imagined and I wouldn’t want to repeat that type of connection with anyone. I believe there are several people out there for us. The one soul-mate for life deal is not my bag but, I believe every connection we have with a person is unique and can never be duplicated by another.
The love He and I had will stand on its own, with no comparisons to any of my future partners and with no comparisons to my past partners. I'm not a fan of rehashing the past. While I do complain often about what used to be and how I used to be and I daydream about what COULD have been, it's really more of a fond look back with a slight smirk. No regrets.
It is what is is and I accept it. Most people remain special to me. The lovers, the haters, the instigators and the random passerby's that only stuck around for a few months.
Love on acid. He and I had it. We lost it. I wouldn't dare think of replicating that with anyone else. It was beautiful because it was organic.
The love He and I had will stand on its own, with no comparisons to any of my future partners and with no comparisons to my past partners. I'm not a fan of rehashing the past. While I do complain often about what used to be and how I used to be and I daydream about what COULD have been, it's really more of a fond look back with a slight smirk. No regrets.
It is what is is and I accept it. Most people remain special to me. The lovers, the haters, the instigators and the random passerby's that only stuck around for a few months.
Love on acid. He and I had it. We lost it. I wouldn't dare think of replicating that with anyone else. It was beautiful because it was organic.
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