| Oct. 14th, 2005 @ 08:18 pm Dear infatuation, you do not see me |
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Current Music: Pixies - Live at BBC "Caribou"
I want something warmer, though I'm all ready burnt up. I want something colder, though the freeze has cracked my cup. Putting the wrong thing out when we made love..... putting my heart out when we made love..... my heart and not my eyes. The passion was clouded with my addiction. The passion was clouded with my lust..... the passion was clear and nothing had ever been so damn bright. I had never seen the other side and when I saw it through you I only concluded that I was fine where I was. The passion was passion, was real, so real that it followed the rules and came to an end. Your existence was one that made me lose contact with the ground and it's so fucking hard to connect when you're floating around. So the words, they became fractal..... and before you had given me that name as if I were one who had ever shared many good ones with you. Though you breeded so many in me, I could never speak them aloud and though you had my mind flying, it was in a thousand different directions, no connections to be made. I only wished I could talk with you as I talk with others or myself, but I didn't know what to say, you would kiss me, you would suck the air out of my mouth bringing my heart to my throat. Barbed wire enforced steel fortress around my shriveled heart, look closely and you'll see the troops there on the front line. And you with the lungs of a God I don't even believe in suck sucking it up to the surface. You with the hands of an angel that fell before I was born touch touching it as it were some familiar object. Now the object is too worn, the cracks and stains are becoming so dominant that every time your eyes behold it you only think, "I need a new one."
Some might argue that angels need nothing.
Yes, and that object, one would like to believe that it has enough memory behind it, enough value in it, to be saved. Tossed in some junk drawer; beheld but once in a while. Would she learn the definition of enough then?
You, with the words of some sort of sage healing my wounds while I pick picked away. You, with the voice of some finely tuned instrument whispering while making love, "I'll suck my tongue in remembrance of you."
And me, with a finely crafted tissue paper weakness expecting something too good. Yeah, me, with a heart that supports the weight my shoulders never could. I feel the wind of my body in motion, but I'm just not moving on.
..... why am I waiting for you to see if I'm alive?.....
infantile habits that never died..... I suck my tongue, I rub my ears, and now I think of you. |
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wallow_now's journal
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