Dreamstate in the Meantime
ooooh, clever, clever, clever

Nom de Plume

2006-08-22
I miss you so much right now it feels like my skin is dying. My defenses, my ozone is burnt clean through.

I want to kiss the red.

Emily D. knew exactly what she was talking about. That's the thing, verge of tears, of shelling out the whole truth, she knew what it was. She knew what the absence of would do to her body...so she said it. Said it for her and nobody else so it wouldn't swim inside her and take her down.

Maybe the panic is coming back.
I see the lion red, the bleeding heart on the white. Is the answer so clear as that? My eyes are bulging.

I don't know why I'm being such an ass, except I know exactly why. I miss your possibility. I'm killing that because you loomed too large and now I'm shell-shocked from work and the chopping of my wrists so I can't write, most of all to you.

You, my dearest dear, my panic wave in and out you go. I'm clawing to get to you, but every phalange has its own opinion about who you are, where you might be.

Can a soul reject a body, but still remain within, redecorating with spit and chagrin? I ask because I know that if I had chosen better to begin with, maybe we could not be waiting lifetimes now.

I'm looking for succor. I've fucked everything up. I feel bases built on shit and quicksand, lies. I don't feel a mouth, just a spigot for bullshit and double-talk. I want to be made of water and just the same as you, destined to meet you, instead of this hapless random. Instead of this walking joke, this oozing sore, these piles. If you could hate yourself hard enough, could you stop your heart beating?

But what do you need?

Not love, not hooker boots, not me to be sure.

I'm so selfish, I always forget to ask.

8:53 p.m. :: comment ::
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