The burn of cheap vodka
And the following warm glow
Intermingled with the smog of cigarettes
And its surprising warm comfort
The cold, awful chill of winter outside
And the humor in its familiarity
Staring straight at a tiny black dot
Right into your eyes
Laying in bed with the phone pressed to one ear
And a familiar voice ricocheting inside my head
The thrill and comfort you brought me
The longing and joy you gave me
You made me see past jealousy and spite
I ignored secrecy and manipulation because you instead
Sent me courage and grace
And honesty and confidence
There were other things, though
The pain you felt
The women who actually had you
The far and uncloseable distance
Something about you is so unbelievably perfect
Yet everything around you is so utterly wrong
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Psychosomatic Injury
The process of turning intangible to real,
Something existent that we could feel,
Harnessed emotion becomes physical presence.
Is it still palpable, if only in essence?
From abstract love and theoretical passion,
We derive absolutes in our imperfect fashion.
Actuality is created out of flawed ideal
And we suffer and rejoice without knowing what's real.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Destruction Begets Reconstruction
"Ugh," she coughed, spit and blood collecting at the corners of her mouth. She clutched her stomach. Something that felt like anger coated the inside of her torso like molton tar. She knotted the fabric of her t-shirt in her fingers, twisting and pulling the cotton around her knuckles.
She looked out the gray, gray window with burning eyes. Her typically bright clear stare was replaced by something dull and listless. Veins pulsed red in her sclera.
"AAAAAAAUUUGHHH." She growled with a gnarled and dirty voice as she rose on unsturdy feet. She crossed the room and reached out in a staccato manner, then grabbed a decaying bookshelf in her dry, chapped hands and yanked it brutally to the floor. Musty, yellowed love stories crashed and splintered on the ground. Dust and paper burst into the heavy air, shrouding the room in a depressing snow. The fragments floated downwards almost angelically before settling on the ruins of demolished furniture and lost hope.
The waning sunlight that came through the window barely warmed her withered shoulders. It didn't reflect in her hair anymore. Everything she ate tasted like vomit and dust. Her fingers were perpetually plagued by slivers of old wood and dark circles sagged beneath her lethargic eyes.
She knelt by the remains of the former bookshelf, the crack of her knees starkly echoing, and stared, long and hard, at all that was ruined. Without thought, she reached out a pale hand and allowed her fingertips to sift through the surface of splintered boards and torn paper. Before she knew it, she was wrist deep in wreckage, pulling out and setting aside tattered papers, reassembling them. She didn't know why she was doing it. It didn't even occur to her to think about why she was doing it. It wasn't a puzzle or an act of regret; it was moreso a residual haunting inside of her just going through the motions of placing things where they belonged, returning things to their original states.
Having done it thousands of times before, she pushed the pieces of paper together, reforming love letters and old diary pages. A wilted smile tugged at the corners of her cracked lips as her gaze danced over the scrawled writing, as memories started blossoming, as her heart began to beat again.
She looked out the gray, gray window with burning eyes. Her typically bright clear stare was replaced by something dull and listless. Veins pulsed red in her sclera.
"AAAAAAAUUUGHHH." She growled with a gnarled and dirty voice as she rose on unsturdy feet. She crossed the room and reached out in a staccato manner, then grabbed a decaying bookshelf in her dry, chapped hands and yanked it brutally to the floor. Musty, yellowed love stories crashed and splintered on the ground. Dust and paper burst into the heavy air, shrouding the room in a depressing snow. The fragments floated downwards almost angelically before settling on the ruins of demolished furniture and lost hope.
The waning sunlight that came through the window barely warmed her withered shoulders. It didn't reflect in her hair anymore. Everything she ate tasted like vomit and dust. Her fingers were perpetually plagued by slivers of old wood and dark circles sagged beneath her lethargic eyes.
She knelt by the remains of the former bookshelf, the crack of her knees starkly echoing, and stared, long and hard, at all that was ruined. Without thought, she reached out a pale hand and allowed her fingertips to sift through the surface of splintered boards and torn paper. Before she knew it, she was wrist deep in wreckage, pulling out and setting aside tattered papers, reassembling them. She didn't know why she was doing it. It didn't even occur to her to think about why she was doing it. It wasn't a puzzle or an act of regret; it was moreso a residual haunting inside of her just going through the motions of placing things where they belonged, returning things to their original states.
Having done it thousands of times before, she pushed the pieces of paper together, reforming love letters and old diary pages. A wilted smile tugged at the corners of her cracked lips as her gaze danced over the scrawled writing, as memories started blossoming, as her heart began to beat again.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
In The Beginning
Like Eve gave to Adam, the bitter poisonous apple.
She knew she shouldn't have, but she wanted to.
She wanted to give and share what she wasn't supposed to know.
To show what she had learned,
To tell what she was told.
Revealing the inner secrets of the darkest order.
He fell for it.
He took it.
He knew it was wrong. Felt it was bad.
But took a bite anyway.
He fell into that same mysterious, downward path.
Slipping backwards into irrevocable actions.
Let himself feel vulnerable,
Felt her vulnerability.
She didn't do it to be wicked.
Or to ruin him. Shame him.
She did it so she could feel him,
And hold him inside of her for at least one moment.
Regardless of how erroneous it was.
It was beautiful; it was terrible.
That blessed moment of imperfect union.
Magical and full of fault.
Full of mistakes with no one to blame.
Unlike Adam and Eve, the punitive God doesn't exist on the same plane.
Unless you count
Guilt and
Regret and
Utter embarrassment
For making the wrong decision and not thinking about any future consequence.
She would be remorseful.
He would be punished.
Maybe unlike Adam and Eve, there will be no bad consequence.
Maybe it was supposed to happen.
Maybe it was good.
She would be ecstatic.
He would be rewarded.
Unless...
Maybe this tiny rift will not ripple through the rest of their lives.
Maybe life will continue unchanged.
Like nothing ever happened.
She would lament it.
He would move on.
She knew she shouldn't have, but she wanted to.
She wanted to give and share what she wasn't supposed to know.
To show what she had learned,
To tell what she was told.
Revealing the inner secrets of the darkest order.
He fell for it.
He took it.
He knew it was wrong. Felt it was bad.
But took a bite anyway.
He fell into that same mysterious, downward path.
Slipping backwards into irrevocable actions.
Let himself feel vulnerable,
Felt her vulnerability.
She didn't do it to be wicked.
Or to ruin him. Shame him.
She did it so she could feel him,
And hold him inside of her for at least one moment.
Regardless of how erroneous it was.
It was beautiful; it was terrible.
That blessed moment of imperfect union.
Magical and full of fault.
Full of mistakes with no one to blame.
Unlike Adam and Eve, the punitive God doesn't exist on the same plane.
Unless you count
Guilt and
Regret and
Utter embarrassment
For making the wrong decision and not thinking about any future consequence.
She would be remorseful.
He would be punished.
Maybe unlike Adam and Eve, there will be no bad consequence.
Maybe it was supposed to happen.
Maybe it was good.
She would be ecstatic.
He would be rewarded.
Unless...
Maybe this tiny rift will not ripple through the rest of their lives.
Maybe life will continue unchanged.
Like nothing ever happened.
She would lament it.
He would move on.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Baby, I'm scared.
Baby, I'm scared.
Did I make a mistake in coming here?
I walked through the wrong door, took the wrong drink.
The hallway is spinning liquid color and the acrid smell of pot clings to everything.
It settles in the fabric, mettles with the material.
All the laughing, laughing, laughing
Billows out from nearby rooms.
To tell me, "Hey,
"You're not supposed to be here."
"What are you doing here?"
"What are you wearing!?"
I think I walked through the wrong door.
There you are, like a prize.
Gold and blind.
She has you, dangles you, teases me with you.
With her laughing, laughing, laughing
and tossing her head back, shaking her hair
Wearing a mask and staring at me
With those glittery, malicious eyes.
Blue and mean and full of things that aren't true.
She has you; there you are
Gold and blind, like a prize.
In her ivory hands, with those awful fingers
That look like powdery spiders' legs.
I think I took the wrong drink,
And everything is spinning, spinning, spinning.
Blue and black and red and orange
I want you here; I want you back.
I want to give you back what she took away.
I want what I never had, what I always wanted.
To feel a heartbeat on my cheek.
To feel your breath on my hair.
To feel arms pull me closer to someone.
To feel time slow and gravity fail and for us
to go spinning, spinning, spinning, and laughing, laughing, laughing
Into our own way
But baby, I'm scared.
I'm scared of her.
I'm scared you still love her.
And I'm scared you both will ruin me.
Did I make a mistake in coming here?
I walked through the wrong door, took the wrong drink.
The hallway is spinning liquid color and the acrid smell of pot clings to everything.
It settles in the fabric, mettles with the material.
All the laughing, laughing, laughing
Billows out from nearby rooms.
To tell me, "Hey,
"You're not supposed to be here."
"What are you doing here?"
"What are you wearing!?"
I think I walked through the wrong door.
There you are, like a prize.
Gold and blind.
She has you, dangles you, teases me with you.
With her laughing, laughing, laughing
and tossing her head back, shaking her hair
Wearing a mask and staring at me
With those glittery, malicious eyes.
Blue and mean and full of things that aren't true.
She has you; there you are
Gold and blind, like a prize.
In her ivory hands, with those awful fingers
That look like powdery spiders' legs.
I think I took the wrong drink,
And everything is spinning, spinning, spinning.
Blue and black and red and orange
I want you here; I want you back.
I want to give you back what she took away.
I want what I never had, what I always wanted.
To feel a heartbeat on my cheek.
To feel your breath on my hair.
To feel arms pull me closer to someone.
To feel time slow and gravity fail and for us
to go spinning, spinning, spinning, and laughing, laughing, laughing
Into our own way
But baby, I'm scared.
I'm scared of her.
I'm scared you still love her.
And I'm scared you both will ruin me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)