It is not a matter of remembering; forgetting is the real danger (sometimes). I am not a fool, nor a fixator, I do not dwell in the past, but the past dwells within me, and there is nothing one can do about that. I AM a thinker and a liver, and I’m very closely involved with my self, so I can’t simply tear me away from what I am, or what I’ve been. I do not lie in my bed thinking about what was, replaying events that may have bruised my young soul, but I pick apart the present, and consequently find pieces of the past; pick apart the present, and look for faults and agendas in all of my friends and lovers, as if each person were just another incarnation of the devil.
It is feeling the lash of dominance in ‘caring’ fingertips, or seeing the selfish fascination in ‘adoring’ eyes, it is this ghost of constance that whispers in my ear as I try to drift off, not a ghost of the past.
Not to appear ungrateful for the heights to which my feelings can reach, I am luckier than many… But my highs and my lows are so hard to love, and I love like the world is ending, all the time. I live in such a dark place, that there is much less pleasure than pain, and I only wish (sometimes) that I could feel less.
I am neither dead meat nor fresh meat, so don’t swoop, or plot to swoop, for my anger is the cause of my evolution. I will shoot down the vultures with my new flamethrower mouth before the cogs in their devious skulls even begin grinding.
I’m not sure if I feel sick due to the abuse and neglection my body is undergoing, or with the lingering clawings and gropings of these monsters I keep meeting. It is polluting my thoughts, my body and the fresh fire in my soul that you lit. My house, is made entirely of glass and I am standingnaked in it’s center, waiting for stones to be thrown; I cannot live in such constant, helpless nervousness.
What tree grows red flowers?
One that lives to shelter the lovesick
or one that bleeds to be noticed
(these blossoms are beautiful; not sweet)
The ships are white blurs
(she sees them long after they’ve faded to ocean waves)
Relationships, friendships, and all those other ships
sinking, and sailing
(battleships)
The land is not inviting
(for it does not know depth like the ocean)
The sky is not exciting
(i’ve already seen it’s many faces)
Everything is weeping
(everything is weeping)
Willows, shores and valleys
A fresh morning air is sick,
with tedium
Or the afternoon mist is mourning,
for the night
(the clocks stopped working long ago)
DEEP WATER
It is always like the night in deep water
It is deep water where I see the only light
When you’re holding onto something that fades to just another shadow, it is time to let go and step into the light, for to live in a shadow-land is to waste the gift of sight.
i want to give you everything
i’m not sure how to get a hold of it yet
for now all i can give you is me
and for now i’ll hold your happiness
NGC2207 and IC2163 Hubble Space Telescope data processed by Lynn Hilborn. Data from the Hubble Legacy Archive established by the Space Telescope Science Institute, the Space Telescope European Coordinating Facility and the Canadian Astronomy Data Centre.
draughting… unfinished…
dust collecting like snow beneath the fireplace
cocooned bodies
tiny waists
bulky, hasty hands, that grab and steal
reflections… reflections…
in mirrors, and in eyes
he scopes for the same things i do, i know it
or i wouldn’t care to look
smokey knives and bloodshot eyes, are secrets in the pockets of my ribs
he never finds THOSE…
best unknown
fingers wander through skull forests…
trying to get inside; see behind those eyes
i do not know my place, i seek to find it anywher
while i hide what little i do know
(so little and yet, not little enough)
bread crumbs settled into carpet fibres
green is the colour of envy, green is the colour of reality…
cocooned is my body, trying to get me to fit
the sounds i make are silent, for I hear inwardly tonight
adoring eyes, pale and somehow smokey
what are you adoring, gentle sinner?
you may not find what you love
nothing in the pit before you
and a dream so small in my eyes
tense cheeks
cotton summer dresses
a sun that wants to be around me
wine bottles corks and loose lone playing cards
the stain, the chip, the Jack and the King
what is this really about?
fragmented
i left the bigger part of me inside of you