Fear is the first thing I notice.
A fear of something unknown,
of an invisible threat
I cannot quite understand.
Then I feel anxiety,
Paranoia seeps in somehow,
Then I cease the resistance,
These ones are for me to sleep
when I can't simply rest in peace.
These ones help me to stay awake
when I find it hard to concentrate.
These ones give me what my body lacks
from food I eat to try and relax
These ones are for my stomach
and its constant, unending ache.
These ones are difficult to swallow,
but help when I'm scared of tomorrow.
These ones feel strange at the start,
but the feelings fade as I drift apart.
These ones ease the pain in my joints
caused by years of stupid exploits.
These ones balance me out inside,
because I'm told that I'm not quite right.
These ones keep my veins from closing
and help to stop my heart exploding.
These ones find the throbbing pain
that fills my skull almost every day.
These ones try to keep me focused
instead of feeling panicked and hopeless.
These are ones I got prescribed yesterday
to fix all the problems the others create.
Can only imagine
I find you distasteful to look at,
and cannot bear the sound of your voice.
I would never have elected to be here
had I even been given a choice,
a choice of where I would like to be,
of who I would like to have been with.
You disgust me.
I know every little secret,
every filthy lie you have told,
and I am not above sharing it,
telling everyone you have known.
What made you think they would go away?
How did you expect to be normal?
You fill me with outrage.
There is nothing you could ever say,
nothing that could convince me that you,
you the pathetic, simpering fool,
are worth more than the dirt on my shoe.
Stop lying to yourself, like you do,
and accept that you don't belong here.
I pity you.
Do you think that you can prove me wrong?
I don't think so, and neither do you.
If you did, then you would be out there,
keeping a hold on what you can lose.
But you're not, you're just in here with me,
and I'm everything you deserve.
I hate you.
I went to see someone last week,
To see them before I fell asleep.
It wasn't quite what I had thought,
An awkward silence over it all, or...
I led someone astray, stringing
I fell, clutching my face, a knell
I did nothing. Nothing happened,
if you look closely enough, you can see a person's heart beat through the skin, the blood pulsing through his/her veins. if you look hard enough, you can see the thinnest cracks on the walls of the most statute, majestic Church. you can spot the spaces in the pavement where weeds are threatening to grow, hear the most subtle waverings in the voice of one with a wearied spirit. but as always, like in movies, the last bit of rope, the very core of what was once so tightly and thickly woven but now unravelled and, quite simply put, undone, is so strong you could 'hang in there' for almost forever until someone or something finds its way to your rescue. nothing lasts a lifetime. hearts stop beating, monuments rot. pavements succumb and spirits fall. but all this takes some length of time.
time long enough to let you think:
... in be flat miner [sic, fic, diddle dick, sailing on the link-link]
He's sitting at a desk in a room that's roughly nine by twelve. In feet, or meters, kilometers or astral light-years, that part doesn't really matter. Apart from the floors of shelves of specific things at dusty rest in the record of their link-link relativity, would be the over-thing itself -- a library of space and time that's left unshaped by the builder of the over-thing, "Infinity and Continuum Construction -- We Build Your Universe."
Which is long for "He's sitting at a desk and the desk is in his head."
A girl walks in, who happens to be comely. Which is a word, today, with a connotation that shares center stage with "handsome." Thank you, Internet, for giving "come" and "go" new, graphic visuals.
She laughs. "Handsome? Okay. Then keep your hands where I can see them." She's smiling at the boy, like Slim, the character Lauren Bacall played in "To Have and Have Not," standing sultry in a doorway and asking Bogart if he knew how to pucker up and blow.
( more ...Collapse )
2013-05-27 14:58:59 (546 words)
* from "sacrilege" (blasphemous) + "mnemonic" (a verbal device used to aid recall), with "device," here and where the fuck not?, being merely how we "shit a brick and fuck me with it" think, thank you, Debra Morgan
There was this girl once, well a woman really. She fell in love, but she never knew it until it was too late. Now, you’re gonna look at me and say, “haven’t we heard this one before?” You may be right, but she was a special girl, she lit up the room and made everyone smile. She listened to your tears, wiped away your pains, and turned your world around. She was pure magic.
One day she met a boy, but more of a man. This boy turned her life around, though neither of them realized. He was intense and childish all at once. He had a way of looking into her soul with one deep look and expose all of her vulnerabilities. He had a way of taking those vulnerabilities and telling her that they were ridiculous. He had a way of making her feel like he really meant it when he said she could do anything and everything. He made her feel like he actually saw her as the woman she was and could become. He was pure strength, though he never realized it.
Now, they started out as friends, as all good relationships are wont to do. They learned about each other slowly. He learned that she wasn’t all sunshine like everyone believed. That her interests were vast and expanding. He learned that she was honest and genuine and only hid things when she didn’t want the world to see she was upset, though he claimed he can see through that act. He claimed she wasn’t a very good actor. She learned that he kept things to himself, but every once in a while he would let things through to her. She relished those moments not because of the information but because it meant he was letting her in. She learned that he put on this front of not caring and indifference, when in reality he was all heart. He claimed he was no good; she knew different.
Don’t get me wrong though, this story wasn’t all fairytales. She had her insecurities, she had been used too often. She was told by many guys that she was amazing only to be left in the dust once they’d gotten their way. She’d been made to feel worthless, stupid, and unloved. He had been hurt so badly that he never wanted to love again. He had been lied to, cheated on, and taught that he wasn’t a good person. Each of them knew better of the other, but because of these hurt feelings they never gave it a real go.
But that doesn’t mean that these feelings for each other went away. He continued to make her smile. He tried to ignore her and the feelings. He still made her laugh. She tried everything in her power to let him know that she was still there. She attempted to make him laugh or smile every day, even when she had no idea if it worked. And then there were those magical moments, the ones that only happen once in a while. That moment when a man becomes a boy. That moment when looking at each other made them giggly, befuddled, and tongue tied. She couldn’t help smiling; he couldn’t help running away. She decided to try harder even with no response other than that one moment.
In that moment she remembered all those moments they had together. She remembered the passionate way he kissed her. She remembered the way her heart melted when he woke up and came looking for her with just a bit of fear in his voice when he had found her. She remembered the moments he opened up to her, the moments that he looked deep in her eyes and it scared her because it made her feel. She remembered the whispered promises that even he was too scared to truly voice. She remembered the laughter, midnight talks, and nights of sleeplessness because she couldn’t get him out of her mind, though she still can’t get him out of her mind. She remembered the moment when he said he’d do anything for her. She remembered the moment when he said that she already fell; she remembered her confusion because it sounded deeper than the moment called for. She remembered him saying goodbye, the reason why, and the promise she made that she would always be there.
And she always will.
Now, the story isn’t over; heck, it’s barely begun. But I’m still not sure either of them realize it, not fully, not truly. Maybe one day they will. But she made a promise. And he made a promise. Maybe one day they’re promises will unite and their story can truly begin.
I tattooed your name on my tongue
so even if I were dumb you would
be all they know.