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| time, and life and everything seems to be so fucked up mostly.
dreams don't matter cuase they end. and when you wake, no matter how long you've been sleeping everythings just like you left it when you closed your eyes to escape. but it never works that way. it remains. you remain. it floods back in just as quickly as it floated away. running lacks a certain, shall i say, nobility.
but alas, i try.
and when my feet move life moves with me.
a dark and twisted tango. and i remain so tired. my body aching. and silence drifting in and staying.
making a home out of my body. my soul.
this pen and paper knowing my love. how, i'm not so sure. it comforts the screaming in my head. it calms the waves. the storm rages on around me, but in this moment, this solitary moment, i am no more than the ink seeping into these lines.
"what is written can be destroyed, but it cannot be unwritten."
does that mean anything to anyone but me? i care not to ask. because in the end it doesn't matter. it means the world to me.
the world seems too small to hold me sometimes. as if it might burst if i show it anymore. or maybe i'll be the one bursting, if i take anymore from it.
i thrive on it. and they live through me.
and so i close my eyes. hoping that my dreams will carry me away.
then i awake, and remain exactly the same. | | |
| i hold my tongue.
more easily than i thought i would be able to.
but alas. here i am.
biting words back. silently shunning life. not even my own life.
her life.
how is that possible?
to loathe another's life, when its not even your own. and she seems completely capable of handling it herself.
almost enjoying the strange chaos she's created for herself.
this is what happens.
these are the lies we live because we can. not because we want to.
but because we're scared that there isn't any other way to live.
or that maybe in the long run, this is the best we'll ever get. is that possible?
is this all we're good for? these moments of hate, and self abuse?
yes, i understand that its the only thing you know, and that somewhere you think its all you deserve.
but darling,
please. the hurt will be worth it.
because there has to be something else out there. something better and amazing.
something that you will love.
and i will love because you love.
restore my hope. because its the only thing you want...you strive for.
its what you long for.
because right now,
you're only helping with my commitment phobia.
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Do you remember the person you use to dream of being? Are you
there yet? Will you ever be there? I don’t remember that childhood dream. I was
too busy running from the monsters in my head. I never knew their name. Never cared
to. They chased me everywhere. I saw the world through my terror filled dreams,
I just never was allowed to stop and love it properly. In return it rejected
me. Unable to read the story of my soul in the shape of my over due tears. Mostly
because there were none. I was never taught to feel. The loss of innocence
comes quickly when there isn’t any to begin with. So I ran. Because that’s what
I knew how to do. I ran and when my legs became too weak to carry me any longer
I would hide. I dreaded the hiding more than the running. The small space with
nothing more than my mind to keep me company. At these moments I could no
longer focus on the burning and aching of my tired, worn out legs, but only
where I was and where I was going and why they would never leave my dreams. I would
try desperately not to sleep, not to close my eyes because I knew I’d see them.
I knew they’d come for me. But I couldn’t help it! I’d become so tired…and then
I’d have to sit so still. And then all the things I’d been working for would be
ruined, because they’d find me. They were always looking and I was so young and
frail. Where was my sense of safety? Why must they strip that away from me? I never
asked for this. Where did my childhood go? I write this story now only to keep
my hands moving and my eyes open. The coffee is wearing off, but don’t worry, I’ve
burned the bed. I did it late into the night, to avoid unwanted questions. No ones
left now, they drove the rest of my loves to insanity. They were put away.
They were put away.
Away. Put. Were. They.
Put away.
They were.
They are.
They were.
I am.
They are me.
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fingertips roam free.
knowing every inch of who i am.
remembering curves and lines and textures.
your hands or my own, i've lost track
they dance along my skin,
i feel them everwhere.
i feel them even now.
i glace around for your face in this darkness,
i wait to feel your warmth tightly pressed into me.
i reach out to touch your lips,
and feel the soft cold pillowcase
silently beside me.
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