As my head spins around images of bliss, I find myself actually wanting to feel them, fuse into them.
Human speed, amphetamine, live wire.
My energy flows now in electric blue through the only circuits that make sense.
Out of my limbs, my fingertips, buzzing roughly still at the outer edges of the emanating glow.
The energy in me is audible, visible, available to the senses in compromising situations.
I grow vulnerable, evaporating doubt.
The electricity buzzes louder as I reach toward the still-unattainable, desirable, necessary awareness of self.
I'm getting there, glowing.
3/30/10
Stingers.
For the longest time, love was a misnomer and obsession the correct term.
That time was fleeting, and I soon found myself looking at you through everyone else’s eyes; how they all saw the decaying inside that took me months to wrap myself around.
I became a metastasis of the tumor inside you, spewing decomposing matter where words ought to have been.
Painful processes and self-inflicted sting succeeded in slinging me sideways to simplicity, and I saw you.
That time was fleeting, and I soon found myself looking at you through everyone else’s eyes; how they all saw the decaying inside that took me months to wrap myself around.
I became a metastasis of the tumor inside you, spewing decomposing matter where words ought to have been.
Painful processes and self-inflicted sting succeeded in slinging me sideways to simplicity, and I saw you.
Helpless times past.
And the way I saw you, saw your skin and the way you moved.
Silky, smooth, soft, susceptible.
This atrocity we created in my dwelling, white shirts like flags on bedposts and trousers on the floor like masks we shed to see your insides; our goal and destination.
Your bones jutted out like the corners of that wooden chest in our living room, and I could tell you hadn’t been eating. You smiled (I couldn’t believe it), like you were proud.
You have always scared me, you’re like a spectre resonating from one edge of my retina to the other, a beautiful wanton creature.
Silky, smooth, soft, susceptible.
This atrocity we created in my dwelling, white shirts like flags on bedposts and trousers on the floor like masks we shed to see your insides; our goal and destination.
Your bones jutted out like the corners of that wooden chest in our living room, and I could tell you hadn’t been eating. You smiled (I couldn’t believe it), like you were proud.
You have always scared me, you’re like a spectre resonating from one edge of my retina to the other, a beautiful wanton creature.
Temporary emotion.
As your hand slid out of mine, omnipotence clicked its stopwatch to a painful start, click. Looking forward to this, we are, as a slaughterer waits for Mondays to skin something alive. It’s days from hell, days when all you’d love to do is stop and scream, days when nothing matters but the blunt fingernails pressing curves into your back, or was it a dream?
But every morning, the faint red breaths of texture marring your skin strike you like Ali with the truth. Only occasional occurrence makes it all okay, right?
Baby, does it make you sense, perhaps a scent similar to matches or tar, how you reek of deception? You’re transparent as a bulimic’s skin, and your defenses fall apart like paper succumbing to a flame. Click.
But every morning, the faint red breaths of texture marring your skin strike you like Ali with the truth. Only occasional occurrence makes it all okay, right?
Baby, does it make you sense, perhaps a scent similar to matches or tar, how you reek of deception? You’re transparent as a bulimic’s skin, and your defenses fall apart like paper succumbing to a flame. Click.
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