but she’s no…

There is screaming in the churches. There is no holy temple. By no grace of god does she suffer. Through the rippled blue green yellow of the glassy scene she is balled up on the floor, fists pounding the stones unevened by years of constant prayer. Eyes streaming, glancing up at a cross, there is no saviour; he moved to a different shore long ago. So on the cold she lies, tells herself that, locked inside, she is a relic safe from harm, the bloodless tears and smooth palms a sign. She’d part the Red Sea if she could, but she’s no Moses. Instead, relentless, she white-handed grabs the chalice of wine, letting the sharp red bless-less cup close her eyes. She’d part the sea, if she could.

la la la

The air smells of smoke tonight, sirens spinning around, the doppler effect pulling their screams in and out. And in. Somewhere someone is in trouble, and I’m sitting here, ice cubes melting. It hurts my brain to try and think of what everyone must be doing, wherever they are. More, I wonder what keeps everyone going in their bubbles of money and lust, their all important lives. Lust. Years spent salivating, toes curled white knuckled clutching bed sheets at the thought of a name. It’s a nice word, the tongue to teeth L sound the most action you’ve gotten in months. You’ve?  I’ve.  Me, me, me.

the simple pleasure of being able to see someone’s toes

I want you here to speak quietly to me, and to watch foreign films that we cannot understand because our eyes are not on the subtitles. I do not think that it is too much to ask for, simplicity, perhaps happiness. Just because I so miss your arms, I do not want you to come half-heartedly back.
It’s beginning to really feel like fall here in Brooklyn, the smell of rusty, fallen leaves breaking down consumes the air, fills this room through the cracked window. You’re missing autumn, I wonder if that has occurred to you yet. It doesn’t bother you enough to make you come running here, to wrap me up and dim the lights (not that I blame you, I’m just giving you a hard time). I’d love to grab your hand and shout “Let’s go! Let’s go!” Or maybe not, and just hold onto you for a little while. It is so easy to miss feeling you. I hate the way the feelings, the memories of them, fade the longer that you’re gone. I wonder when I will see you again, wonder how I’ll keep myself quietly in line when I do. Maybe I’ll surprise you, could I?

promises

I keep my eyes closed a lot lately, my lids are just so heavy. Except I don’t dream.

I sink into the darkness, deeper still. I’m always falling. And in the dark, where I used to be haunted by your face, your eyes, I see nothing — I’m lost. My hands don’t even try to save me, my hope gone. It’s a strange, heavy feeling, hopelessness.

I make these promises to myself, they always go unfulfilled. Hopeless and helpless, quite the pair. Maybe I am supposed to try harder, but try what?

Something needs to pull me out of this. I haven’t the strength. It takes all I have just to try and sink a little more slowly. I almost don’t even know who I am, not that it much matters.

so close

it’s one thing

to be pulled down so low — and still have the hope that things will get better, that it will be worth it.

 

it’s completely another to be told that everything is hopeless and pointless and impossible.
& if that is REALLY the case….then just freaking let go already.

i’m tired of being pushed so close to the ground.

honey

swallowing, gulping it down until my lungs are full, my eyes bulging at the golden and rosy hues as they wave behind the stained glass shiftiness of the swell

wishing that i could find the words to tell you that i’m so scared

that maybe, my head undersea, i don’t really know what i am doing

tears roll, honey dripping down my face, onto my flowered dress      bees are going to come, i won’t be invisible anymore        i just need somewhere to hide, for a little while, until i can feel my feet again, until i can run   and run      andrun thousands of miles and be safe, and dry, and close

throwing myself in front of a…

there are nights…okay, there are many nights that i lie wine-soaked and mind wandering, so many thoughts that i can’t get any of them out. i lay there, speechless, when i’ve so much to let you know. like how you saying that you love me love me love me is as close to paralyzing as something can be without throwing myself in front of a train, but how i long to hear those words coming only inches from my face.

sometimes i think that i am just a terribly lost cause. i want something so much that i spend my days blind-sided. and i don’t even mind. i wonder if everything should bother me in a way that it doesn’t, in a more negative way that forces me to see some bit of light that i’ve been missing.

i don’t understand how i could ever be so invested in something, but here i am. maybe i sometimes ask things of you that are a little bit selfish, but i never have before and i might feel just a bit entitled…but only a bit.

wish you were drunk

My world is spinning now, I can feel that it is even though you aren’t here with me. Mixing gin and wine has a way of doing that to you, making you aware of how things keep moving and growing even when you think that you are so low, so stationary.

I guess that means that I keep moving (or that I keep drinking) and that you still aren’t here and that you’re still trying to convince me that your very existence is shit.

And I’m still trying to convince you that I need you all the same.

I so wish you were drunk with me.

…that makes children scream

Sometimes I don’t recognize that face, smeared gray and dripping black, blood red smeared outside of the lines. It’s like a very sad joke of a clown, the kind that makes children scream. It’s a terrible, fixable thing. Still a pity, though.

dry-eyed and wonderful

Today I will be alright, even if I have to fake it. I will be dry-eyed and wonderful. Because I’ve pitied myself enough in these past few days. And because I need to be okay, you’d want me to be.

I’m unsure of my self-worth. Things would be so much easier if I at least had a steady income, if I could come and go as I please. I’m working on it, desperately. More afraid of than being hurt, I don’t want to be disappointed. I’m terrified. I thought that I had learned not to get my hopes and expectations too high, but they’re so far up there that I can hardly see them. It’s alright though, I’ve got faith in you. I’m alright.