before sunrise// burn these lips

shadow

I’m quietly overwhelmed by all my feelings lately, throbbing to the forefront of my mind like an math equation that hasn’t been planned out thoroughly. I get into a screaming match in the middle of the night, throwing my voice and words around like an avalanche. The women in my life know me so well, spilling their thoughts into words that sound like an echo of my own thoughts. My anxiety builds, and it threatens to overthrow this bleak shadow of a blanket I’ve wrapped my skin in or vice versa. Once the heart is splintered there is no going back, it swallows up the rest of you into an ocean of anguish. I dream of drifting into the night… taken by the darkness of the stars, the melancholy stare of the moon until my body disintegrates into a pile of ashes, even my clothes taken by the bleakness of the night.
  • Current Mood
    complacent complacent
before sunrise// burn these lips

the truth in your lies

She slivers in like some deadly snake, quaking in the night and I take a stab at crying out like a lonesome dove. She picks at my feathers, until her teeth are wrapped around my throbbing head, taking me all in with her mouth. I am crying again, again, again. Stop it. This madness is indefinitely maddening. How does one keep a secret? By tightening those pretty red lips made of venom with a quickening, slick tongue. I want to use the word hate but it isn’t heavy enough, valid enough because hate only comes when the love has rotted away. Strange that I can feel her love even if she struck my name like some unknown rhythmic cord and hid it away from her irrational, homophobic mother. I wonder if she will strip naked one day for a man, thicken with a tightened orgasm and reach the throes of passion in which I took her quick on that shadowy bed with wide open windows. I wish to be a man sometimes, then she would not keep me embedded in secret.
  • Current Mood
    cold cold
Veronica/Logan I remember how you felt

without love i won't survive

The moon is still full and pregnant in my dream, dancing across the sky as it did in my reality only a week or so ago. It’s harmonized with the baby child wrapped in blankets beside me. What a dream. I make a horrible mother. She is brown skinned with deep chocolate eyes, and tiny fingers staring up at me. I listen to her heart beat silently, and shake her to make sure she is still alive. This baby child has shown up in my dreams before, the night before but that dream is not as cross as this one. I leave her alone, in a humongous house and expect nothing to happen to her. Guilt riddles me as I awake from this madness. The house I lived in full of emptiness and the land before it flooded with not enough space, houses upon each other as if they were shields from the outside world.

Apparently these sort of dreams (which I’ve never had until now) are significant. Most often I have dreamt of being pregnant but not of an actual baby. In a way I have been in a deep, dark, scary place for some time, and perhaps it is time my dreams reflect that. The neglect of oneself rearing it’s ugly head into my subconscious. Lately I’ve been feeling spoon fed of ideas I’d like to construct and then I find myself complacent, even lethargic. I have rubbed myself wrong this year and there is so little solace inside myself. I am haunted by my own insanity, by the madness that has often surrounded me. I hate my body but this is not new for I’ve struggled with this hatred since adolescence although never developed the disorders many women my age did at the peak of fashion mags in the nineties showing heroin chic chicks like Kate Moss wrapped in skin and bones. I was thinner then though, my metabolism quicker to wrap everything up and wash it away – I walked longer.

I’ve been avoiding work emails, and phone calls. Why do I do this? It’s almost as if I cannot stand the idea of pressing myself to the camera lens right now. I am too raw at least it feels this way. If it is not for a friend I cannot bear my soul for green paper that I will throw away anyway on something stupid, and whimsical. I want to break away from the heartbreak that has haunted me these years, shed my skin and start anew. Strange that most recently a man told me it was obvious that I was a woman who had had her heart savaged. Is it that obvious? Do I wear the scar on the outside as readily as it is on the inside? Some people see me better than others. Although someone very close to me told me that I do not seem okay. What does this even mean anymore?

Once had, barely forgotten. I am always fascinated by people who had not seemed to genuinely be in love – for then would you desire someone else? I do not want the kind of love that is shared. I wish I could be that way. I have tried so hard to shape my romanticism into something other than what I am. I suppress everything though as if I were a bottle nipped shut by a cork. How do people recover from the tenderness of true love? I wish I could wrap my head around my heart and turn it’s strangeness into logic. Is it true even when it ends?
  • Current Music
    the radio
before sunset// i lost all this

enough

I used to think it was that I didn’t love her enough if there is such a thing, and now I know that it is that I love her more than myself enough to sacrifice my desires and wants to appease her own. In a way I’m haunted by all the love I feel for her, stretching out through miles like the space between two people that is only measured in breaths. Suppression is key and so it only comes out in the briefest of moments when I am too drunk to control my heart. It trickles to the surface like a burst of electricity searching for the moment to unleash itself to make its territory known. It is no wonder I’ve never quite been able to move once my heart fell for hers it was destined to stay that way. I can live with the emptiness of regrets, of the ugly horror that came later in life with people who I couldn’t love to certain degrees – and most of all I can live with the idea of her and I never, ever being together – because in a way it’s what I deserve what I have to live through. It is part of my love map.
  • Current Mood
    jealous jealous
before sunrise// burn these lips

love. you.

My heart is all the rage, wet and slippery beyond my fingertips. Occasionally I can hear an echo in my head, a rhythmic voice telling me to rip it out. These images have always haunted me. A stiff, still beating heart doused on the floor against a pile of blood and fluid – always half wooden and steel. Thump, thump, thump.

Memorial day brings out a crazy load of demons piling themselves like wiry soldiers in my mind. The night before a riot breaks out – right before my doorstep and I stumble to reach for a group of small children in the middle of an ugly cross fire. I can’t help but think death has made a soldier out of me, worse because I have no real image of his lifeless body sometimes I wish in darker moments that I did. That I’d had the guts to face him unmoving, and solid – his once full of light and life body stiff in front of me – but all I can remember is the coffin and the flag. The sound of another lover telling me he wad dead and the way my skin felt in that long sleeve black dress, how I wanted to crumble on the dirt when the coffin shrunk on the ground of snow. I can see myself from afar like a broken down doll, bodies holding me up – his mother walking towards me her arms all wide to take me in. This ache never goes away it has simply found a way to survive inside of what feels like a tomb.

Is it wrong to wish it was me instead of him? Could my life have substituted his own? He was so much better than me – at everything.
  • Current Mood
    jealous jealous
Jesse and Celine maybe he'll dissolve

i feel about you now.

Is it possible to know someone without really knowing them? As if there is some instantaneous connection pulling you together, like two strands of a cord wrapped up in a coil shade of gold. I’ve experienced this only once, in a different shade, and from a different place and time when my heart was floundering in uncertainty. This could easily be a drunken moment, the endorphins of a fit of dancing till my body urged with pain getting their kick on. It doesn’t feel that way though. Isn’t it all about feeling - everything, anything? The music is loud, drowning my ears, and since my body isn’t moving I’m in for a shocking moment of truth when the pain is more fierce than anything else – except her who sticks in my mind. I touch her face. I can’t remember if I’ve seen her all night, not that I’ve been paying attention to faces. They’ve all blurred together in the spiral of my body, and hair. Her skin is soft beneath my palm and I pull away as she looks up at me in surprise – satisfaction maybe. Later she tells me she couldn’t keep her eyes off me, as if they’d perched a spot on my flesh she couldn’t wipe clean. I tell her she looks like someone, some so special I’m not sure which one of them I want more the ghost from the past, or the flesh that is real and lingering in front of me. A smile so wide, and eyes so dark with anticipation I’m pulling out my card before my fingers can do anything else. She repeats her name over and over again. I laugh, telling her I’ll remember because I will.

She stays close in my mind, after it focuses on walking to the subway, down the steps and into a car. (I wait with Paula who reminds me all night of how precious my friendships are and how lucky I am to have women in my life who I love, and who love me. Even if a thousand strands of time pass between us our closeness and easiness never fades like riding a bike after years of not having one.) This woman is stuck, Jae. Jae. Jae. Jae. Maybe it is all about timing, luck – when you open yourself up to possibilities the universe throws you a bone. I worry the rest of the morning whether she’ll lose my card. I don’t believe in secrets or stalling. I give anyone interested my card, better they know I’m a gypsy and have a revolving life that spawns emotional outbreaks then for them to learn later. I am what I am. I don’t sleep as the sun comes up, and lay my eyes across the high ceiling and hear someone walking their dog outside talking, loudly. I am still worrying then. The anticipation is enough to entwine a thousand needles of caterpillars in my stomach that quickly merge to butterflies. She doesn’t wait long, on the train my phone lights up and there she is telling me I’ve got her curious, and the conversation runs into the next day. I take it back, we never know anyone our minds and hearts just wander over them in some recognition of mindfulness or soulfulness either one. She’s struck a cord, a tender openness in my heart that was awaiting the plucking so I guess that’s luck or heartbreak.
  • Current Music
    ryan adams
Ava and Frank so in love

slumdog



He says we can live on love. It’s a dynamic and endless theme – love, love, love without food or water we could live on love. I’ve always thought this, wouldn’t your body confine itself to the knowledge, your brain working to remind your stomach it was full of everything else. Consumed by the power, and overwhelming sensation of it, when you have nothing this notion is so much better than the alternative – having nothing with no one. The problems of our childhood melt away like shadows in the night, monsters ridden and bound together elsewhere in our memories. Sure, we could live on love. Our thirst for anything else would be redefined.
  • Current Music
    that 70's show
Veronica/Logan I still feel so much for

You built my hopes up so high

A switch hits, back in reverse. I hold onto the clutch of my heart and it breaks. The tears run like a river of change but I’m right back to where I started. The grief still stifles me, oddly enough I can take a good physical beating, scratched and bruised and bleeding all over the place but my heart can’t emerge unscathed from the emotional journeys, everything quakes inside of me like a volcano about to erupt. I’m stuck in nightmares lately, the haunting ugly shades of them. I’m on the couch sobbing uncontrollably, till I grab a mirror just to see if my skin looks as red and burning as it feels. Fuck it feels so bad, like the first moments I heard of his death. I’m stuck inside this foreign paradise in my dreams where he is alive, talking to me on that rock by the bomb fire telling me we’ll be together – and I awake angry, and anxious.

All my friends have lovers, boyfriends or girlfriends and I can’t seem to tame the longing inside of me. The self destruction phase of his death is over, the trying to grapple with it when it makes no sense. Someone so young could die so soon. I miss him every fucking day, every day. I wish someone would have told me the pain wouldn’t disperse that it would only increase – sometimes I find myself screaming like an wild woman, a werewolf at no one and nothing in particular just the glow of his smile lingers in my mind and it breaks through like an shade of sunshine on a gloomy day. His car pulling up beside me, his head tilting to look at me with so much power of love I never knew how to hold it. I am covered in a window of white, a widow of some sorts for there is way he knew me no one else will. There are burdens lovers disperse on you with conditions but he never held any, and maybe it was I who made too big a deal of his shortcomings but we were young, and love is idealistic and centric to your life then. There is nothing else to hold you.

I listen to Led Zeppelin in the back of my mind, holding the remnants of our summers together, my back pressed along his hard chest, his shoulders carrying all my weight. The way he smelled like soap even after gym class, or the way he’d pat me on the head just to annoy me. The way we’d strum pot stricken lips and hands across each other, and how he’d make me laugh till I cried in fits. We broke each other’s hearts every summer, every winter, and would come back together like two puzzle pieces matched to work under any circumstance the birch of wood fought us. His grave is wet with snow, sunken into the ground where his body lays and I perch my feel there where only that rests the rest of him is with me somewhere, making me laugh sometimes, or sing and dance around my room. He’s with me while I write this book and so I think of him more often now – but I cringe when people press the word time. Time is only one essence of a symmetry of movement and my heart will never grasp the loss of a love who I could see sleep or shower.

We ran tracks on each other’s backs, and mimicked those ugly stories that betray your heart but like everything else I make headway because of his love for me. I suppose the darkness is only a part of the lightness in other days to come. For now my heart stands still, darkened and corroded. It is what it is, and one day maybe the pain will lesson by cementing my heart with another but I don’t imagine I will ever be as innocent or as pure in thought and expression as I was with him. He took the brute of my selfishness, and directness and still stumbled towards me like a moving train, never stopping, never looking back. He took my heart in his and hung onto it – till the day he died. If only the guilt would settle in my heart so that I could grieve properly. I wish he would have come to me, like all the days of childhood and romance instead of taking it all into his own unlawful hands. When you love someone you miss of them the most mundane things, the way their breath smelled when they kissed you or the lurch of their teeth when they talked. For him the things run an endless mile of memories. His stealthy body jumping out my bedroom window, and making me scream and throw myself towards it till he bounced up smiling at me with wondrous eyes. We all have first loves don’t we? The temperament of children but we never expect them to die. I hate this word, death – die. They breed together like water on ice and I want to rip them apart and wrap them in life, life, life.

The desire to runaway is quickening in my system, and if I weren’t writing this novel I would melt away somewhere, run away from this city, from this town that holds way too much of it. Who will love me more than the world I travel? A friend said this recently, and it got me thinking is it that I can’t accept love because the world gives me so much more than what a lover can – or is that my heart has just become a stone wall and even knocking it down with a bowling ball wouldn’t trigger an solution. We all close up for other reasons, embark on different journeys of the heart because of it but mine is restless and broken for even before this I was a wreck in this department now I’m just a raging fever of madness, and betrayal afraid everyone I love will be whisked away someday to a faraway land I can’t get to till life finalizes my time. I’ve got to believe we will meet again, somewhere – sometime otherwise I’d never awake from my nightmarish dreams and settle into a deep slumber where death and life converge.
  • Current Music
    led zeppelin
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