a daydream spillsyou'd think it would get easier.you'd think, with every passing day the usual sting would lessen, just a little bit.muted, turned down like volume control.and strangely enough it doesn't.two years and that volume hasn't gone down one notch.christmas rolls around again, birthdays.and still it thuds away, a needle in the back of the brain.nuclear family blew upand we all flew through the air, in different directions.our Chernobyl is alive with the glory of love.this imitation of family values is too bright to be real.too highly polished, too obviousto put these cancer patients to sleep.
this doesn't need a titleso i wrote you down, filed you, put you in a folder in the back of the drawer.under x.i wrote down everything i knew about you, which is everything in essence.i wrote you both down, you'll always be together now.and then i set you on fire, paper you of course.i struck a whole box of matches and watched you burn, curling up at the edges-trying to get away.on the floor, paper you, twirling up at the edges.as if praying to the stars to save you.and then the rain came.and put you out, so i guess that prayer worked.even in the light and heat and raw anger of fire you survived.and proved even Plato wrong.so you turned to mus
in spite of languagewriters are just cowards.what sort of man can't say what he means but can capture his thoughts so perfectly on paper?those who can't do, teach.those who can't speak, write.what sort of person prefers a pen between his fingers over a woman in his bed?writers will always be doomed never to live life, only to write about it.they aren't participants, they are the commentators.so you go off and youll fall in loveand Ill write my bitterness out on my paper and Ill talk about how you never wanted meand my pages will be filled with every emotion I ever felt, the ones youll never see.all these thoughts will
after darkwe are so fragile and breakable so why throw ourselves from such great heights?my mouth was kept shut under lock and key and i couldn't warn you about how much trouble i was and whether i was worth it.perfection was never coveted, i wanted to memorise the rise and fall of your breath as you slept - to bask in those moments and wish you were conscious enough to love me for doing so.we keep ripping up these old wounds, forgetting scar tissue was built to last.all the while i dangled up here, a puppet watching over life as it played out on stage below me.and steadily, more and more each day my toes got a little higher off the ground.
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