I went looking for lies to tell myself. The kind that distort your face with plastic wrap, but have holes enough to let you breathe. I went out wearing the roll of the dice and came home with nothing.
Little girls don't know what they want. Big one aren't sure what they can have. It's not the men. It how willing we are to be used by them if it might mean not sleeping alone.
There in her Pandora smile she let the box open. Eager for a respite from all that hope. Curious. No. She'd seen it all escape before. And come back less.
Talking to Zeus in big fairy tales. Like the bracelets she still has pictures of herself wearing. Long winters that promised to end, but never did. Confections of skin that gave us away just as we were learning how to taste their sweetness.
I'm not asking to be remembered. I just don't want to be forgotten.
The words are fickle, but what they say is consistent.
I'm talking to myself again.
Sguar pills choosing where the sickness begins.
Monday
1/21/2008 01:03:00 AM
Sad Labels:
acceptance
,
daunted
,
manic
,
sad
,
sex
Its not possible to read you without hanging in your hangouts.
Without the smell of your skin your words refuse translation...so little by little; respectfully i explore the archeology of your beautiful "lies".
Getting drunk and intoxicated by you and your swooning words..struggling to get back home.
Each day i read a little more tasting the poison in your sad poems...yet, have'nt seen many flying in such loftier air...wondering how it keeps getting you there....
By the way ..was much flatter'd by your approval on what i honestly thought about you....
Have'nt read it all -- you can be sure i'll be visiting you again.
I simply love the way you mumble your "lies".
what a wonderful connection we've made without even trying.
that i suppose is why people write and why people read.
thank you for reading.
Post a Comment