no poetry is sewn to these confessional sighs. i have been foolish, i have been swallowed by the idea of sanity and spit out a relapse, with the stitches torn out. stolen memories of precious procedure, fantasy turned into fallen dreams, orbs of light soft white imploded, bright streams of flashing heat through where the clouds have escaped, streams that disappear into the atmosphere of a cobalt sky PLEASE MAKE IT STOP
in these fantasies, I dance, swayed hips and raised arms, weightless hair cascading, joining the rhythm of invigorating currents spiraling down my spine to the flowerless garden that yearns for something that you are, or SOMETHING that i keep deceiving myself that you could be. i think i have failed, not myself, not another bedroom mind, but a fiction I had nurtured into my veins, my lungs, my own bedroom thoughts. i have been too embarrassed, too scared, too shy, too nervous, i hate it all. [september08september08september08]
maybe my heart is yours, my mind, my body as well. NO. those sudden words, those letters that float, heavy weighted, light density of innocent breath, no. not love. i am crazy. all sorts of fucked up, all sorts of scared, fearful, excited, lustful, crazy for you. love will not be part of this parade, this sleepwalk trampling. when i've broken, arrive with a bridal rescue from this ground, allow me limp in your arms like a midnight carriage as you pass through the arc, then lay me with lament - i know you, sweet, so singular. let me be placed below you in this way, i am forever, the notches in the leather - i am lifeless.
