Saturday, November 30, 2013

"If I spit on you, will you let me go?"

Tonight, I kept both my make-up and headband on hoping you'd notice. Yours are the only stares that will ever count. Crooked steps, stained clothes, and red eyes are warning signs for the gut, but as always, I remain victimless.
Tonight I don't feel creative but I'll describe through selection.
 Dignity is the spine that holds an arm-crossed walk  back to the car, in the cold, at 3AM, on quiet streets. But my head was boiling dramatically from the greatest and most (in)appropriate war with fear. I could never decide which side to be on. Passion makes the biggest fool of me by trying to hold you, how terrible is the idea that my kind of passion is only for the weak and given to the sane. I'm not ashamed of self-inflicted wounds. The kinds that are painfully ripping down the solid lines that make up you and me. The lines that are built with the positivty of 3 years and that make me ridiculous to be introduced to wild Persistence. The drive back is really what is peeling all the sweetness of fruit to the dullest and harmful core which hurts me to reach. I might've placed my hand on the canvas bag about 5 times to see if it would vibrate. Stupid Hope. What I told you about D was true but there wasn't a way to prove it. And now after 10 hours of work, I hate to be alone without you or your warmth. But phrases and words like the title of this post are like blows that awaken this unexplainable surface that I know could be kept gentle and beautiful. The bad part is that I know I'm crazy. Love dominated me.

No comments:

Post a Comment