Poetry strikes like lightening, I'm on fire.
I used to watch you play, in awe, in silence
Your lips parted and your eyes closed, and that tongue that can whip insults as quick as quips did it's own soulful, selfish dance amongst sharp white teeth and soft, full lips.
Those hands... oh to be an instrument in those hands!
You play deft fingers over her slender neck, making her sigh.
You twist her strings and she moans.
You press your palm against her carved base and she hums with pleasure, with pain, who knows.
You bled for her. You guarded her very existence with your body. You created her something ethereal...
With you wrapped around her, with you owning that body, those strings, the fret board and with rhythm, you gave her life.
_________________________________
Do you remember when we play-acted?
You called me Judas, and you were Jesus Christ.
Repent, repent! Your eyes are not the eyes that gaze on the LORD!
And now, here we are.
Life imitating art imitating a mythology you don't even believe in.
"Where is your 30 pieces of silver?" You ask, snide and hateful.
"I traded them for strength and life," I reply, pain-filled and traitorous.
I betrayed you, I betrayed you, I'm killing off my Angel.
Perhaps Jesus has fewer followers as he is distant, uncaring, and interested NOT in the lives of men, but of other things.
I wouldn't be your whore, so I became your betrayer.
_____________________________________
Good lord. Too many things are popping back into my head that I thought I was done with. Too many guilts and hurts and wants and wishes that I thought I had finally replaced with something called My Life. (or something like it).
Things are too perfect. Life is just too chaotic. Why be loved for me when all I know how to do is win the love that is hard won and easily shattered?
Instead of playing with dolls I want to play with cracked glass... just to see if it shatters.
I guess what I'm saying is that I miss him. Too many times I hear something on the radio, see something on TV or find something in a shop that reminds me of him, or makes me thing "Gee, he'd have liked that.". Or the jokes. So many inside jokes build up when you've been with someone for so long.
You forget the hard bits, the hurtful bits, and settle on when things were good. I miss those days. Marathons of CSI or SVU. Arguing over which DVD of Futurama to rent. Finding out too late that we've seen the same Simpsons disk about six times.
Its hard to remember the other bits. Real arguments that never happened because I feared his temper. Realer arguments that led to promises and demands of secrecy. The feeling of being trapped.
But gods do I miss him! I miss who he was, what he could have been... and it rips at me that maybe I'm a reason he isn't where he COULD be.
Why do women fixate on the men who've hurt them instead of enjoying the men who make them soar?
Your lips parted and your eyes closed, and that tongue that can whip insults as quick as quips did it's own soulful, selfish dance amongst sharp white teeth and soft, full lips.
Those hands... oh to be an instrument in those hands!
You play deft fingers over her slender neck, making her sigh.
You twist her strings and she moans.
You press your palm against her carved base and she hums with pleasure, with pain, who knows.
You bled for her. You guarded her very existence with your body. You created her something ethereal...
With you wrapped around her, with you owning that body, those strings, the fret board and with rhythm, you gave her life.
_________________________________
Do you remember when we play-acted?
You called me Judas, and you were Jesus Christ.
Repent, repent! Your eyes are not the eyes that gaze on the LORD!
And now, here we are.
Life imitating art imitating a mythology you don't even believe in.
"Where is your 30 pieces of silver?" You ask, snide and hateful.
"I traded them for strength and life," I reply, pain-filled and traitorous.
I betrayed you, I betrayed you, I'm killing off my Angel.
Perhaps Jesus has fewer followers as he is distant, uncaring, and interested NOT in the lives of men, but of other things.
I wouldn't be your whore, so I became your betrayer.
_____________________________________
Good lord. Too many things are popping back into my head that I thought I was done with. Too many guilts and hurts and wants and wishes that I thought I had finally replaced with something called My Life. (or something like it).
Things are too perfect. Life is just too chaotic. Why be loved for me when all I know how to do is win the love that is hard won and easily shattered?
Instead of playing with dolls I want to play with cracked glass... just to see if it shatters.
I guess what I'm saying is that I miss him. Too many times I hear something on the radio, see something on TV or find something in a shop that reminds me of him, or makes me thing "Gee, he'd have liked that.". Or the jokes. So many inside jokes build up when you've been with someone for so long.
You forget the hard bits, the hurtful bits, and settle on when things were good. I miss those days. Marathons of CSI or SVU. Arguing over which DVD of Futurama to rent. Finding out too late that we've seen the same Simpsons disk about six times.
Its hard to remember the other bits. Real arguments that never happened because I feared his temper. Realer arguments that led to promises and demands of secrecy. The feeling of being trapped.
But gods do I miss him! I miss who he was, what he could have been... and it rips at me that maybe I'm a reason he isn't where he COULD be.
Why do women fixate on the men who've hurt them instead of enjoying the men who make them soar?