here comes the sun. shit.
never more alone as in the sober mornings, the ego-burst of drunken comfort and friendly reassurances replaced by that fierce fucking Fear. Fear of what? not the unknown,
cuz i KNOW. i know the dead-stares and the heart-implosions, the way tears rest on the inner rims of eyelids just waiting for an insistent memory or newly ancient artifact to rush them out like angry landlords. i know the constant cold, the soul-cold, the absence of heat. the lack of friction, just a shell sliding smoothly through, stopping only long enough now and then to forget,
and the forgetting makes the remembering just that much worse. to dwell deeper or come up for air? to rebel or relent? do i just let my heart die, lay it down and sing it lullabies? or do i lie, forge fate's signature and fake visions of a false future?
i do not want my heart to die, my friends. it's been so good to me, so bubbling-bright, a pouncing, playful puppy in my chest. it scampers, stumbling up my spine and licks me behind my eyeballs, shitting thick heaps of happiness in piles on my brain. it is crippled now,
like one of those one-eyed frowning dogs in the humane society commercials, barely mobile and limping slowly towards the spot beneath my gut where it will finally give in. rotting, it will seep a sickly-sweet stillness.
we will bury it in a bottle of cheap tequila. please send limes in lieu of flowers.
cuz i KNOW. i know the dead-stares and the heart-implosions, the way tears rest on the inner rims of eyelids just waiting for an insistent memory or newly ancient artifact to rush them out like angry landlords. i know the constant cold, the soul-cold, the absence of heat. the lack of friction, just a shell sliding smoothly through, stopping only long enough now and then to forget,
and the forgetting makes the remembering just that much worse. to dwell deeper or come up for air? to rebel or relent? do i just let my heart die, lay it down and sing it lullabies? or do i lie, forge fate's signature and fake visions of a false future?
i do not want my heart to die, my friends. it's been so good to me, so bubbling-bright, a pouncing, playful puppy in my chest. it scampers, stumbling up my spine and licks me behind my eyeballs, shitting thick heaps of happiness in piles on my brain. it is crippled now,
like one of those one-eyed frowning dogs in the humane society commercials, barely mobile and limping slowly towards the spot beneath my gut where it will finally give in. rotting, it will seep a sickly-sweet stillness.
we will bury it in a bottle of cheap tequila. please send limes in lieu of flowers.