(no subject)
Don't you wish you could change the world with a flick of your hips and a lick of your lips.
Sometimes I fear this place I'm living in. Like fearing the path you tread, but I'm not moving. I think sometimes I'm dying inside. It's a natural occurrence for anyone I would expect but it feels like my heart grows, expanding and retracting back smaller each time I put my pale hand to my chest. I want to be free.
Sometimes I expect to feel a warm hand on my arm. I sometimes wish I could be someone completely different. Strong like her, her blood runs through my veins but I cannot feel it's presence anymore. And those before her. Mighty and running like an animal shrugging off inhibitions and frailty in my soul. I feel like a chemical reaction sometimes. Changing color, texture, taste, feel, but only internally. I wonder if one day they're might be a lethal reaction and I'll just fall apart inside. Melt away into something completely different or combust into a million tiny sparkling particles and mix with the air and dust and dirt and mingle with flesh I've never known. I feel outside myself and it's a powerful thing, and I wish I felt this infinite constantly and I wish I could explain it to people I want to know me. And I mean really know me. But apparently I don't even know the face that stares back in the mirror so it's still internal. This place, this state of mind, it's killing me. I need room to move and I want to travel with someone. I know I can't do anything alone now, but even so it's just geography.
Desperately I feel like I'm gone. I can taste sand in my mouth gritting my teeth and letting the dry air take my breathe. I smell vinegar and deep red wine and feel it in my veins. Golden sunsets and smoggy dark city skies. On either side is still so fucking beautiful.
Windows are dangerous. Lethal and terrifying. Where I'm at closing my eyes I can see myself in a giant box each wall a window pane and it feels so good seeing everything and it's all real. In the same I am exposed too living like a shameless exhibitionist. Paintings are easier to lose yourself in because they can take you away from your reality. Windows let you see what's real and what scares you. The things that can really hurt you. You see things you love and want and you reach to touch a painting and you know it's paint and ink, oils and pastels, you reach toward a window and it hurts to know it's real. And it holds you back. You smash your fist through and bleed and bleed and the picture becomes jagged yet clear and crimson. But it's still real.
It's dangerous to lose yourself in a fantasy. You can't watch life behind a lens forever. Nor through other peoples eyes, or through your fingertips, watching and pressing yourself onto other peoples lips. Eventually it all gets tangled in your hands and it becomes vital to break it apart. Nothing but the ground beneath you. And you had better watch because it's a hell of a fall when you forget it's there.
Sometimes I fear this place I'm living in. Like fearing the path you tread, but I'm not moving. I think sometimes I'm dying inside. It's a natural occurrence for anyone I would expect but it feels like my heart grows, expanding and retracting back smaller each time I put my pale hand to my chest. I want to be free.
Sometimes I expect to feel a warm hand on my arm. I sometimes wish I could be someone completely different. Strong like her, her blood runs through my veins but I cannot feel it's presence anymore. And those before her. Mighty and running like an animal shrugging off inhibitions and frailty in my soul. I feel like a chemical reaction sometimes. Changing color, texture, taste, feel, but only internally. I wonder if one day they're might be a lethal reaction and I'll just fall apart inside. Melt away into something completely different or combust into a million tiny sparkling particles and mix with the air and dust and dirt and mingle with flesh I've never known. I feel outside myself and it's a powerful thing, and I wish I felt this infinite constantly and I wish I could explain it to people I want to know me. And I mean really know me. But apparently I don't even know the face that stares back in the mirror so it's still internal. This place, this state of mind, it's killing me. I need room to move and I want to travel with someone. I know I can't do anything alone now, but even so it's just geography.
Desperately I feel like I'm gone. I can taste sand in my mouth gritting my teeth and letting the dry air take my breathe. I smell vinegar and deep red wine and feel it in my veins. Golden sunsets and smoggy dark city skies. On either side is still so fucking beautiful.
Windows are dangerous. Lethal and terrifying. Where I'm at closing my eyes I can see myself in a giant box each wall a window pane and it feels so good seeing everything and it's all real. In the same I am exposed too living like a shameless exhibitionist. Paintings are easier to lose yourself in because they can take you away from your reality. Windows let you see what's real and what scares you. The things that can really hurt you. You see things you love and want and you reach to touch a painting and you know it's paint and ink, oils and pastels, you reach toward a window and it hurts to know it's real. And it holds you back. You smash your fist through and bleed and bleed and the picture becomes jagged yet clear and crimson. But it's still real.
It's dangerous to lose yourself in a fantasy. You can't watch life behind a lens forever. Nor through other peoples eyes, or through your fingertips, watching and pressing yourself onto other peoples lips. Eventually it all gets tangled in your hands and it becomes vital to break it apart. Nothing but the ground beneath you. And you had better watch because it's a hell of a fall when you forget it's there.