「 Original 」 ``Dear Love.``
Dedicated to Jas and what she's going through. Hang tight, bb. ♥
Dear Love,
You’re such tyranny with definition, a control that’s real and silken and promising. Green paint never sinking into cardboard boxes, environmental protection from miniscule threats. Uniform collages, a kaleidoscope of communism and conformity. Facetious irony, because the burns will make you sigh. Your squandered little thimble-jacks (and jills…) to fit on the thumb.
You can’t feel a heartbeat just by holding hands.
Belonging tastes like chardonnay, and limbs twitch like electric currents through wires just to prove that you’re alive. That tongue cuts like an eight-inch blade, frosted with divination. Silver isn’t just for words, but the mercury might just make you sick. Cry spit & drool tears; there is no `mercy` in mercernary (or martyr, for that matter). Cry me a river and I’ll swin in the ocean, because it all winds up being the same: still so salty.
Everyone says IloveyouIwantyouIneedyou -- be more original! There’s so much I want & need & will never say so don’t get your hopes up. “Open” signs are convenient but it’s “closed” that really gets a reaction out of you, and dizziness is only a temporary spell, but enchantment’s ever lasting. Playing pretend is okay for a little while, but paper only lasts so long and Paper-Mache has already been wet down.
Stop burning me love CD’s; I’d rather hear you sing.
So I guess those days really mean nothing, because it’s with lucid eyes that I look back on them. You get so serious so fast, with your cute little bows on the crevices of your lingerie and your riding-up boys’ shorts. I remember I loved you in flannel. And then you offered me a monolith of pleasure -- but it turned out to be more like a table-top, a plateau. I’d rather see your hands clean than touch me.
Sometimes you have to know when to say Good-Bye, when to stop scrying on skin and just take the answers you get. Orange might have been your favorite color, but you look like shit in it (with your dirty brown hair and your stern mouth). So stop teasing me and stop testing me and throw out all those love letters.
I’m ready to go my own way.
Dear Love,
You’re such tyranny with definition, a control that’s real and silken and promising. Green paint never sinking into cardboard boxes, environmental protection from miniscule threats. Uniform collages, a kaleidoscope of communism and conformity. Facetious irony, because the burns will make you sigh. Your squandered little thimble-jacks (and jills…) to fit on the thumb.
You can’t feel a heartbeat just by holding hands.
Belonging tastes like chardonnay, and limbs twitch like electric currents through wires just to prove that you’re alive. That tongue cuts like an eight-inch blade, frosted with divination. Silver isn’t just for words, but the mercury might just make you sick. Cry spit & drool tears; there is no `mercy` in mercernary (or martyr, for that matter). Cry me a river and I’ll swin in the ocean, because it all winds up being the same: still so salty.
Everyone says IloveyouIwantyouIneedyou -- be more original! There’s so much I want & need & will never say so don’t get your hopes up. “Open” signs are convenient but it’s “closed” that really gets a reaction out of you, and dizziness is only a temporary spell, but enchantment’s ever lasting. Playing pretend is okay for a little while, but paper only lasts so long and Paper-Mache has already been wet down.
Stop burning me love CD’s; I’d rather hear you sing.
So I guess those days really mean nothing, because it’s with lucid eyes that I look back on them. You get so serious so fast, with your cute little bows on the crevices of your lingerie and your riding-up boys’ shorts. I remember I loved you in flannel. And then you offered me a monolith of pleasure -- but it turned out to be more like a table-top, a plateau. I’d rather see your hands clean than touch me.
Sometimes you have to know when to say Good-Bye, when to stop scrying on skin and just take the answers you get. Orange might have been your favorite color, but you look like shit in it (with your dirty brown hair and your stern mouth). So stop teasing me and stop testing me and throw out all those love letters.
I’m ready to go my own way.