but that was when i ruled the world...
i am a sick man.
i have trouble sleeping, a soft sleep...there weren't many bodies hanging around here, not as many as i'd hoped for.
the day is opening its eyes.
i still feel like shit, after sleeping all day...and waking to nothing...sleeping and waking to yearning.
i am a sick man.
an empty man.
this loneliness is fleeting, wrap your arms around me now, for it shouldn't be long and i will not soon forget it...
i will not soon forget it.
i had better not branch out like once before, tea makes the soul a rich and vivid garden, all those roots i'd dug up and chopped into pieces. and they grew back, but they grew far from me. i met a woman on my way home the other night, with shocking hair and a silent smile. she reminded me of gloria swanson.
where am i going?
home.
a titter somewhere behind me, perhaps a rat. why?
why what?
why are you going home?
nothing else to do. i walked.
i haven't cried in months. it's been a while since i've last sinned with flesh other than my own; laying in the bed of a woman i'd met online, she'd only wanted me for my cock, she had problems deeper than my own. i sought to fix her, but she wouldn't even let me try. her short hair falling over her face as she fought demons in her sleep, i watched her. she'd made me happy, only temporary. i cried when i had to leave her, ended up in a bar with my face planted in a pile of ashes. We live in a beautiful world.
she hasn't spoken much to me since, busy with modeling i guess, she's also a writer. I sometimes wish i hadn't said so much to her, i never let people know too much, they tend too quickly to enjoy the possibility of deception, funny concepts people are.
i've caused too much trouble on the inside.
the emptiness hasn't resided much, my hands are still tough, i guess that still makes me a man. i clear my throat and stretch...there's a certain way to connect to another being. if i ever figure it out, i'll let you know the way to it all. my head hurts slightly. i crack my knuckles and walk outside.
how does one go about purchasing the world?
mirror my soul, i looked at my reflection and watched the deformation.
i am a sick woman, following the secrets in the looking glass. i've worked up a sweat thinking about all the lovers i've crushed and shredded, feeding them to the revolutionaries in france. for some reason, i know the looking glass has a much better view, someday when i am not so ill, i should like to visit every one on the other side of it. I'd felt his hair in my hands and his head in my lap. i looked down at his sleeping face and smiled, you're just another body in my bed, won't you stay for a little while? i should think my arms and legs will become tired and cold after you've turned the fire down.
i can see the behaviorisms in my self...saviors and -isms never quite suited my fancy. 'either that wallpaper goes or i do.' i closed my eyes, waiting for you to recognize my beauty, for i am sure i am beautiful. and one of these days, one of those bodies will stay. i promise myself. i think this fragile and serene morning [mourning] air will fill my lungs and i cannot wait to breathe fresh again.
come quick, i have to share my pain with you, i have to show you why such things don't matter, in certain intervals, in certain areas and situations. i caught Ishtar at my window once, pushing my crooks and limbs this way and that, explaining why posture and installtion could help me rule the world. 'i'd just wanted that carcass to stay for a longer period of time,' i say to her.
well, don't show them the world just yet, let them linger.
do i have to let it linger?
yes.
and i didn't know much else to say, so i sighed. 'i used to run these streets, i used to own this world,'i tell her,'but i'm trying to sell it to a man as lonely as me.'
i am a sick woman.
i have trouble sleeping, a soft sleep...there weren't many bodies hanging around here, not as many as i'd hoped for.
the day is opening its eyes.
i still feel like shit, after sleeping all day...and waking to nothing...sleeping and waking to yearning.
i am a sick man.
an empty man.
this loneliness is fleeting, wrap your arms around me now, for it shouldn't be long and i will not soon forget it...
i will not soon forget it.
i had better not branch out like once before, tea makes the soul a rich and vivid garden, all those roots i'd dug up and chopped into pieces. and they grew back, but they grew far from me. i met a woman on my way home the other night, with shocking hair and a silent smile. she reminded me of gloria swanson.
where am i going?
home.
a titter somewhere behind me, perhaps a rat. why?
why what?
why are you going home?
nothing else to do. i walked.
i haven't cried in months. it's been a while since i've last sinned with flesh other than my own; laying in the bed of a woman i'd met online, she'd only wanted me for my cock, she had problems deeper than my own. i sought to fix her, but she wouldn't even let me try. her short hair falling over her face as she fought demons in her sleep, i watched her. she'd made me happy, only temporary. i cried when i had to leave her, ended up in a bar with my face planted in a pile of ashes. We live in a beautiful world.
she hasn't spoken much to me since, busy with modeling i guess, she's also a writer. I sometimes wish i hadn't said so much to her, i never let people know too much, they tend too quickly to enjoy the possibility of deception, funny concepts people are.
i've caused too much trouble on the inside.
the emptiness hasn't resided much, my hands are still tough, i guess that still makes me a man. i clear my throat and stretch...there's a certain way to connect to another being. if i ever figure it out, i'll let you know the way to it all. my head hurts slightly. i crack my knuckles and walk outside.
how does one go about purchasing the world?
mirror my soul, i looked at my reflection and watched the deformation.
i am a sick woman, following the secrets in the looking glass. i've worked up a sweat thinking about all the lovers i've crushed and shredded, feeding them to the revolutionaries in france. for some reason, i know the looking glass has a much better view, someday when i am not so ill, i should like to visit every one on the other side of it. I'd felt his hair in my hands and his head in my lap. i looked down at his sleeping face and smiled, you're just another body in my bed, won't you stay for a little while? i should think my arms and legs will become tired and cold after you've turned the fire down.
i can see the behaviorisms in my self...saviors and -isms never quite suited my fancy. 'either that wallpaper goes or i do.' i closed my eyes, waiting for you to recognize my beauty, for i am sure i am beautiful. and one of these days, one of those bodies will stay. i promise myself. i think this fragile and serene morning [mourning] air will fill my lungs and i cannot wait to breathe fresh again.
come quick, i have to share my pain with you, i have to show you why such things don't matter, in certain intervals, in certain areas and situations. i caught Ishtar at my window once, pushing my crooks and limbs this way and that, explaining why posture and installtion could help me rule the world. 'i'd just wanted that carcass to stay for a longer period of time,' i say to her.
well, don't show them the world just yet, let them linger.
do i have to let it linger?
yes.
and i didn't know much else to say, so i sighed. 'i used to run these streets, i used to own this world,'i tell her,'but i'm trying to sell it to a man as lonely as me.'
i am a sick woman.