(no subject)
it would be me on the train studying the tracks at eight in the morning. it would be me giving away three dollars and thirty cents to a girl for a jasmine green chai at nine in the morning. it would be me in a bed close to the ceiling, next to someone in half the clothes i started out with, trying to find a reasoning that coencided with how my mind wasn't ever really racing at all. i'd be looking out a window overlooking a city when this stranger tells me, it's nothing special. it would be me in a movie theatre, dizzy from ecstacy that i kept creating in my mind. just to distract myself from the reality that was just a build up of great tensions.
i'd get pulled in and pushed back and twisted into knots and turned into wine, and taste too young to be called anything classical, rich or intoxicating. and it would be me to be the typical fool. polite. and sincere, because i was never told how to fancy or fold. never told that when you fall in love it doesn't mean a thing when you're not loved the same. it would be me holding up my own. and dropping all that i stand for. careless for not on holding tightly. the way i used to.
it would be me clenching my waste trying to make it thin. counting the meals i had hoping that i could get by another few days without a drink or a toast to some unethical charm that wasn't relivant to the evening. i'd be the one to leave without a word. just a look, like, i know you wont call, i know you wont think anything but a tremor in your mind of me, once i'm out of the state. staring into the sun praying to go blind. wondering who cares, wondering why i do. and where all the effort and strength sprout and grow from.
it would be me walking in the rain, feeling my bones shake and choke on the unhealthiness. letting myself lose control and throw my money away in over priced botiques on accessories and fabrics that would never fit me the way i'd need them to. being asked questions by a group of boys with shy smiles who look old enough to know what they're doing, but don't have a clue. throwing my money away to an old man seeking security in a stirofoam cup, casual conversations and a baseball team that owns the nation.
me, who would end up somewhere with someone i've never seen before for two days explaining philosphy in cold tight jeans, and coffee cups, and transluscent red lighters that resemble test tube viles, with barely any fluid left in them left to cause any inferno to start.
it would be me to watch a horror film and try to draw a face and try to smile, because i'd be the only one to still adore the way it feels to feel my smile on my hands when i'm lying on my stomach.
trying not to care that there were two people kissing next to me. trying to think, oh how romantic, oh how much to die for.
to think,
that was me. i know that texture that passion that chemical imbalance, like eating a chocolate bar could ever make me feel it in some way, ever again.
and it would be me to tell them to stop while i walk ahead, to have their romance on the arch of the small stone bridge in the park with the one single light overcasting in the haze.
it would be me, on the outside. entirely numb. too blank to cry. or understand the emotion that wont stop burning my throat and then just stopping there. and cause this glare, this temptation to follow the cracks in the ceiling of an apartment i've never seen, but then suddenly kept finding. to where these people lived their lives. naming off names and occurances i vaguely remember, or never knew... nothing about.
arguing about why jesus was never god. and why love exists when it's not the purpose at all of human life.
it would be me thinking, what am i, because i can't feel it anymore. i can't tell it in drunken bouts anymore. nothing i say makes me proud, or amused.
i'd be the one to stand on the sidewalk with a girl i haven't seen in forever, and hear her ask questions about rumors she heard about me in my old suburb city home. get invites to out of town parties and turn them down by just not calling back. hoping that what i had would turn around and show up in the bookstore i was standing in and kiss me hard, like a sailor and his girl. but dismissing the thought before it starts to matter again.
"don't do this. i don't want you to be like this."
because i walked up and around and in circles just to make a phone call and wave to a window on the fifth floor to a face that, with my vision, was only a discoloration in front of a light. moving about, and the voice through my phone.
"i can't stop. i don't know why."
maybe i do.
because it's the inescapable human requirement to feel as loved as much as i love.
but i don't hurt the way i did. i don't feel. so it makes no real difference. because in the morning i'll be unsure of where to kiss goodbye. and just pass on the impulse altogether. trying not to need to be reassured. making myself sick over such imaculate dissapointments. and let downs. and rejections. and goddbyes that i would leave on, that i never meant to recite.
the comparisions i knew i would continue to evaluate again and again.
the images of turning around and seeing a fast pace coming to kiss me a rushed goodnight, that became the real, and final goodbye.
i'm not hurt.
until i came through the door this morning. and saw my father's look, when he saw right through me. and i could tell when i left he thought it was for a different reason. the reason he hoped it would be when i asked to leave in the beginning. and it wasn't.
it would be me to curse every profane lyric i could think of, screaming it and kicking and fighting with tears breaking like blisters while my father tried to tie me down and tell me he loved me.
but it was me who sat still and watched him walk into the post office, upset. and even if i wasn't watching close enough to know for sure, he was still muttering under his breath of vows to leave...and never come back.
it would be me to laugh as he drove away, and i'd be the one to wave. wondering if see you later, has to always mean goodbye forever.
and it'd be me to get to work and lie on my back trying to convince the flourescent lights to make me blind, and refuse to go to work until my song was over.
i'd be the one to fall to the bathroom floor with black spots in my eyes and my hands shaking too fast and unsteadily to control the movements they made.
i'd be the one with the weakness in my stomach that couldn't try hard enough without blacking out, to get the shirt off my back.
and then sitting there, for eight and a half hours trying to take deep breaths and think clearer and finish the god damn crossword puzzle.
i'd get pulled in and pushed back and twisted into knots and turned into wine, and taste too young to be called anything classical, rich or intoxicating. and it would be me to be the typical fool. polite. and sincere, because i was never told how to fancy or fold. never told that when you fall in love it doesn't mean a thing when you're not loved the same. it would be me holding up my own. and dropping all that i stand for. careless for not on holding tightly. the way i used to.
it would be me clenching my waste trying to make it thin. counting the meals i had hoping that i could get by another few days without a drink or a toast to some unethical charm that wasn't relivant to the evening. i'd be the one to leave without a word. just a look, like, i know you wont call, i know you wont think anything but a tremor in your mind of me, once i'm out of the state. staring into the sun praying to go blind. wondering who cares, wondering why i do. and where all the effort and strength sprout and grow from.
it would be me walking in the rain, feeling my bones shake and choke on the unhealthiness. letting myself lose control and throw my money away in over priced botiques on accessories and fabrics that would never fit me the way i'd need them to. being asked questions by a group of boys with shy smiles who look old enough to know what they're doing, but don't have a clue. throwing my money away to an old man seeking security in a stirofoam cup, casual conversations and a baseball team that owns the nation.
me, who would end up somewhere with someone i've never seen before for two days explaining philosphy in cold tight jeans, and coffee cups, and transluscent red lighters that resemble test tube viles, with barely any fluid left in them left to cause any inferno to start.
it would be me to watch a horror film and try to draw a face and try to smile, because i'd be the only one to still adore the way it feels to feel my smile on my hands when i'm lying on my stomach.
trying not to care that there were two people kissing next to me. trying to think, oh how romantic, oh how much to die for.
to think,
that was me. i know that texture that passion that chemical imbalance, like eating a chocolate bar could ever make me feel it in some way, ever again.
and it would be me to tell them to stop while i walk ahead, to have their romance on the arch of the small stone bridge in the park with the one single light overcasting in the haze.
it would be me, on the outside. entirely numb. too blank to cry. or understand the emotion that wont stop burning my throat and then just stopping there. and cause this glare, this temptation to follow the cracks in the ceiling of an apartment i've never seen, but then suddenly kept finding. to where these people lived their lives. naming off names and occurances i vaguely remember, or never knew... nothing about.
arguing about why jesus was never god. and why love exists when it's not the purpose at all of human life.
it would be me thinking, what am i, because i can't feel it anymore. i can't tell it in drunken bouts anymore. nothing i say makes me proud, or amused.
i'd be the one to stand on the sidewalk with a girl i haven't seen in forever, and hear her ask questions about rumors she heard about me in my old suburb city home. get invites to out of town parties and turn them down by just not calling back. hoping that what i had would turn around and show up in the bookstore i was standing in and kiss me hard, like a sailor and his girl. but dismissing the thought before it starts to matter again.
"don't do this. i don't want you to be like this."
because i walked up and around and in circles just to make a phone call and wave to a window on the fifth floor to a face that, with my vision, was only a discoloration in front of a light. moving about, and the voice through my phone.
"i can't stop. i don't know why."
maybe i do.
because it's the inescapable human requirement to feel as loved as much as i love.
but i don't hurt the way i did. i don't feel. so it makes no real difference. because in the morning i'll be unsure of where to kiss goodbye. and just pass on the impulse altogether. trying not to need to be reassured. making myself sick over such imaculate dissapointments. and let downs. and rejections. and goddbyes that i would leave on, that i never meant to recite.
the comparisions i knew i would continue to evaluate again and again.
the images of turning around and seeing a fast pace coming to kiss me a rushed goodnight, that became the real, and final goodbye.
i'm not hurt.
until i came through the door this morning. and saw my father's look, when he saw right through me. and i could tell when i left he thought it was for a different reason. the reason he hoped it would be when i asked to leave in the beginning. and it wasn't.
it would be me to curse every profane lyric i could think of, screaming it and kicking and fighting with tears breaking like blisters while my father tried to tie me down and tell me he loved me.
but it was me who sat still and watched him walk into the post office, upset. and even if i wasn't watching close enough to know for sure, he was still muttering under his breath of vows to leave...and never come back.
it would be me to laugh as he drove away, and i'd be the one to wave. wondering if see you later, has to always mean goodbye forever.
and it'd be me to get to work and lie on my back trying to convince the flourescent lights to make me blind, and refuse to go to work until my song was over.
i'd be the one to fall to the bathroom floor with black spots in my eyes and my hands shaking too fast and unsteadily to control the movements they made.
i'd be the one with the weakness in my stomach that couldn't try hard enough without blacking out, to get the shirt off my back.
and then sitting there, for eight and a half hours trying to take deep breaths and think clearer and finish the god damn crossword puzzle.