A Rip in Heaven
she asked me to get up and go
i wanted her to tell me to, not ask - since when was this negotiable?
he said he couldn't at the time, but that he would.
he could not bare to lose us both
he spoke from my axis, and wrapped his tongue around my knees
we survived off the fitted visualizations
of what a girl and boy should be
skeleton key enzymes, padlocks of protein with similar engineering design
he was my schema. synthesis. to make me feel permeated, i embedded myself into his ceiling, and shattered the way we communicate. back to back. different screens. different conversations
a secret of smoke and mirrors.
now he lives in old diary entries. he couldn't bare to see me go, so he went first
now he lives in photographs from my attic, without skin to respire internal heat of the coiling heart
all the things he never said....even when i got inside the front door, down the hall, and into the room.
He never gave me a warning : guessing at the rules may cause surface damage
"i hate the routine. i hate my daily surroundings'
"attempt to memorize your surroundings and think of ways to turn them into art"
it's almost funny, if not so tragic, that HE said this to ME. and i'm the one still here.
"if it must be constant, there has to be something that buffers it"
"acceptance or surrender, i suppose..."
Suppose? He proved.
i wanted her to tell me to, not ask - since when was this negotiable?
he said he couldn't at the time, but that he would.
he could not bare to lose us both
he spoke from my axis, and wrapped his tongue around my knees
we survived off the fitted visualizations
of what a girl and boy should be
skeleton key enzymes, padlocks of protein with similar engineering design
he was my schema. synthesis. to make me feel permeated, i embedded myself into his ceiling, and shattered the way we communicate. back to back. different screens. different conversations
a secret of smoke and mirrors.
now he lives in old diary entries. he couldn't bare to see me go, so he went first
now he lives in photographs from my attic, without skin to respire internal heat of the coiling heart
all the things he never said....even when i got inside the front door, down the hall, and into the room.
He never gave me a warning : guessing at the rules may cause surface damage
"i hate the routine. i hate my daily surroundings'
"attempt to memorize your surroundings and think of ways to turn them into art"
it's almost funny, if not so tragic, that HE said this to ME. and i'm the one still here.
"if it must be constant, there has to be something that buffers it"
"acceptance or surrender, i suppose..."
Suppose? He proved.