It’s lucky how these phantom limb bee stings never show.

Nov 15, 2007 13:35

I found myself mistrusting the lines I sing so sweetly in your ear. Not that I thought twice about it but never thought once about it. Perhaps herein lies the problem. Maybe it's better not to think about it. I examine my entry wounds. Points of infection. I shrug and let my dog tend to cleaning them as he does best. And behold there glimmers trust. I trust my body finally to defend itself as it was so best designed. To change, adapt, heal, protect, and move. You might wonder how I got this way as I lie swollen and discolored… my veins pumping these toxins about. And that's how it happened. When your lovers are all spiders and scorpions it's only so little before you get stung and so long before you stop noticing. Trust yourself. I close my eyes and think. It's numb but everytime I open my eyes, everytime I open my mouth… I think it's winning. I think it's killing me. But it's not. And I can't afford to think so. I slept so long with that scorpion in my bed. Felt it's sting so many times I feel perhaps it's poison isn't killing me but instead has become part of me. I taste it when I lick my lips. I feel it everytime I kiss another. Maybe I've become poisonous myself. Unafflicted I thought. Perhaps more of this devil is inside than I first imagined. I have to purge myself. Stay true to what I remembered of myself… what I liked about myself. Ignore the power to kill and the inability to feel. Though at times it overtakes me and I'm tempted to use it. I'll be lucky if it can better me in someway. Perhaps become an antidote instead. Perhaps these lips should just stay sealed before they pick up any other bad habits. Use protection I say. You may get a sexually transmitted personality. Some are prone to it. Some can get it after one night. Others require massive amounts of exposure. Stay… true… to… yourself… What is that supposed to mean? Where is that self. It seems I've scattered it about, given everyone a strand to hold on to. Now I make the rounds, visiting the guardians of this mystical true self. With each interaction I regain a little piece. In a memory, in a drawing, or a written line. These trinkets of a story I shoved in peoples pockets as I hugged them goodbye. Some of you found them and kept them close. Others lost them or they fell apart when they went through the wash. But what's left… I'd like it back. I'll bring it together, make it better, and return to you something worth keeping that won't disintegrate in the rain.

Till death do us part I'll say to this self of mine. Love of my life. Keeper of my soul. Married to myself. No more out of body experiences. No more wishing for a new brain or a new body. I find myself in chains again. At least till I can trust my self again. Intuitions, judgements, feelings, thoughts. Till then I bind this mind to body. No late night flights in fanciful wanderings and idealistic futures. There's enough now to make a meal out of. I'll eat what's in my reach then hunt for more later. Seems I've stomached enough dreams to not need to leave this cave for quite awhile. No point collecting more dreams than you can use just to let them spoil on a shelf in the heat of your breathe while you expectorate your failures. But can I stay faithful. Maybe that's what they mean when they say stay true to yourself. Will I cheat on my own dreams for anothers… I have before. Will I love someone else more than myself… shamefully I've done that too. Why does it seem so much more satisfying to see a smile on someone elses face then your own? I guess cause you can just tell yourself to do it. Maybe that's why marriages don't work. We just get tired of seeing the same smile over and over again… or we get tired of knowing exactly how to do it.

So I'll no longer be my own worst enemy but my own best friend. Mmmm… Love.
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