2003-02-13
'knock knock sugar'
Tonight I got to thinking that there are two kinds of people.
Those who like to prod bruises and those that stay the fuck away.
I like to prod bruises. Touch the sore little parts deep down under the layers, find the soot, the little sad scatterings of memory and flesh and piece them together and POKE POKE POKE.
of course there are times when others re-emerge and prod a little for you, rehash the narrative of long before just when you think it has been laid to rest.
When I start to poke the bruises things start to dissapear into the blackness. I get to thinking of the present in a mourful manner.
What if this love is all some horrible lie and you don't even exist and it's all in my head floating and fluttering like the butterflies that live there?
settle settle. the breathing becomes deeper.
Of course you exist. of course this is real. the photo in my head and the hairs on my bed tell me so.
This is not a reality I have ever known before. So I gotta breathe it alive. With each little feeling I am thrust skywards and the bruises become an even paler recollection.
she already knows my secret sad eyes
Sometimes I can't help but feel like I have dissapointed everyone around me. including the person I was set to become.
she was abandoned a few years back. perhaps.
sorting shards into self.
and as a beautiful being put it to me
'BECOME A DOCUMENT OF OUR OWN REALITY'
and I am... and I am.
.