Your voice makes my heart sink.
With happiness at first.
A longing that I miss, a comfort I know can be there.
Skips a beat with a hope
my mind is too slow to process.
Many mixed feelings zapping
at the speed of…who the fuck knows what.
A warmth of happiness is slowly consumed with
a chilling cold, that grasps the last bit of air
my lungs can fill.
My skin crawls with the thought of your touch.
Your touch brings shivers. I feel
your warmth and comfort. Your intent to care and heal,
your mother’s touch. But with
the gentleness that comes with years of…
wait. I’m off track.
My brain is moving faster than my words and
I’m off to hope and happiness again.
It’s yippie ka yay all over again.
Fuck that shit. I know what’s real. And What is
NOT.
Let’s come back down to reality, sister.
We face the reality of the present time.
What was I saying…oh yes.
Your touch.
It’s a poison to my soul.
Tears of blood fill my world
as your scent brings memories I want to bury 6 feet under.
The dark in my light reveals an image in my clouded sky.
Blues intertwined in the manic grasp of envy.
I thought I was free from your grasp. Free from
the coldness you unintentionally bring to my soul.
They tell me: don’t let the darkness
eat you up. I tell myself: don’t let
the darkenss catch up to you, again.
You flood me deep within, into every crevice that makes me whole.
Keep it adrift.
Just far enough to know it’s there.
your sight,
it makes your blood
seep through my veins. It burns through me.
The scars that line my arms remind me
of a vivid past. You’ve got my world
in the palm of your hand.
Your line is drawn among the many.
My head weighs down…confused,
out of focus and clarity
what’s that muffled hum?
Silence.
Stillness.
I can hear you near, to take it away.
The pain.
The sound of peace. The sound of satisfaction. Content.
Perhaps even surrendering.
The sound of a flag, in its purity
Waving in the clammy breeze.
That is it.
It’s the sheer eerie sound of death.
Your taste is as sweet….and sour as
a primly picked pear. Your voice as soothing as a noose, swinging back and forth.
Your scent.
Foul, yet sweet and sticky.
Sticky like the corpses of a thousand rotting.
The buzzing.
The stench.
The swaying.
The sweetness in the air.
You got the job started.
But ultimately
All I need to do is say when.
With happiness at first.
A longing that I miss, a comfort I know can be there.
Skips a beat with a hope
my mind is too slow to process.
Many mixed feelings zapping
at the speed of…who the fuck knows what.
A warmth of happiness is slowly consumed with
a chilling cold, that grasps the last bit of air
my lungs can fill.
My skin crawls with the thought of your touch.
Your touch brings shivers. I feel
your warmth and comfort. Your intent to care and heal,
your mother’s touch. But with
the gentleness that comes with years of…
wait. I’m off track.
My brain is moving faster than my words and
I’m off to hope and happiness again.
It’s yippie ka yay all over again.
Fuck that shit. I know what’s real. And What is
NOT.
Let’s come back down to reality, sister.
We face the reality of the present time.
What was I saying…oh yes.
Your touch.
It’s a poison to my soul.
Tears of blood fill my world
as your scent brings memories I want to bury 6 feet under.
The dark in my light reveals an image in my clouded sky.
Blues intertwined in the manic grasp of envy.
I thought I was free from your grasp. Free from
the coldness you unintentionally bring to my soul.
They tell me: don’t let the darkness
eat you up. I tell myself: don’t let
the darkenss catch up to you, again.
You flood me deep within, into every crevice that makes me whole.
Keep it adrift.
Just far enough to know it’s there.
your sight,
it makes your blood
seep through my veins. It burns through me.
The scars that line my arms remind me
of a vivid past. You’ve got my world
in the palm of your hand.
Your line is drawn among the many.
My head weighs down…confused,
out of focus and clarity
what’s that muffled hum?
Silence.
Stillness.
I can hear you near, to take it away.
The pain.
The sound of peace. The sound of satisfaction. Content.
Perhaps even surrendering.
The sound of a flag, in its purity
Waving in the clammy breeze.
That is it.
It’s the sheer eerie sound of death.
Your taste is as sweet….and sour as
a primly picked pear. Your voice as soothing as a noose, swinging back and forth.
Your scent.
Foul, yet sweet and sticky.
Sticky like the corpses of a thousand rotting.
The buzzing.
The stench.
The swaying.
The sweetness in the air.
You got the job started.
But ultimately
All I need to do is say when.
WHEN.
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