Monday, 9 June 2008
If you read this...
Talk to me. Or I'll just assume everything I've assumed is correct. And we know how that leads to bad things, non?
Waltz.
You do not save failed potential for the Last Dance, especially when it doesn't even know the steps.
Beautiful to Watch.
In my mind, you twist and turn with the grace of a katana slicing through plain air. Your shape flawless, your motion determined, your arcing trace light, the ring of your swing melodious, the driving force effortless, the impact hard, the damage done and irreversible.
Your blows hit me like a torrent. I shiver at the hilt, I dent and I groan under the weight. Your song tires me, your shape taunts me, your grace defeats me, your desire staggers me, every movement of mine is laborious, and there is no salvation.
Your tirade weighs heavy upon me. I want silence. I want peace. Give me peace.
Cut me down.
Count me out.
Your blows hit me like a torrent. I shiver at the hilt, I dent and I groan under the weight. Your song tires me, your shape taunts me, your grace defeats me, your desire staggers me, every movement of mine is laborious, and there is no salvation.
Your tirade weighs heavy upon me. I want silence. I want peace. Give me peace.
Cut me down.
Count me out.
Saturday, 7 June 2008
E
the hat's gone. I'd completely forgotten about it, till today. I wish the word would bleed into this world from the very core. All so I may grow numb to this.
I don't know what I'm keeping, and what I'm throwing away. But arbitrary decisions are being made as we speak. Regret it or not later, I'm doing one or the other.
This vacuum grows in strength, unrelenting, unabated. You thrust the dagger deep inside you, and once your claret congeals, you inflict your virus upon others. If stab me you must, do it to my face; not my back. Do it, so I see whether your tears and your regret is marked with your bloody taint. Or whether you weep for angels and their admirers while you smile for your demons and their desires.
I don't know what I'm keeping, and what I'm throwing away. But arbitrary decisions are being made as we speak. Regret it or not later, I'm doing one or the other.
This vacuum grows in strength, unrelenting, unabated. You thrust the dagger deep inside you, and once your claret congeals, you inflict your virus upon others. If stab me you must, do it to my face; not my back. Do it, so I see whether your tears and your regret is marked with your bloody taint. Or whether you weep for angels and their admirers while you smile for your demons and their desires.
Wednesday, 4 June 2008
Tuesday, 3 June 2008
The Illness
The quiet voice brings solace to solitude. Somethings are always lost in translation. But the silence bears the weight through to the end. Words come into meaning.
Let's disappear. Make our plans smaller. Just you and me. Your siren soliloquies and my violent lovesongs. We never thought we'd be here after all.
Let's disappear. Make our plans smaller. Just you and me. Your siren soliloquies and my violent lovesongs. We never thought we'd be here after all.
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