the first said he wasn't ready. stabbing me with such exquisite pain, it's waves rushing through the sensual borders of my being. reduced me to questionable worthlessness. summed me up with a phrase - i didn't even deserve a sentence.
the second i hurt. no excuses. except for not believing in a subjective emotion. he was a breath of fresh air. perhaps my system had already grown accustomed to the pollutions of man. move on, i said. he had other ideas.
the third. played a game. he enjoyed masochistically. allowed it to wash over him. apparently he hurts too. or something to that effect.
no more.
here's to crap.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
decay is bliss
decay is bliss... sounds like garbage mouthed off by some goth poser... produce of a wannabe...a reject. burdened by metaphor.
but decay is bliss.
let it wash over you.
i said.
the compost of your life.
yes, the one that was lent to you.
...let me correct myself...
the one that was rented to you.
pay it. heavily.
with such a great and suffocating price.
of course, while you dig your vast pit... your imagined abyss...
multitasking for a true denizen of the piscean age.
then when you bend your broken back again, he pushes you.
you try to grasp a hold in between your pathetic sobs.
pathetic.
you ungraciously fall.
yet... she was there... she knows you... of you.
in her silence you found what was missing in his silence.
she held you long. yet you did not resent it.
in her damp mustiness, you met your self... and your self... and your self.
and on her bosom you were able to stand up again.
but decay is bliss.
let it wash over you.
i said.
the compost of your life.
yes, the one that was lent to you.
...let me correct myself...
the one that was rented to you.
pay it. heavily.
with such a great and suffocating price.
of course, while you dig your vast pit... your imagined abyss...
multitasking for a true denizen of the piscean age.
then when you bend your broken back again, he pushes you.
you try to grasp a hold in between your pathetic sobs.
pathetic.
you ungraciously fall.
yet... she was there... she knows you... of you.
in her silence you found what was missing in his silence.
she held you long. yet you did not resent it.
in her damp mustiness, you met your self... and your self... and your self.
and on her bosom you were able to stand up again.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
another year... fuck.
down with saccharine optimism... down with socially dictated hoping.
there's light at the end of the tunnel as long as someone paid the electric bill, or changed the bulb, or just even turn the freaking switch on.
walk through a crowd, singular and collective, and lose yourself...welcome to the age of aquarius... or is it pisces? not really sure.
humans like asking other humans, "how are you? are you okay?" knowing full well everybody else has shit to deal with in their lives... so, no, i'm not okay. lolz
fuck, 52 more weeks....
jaded. par excellence.
there's light at the end of the tunnel as long as someone paid the electric bill, or changed the bulb, or just even turn the freaking switch on.
walk through a crowd, singular and collective, and lose yourself...welcome to the age of aquarius... or is it pisces? not really sure.
humans like asking other humans, "how are you? are you okay?" knowing full well everybody else has shit to deal with in their lives... so, no, i'm not okay. lolz
fuck, 52 more weeks....
jaded. par excellence.
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