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I crave your breath As I marvel with you beside these black waters. My skin itches and cringes with craving, Not that your passive, dreamlike stare makes this any harder. Obviously you never were one for sarcasm. Tame, tame, you always wished I could be tame, Helpless as I am with this bloodflower frenzy In my darkest hours (and lightest, all the same). Nothing of my fondest shrieks makes you come; Gluttony, some might say I die from; Though all I crave is your frame caught in my chains, Oh so helpless limbs struggling in vain. Yes, my dear, you've learned my secret, I fear... Outside of my heart's storybook thought wire, Undertow drags your unrequitted love to my desire. 12.3.00 ~ ~ ~ Spaniel I wish I could keep up with you. In your whimsical moods and your cast and clung dreams, you're easy to lose. I've stumbled with uncertainty off of your trail for countless hours. Do you wish me led astray; do you throw my bone with mockery's power? I am naive, I realize, in your faded eyes; or is it to myself whom I tell such lies? I needn't know. Do not reveal to me every screw, every cog; I shall merely follow. Blind. Mindless. Your eternal cocker dog. 12.12.00 ~ ~ ~ Red Ink Do not disturb her, the one behind the sunken door, its light pooling in a flickered orange line. She is writing in red, conveying with winces to her walls (to herself) the only sweet relief she's known. Do not disturb her, the girl amid the silken sheets, their ends drooping in black tendrils to the floor. She is writing in red, telling with tears of an uneventful youth and the eternal sorrows she'll hold. Do not disturb her, the speechless of the salty hair, so limply falling in dark amber tresses to her pen. She is writing in red, whispering with sobs her dreams in vain, and her wish of new mold. She is writing in red, and curious of sin. She had long before bled all the content within. She is ever unfed as she etches her skin. After all done and said, downward she'll spin. 12.19.00 ~ ~ ~ Embers In the glow of the midnight fire, I'm still cold. I wonder will you ever return to me, I wonder will you ever grow old. If only I could taste your smile again, I don't think I would ever be free, 'cause your liquor fades from each new taste until you send me spinning again. The scent of dreams lingers, unexpected and resurrected through a strange, familiar song. Please return. I need you to go away. 1.19.01 ~ ~ ~ Dead Porcealin Salt stains my heart and I can't breathe. Can't find my sweet relief from you. If only you were to deteriorate and purge your perfection from my eyes, I might crawl through. You took my heart away and coaxed the liquid glass, tossing over your shoulder and at my feet, the past; as if you wish to know I mourn for my sweet darling gone. But rivers run dry, and Baby's gonna grow her claws. Time will eat away perfection, and Darling will erect her wall. Naivete decays eventually; and Sweetness will soon ignore your call. 1.22.01 ~ ~ ~ Expiration Date I thank you for the book you wrote me, but where has the ending gone? The heroine's a beauty, but she's all alone. Where did her darling ride with the dripping heart he stole? Why is this novel empty? Why is this story cold? I thank you for the poem you gave me, slipped underneath the door; the words were warm and heartfelt, save for the lost encore. Why are the words dissembled, scattered about the floor? Why is this work so empty? Why are the stanzas cold? I thank you for the song you sent me, the gentle melody sang through my doubt and fear, but it could not set me free. The flutes are beautifully blue, but is it all for me? Why are these verses empty? Why is the chorus cold? 1.23.01 ~ ~ ~ Early Morning Obligation She lowered her head to my shoulder and I shuddered with the warmth of repulsion; I pushed away. Solid. Frozen. Wishing it could flow away from me for now. 1.30.01 ~ ~ ~ Nashi Ni Kotoba When will the words come that will erect the glitter castle to unlock the deepest secrets of my indigo sea? Where are the delicate phrases that should be conjured; why can I not concoct streaming stews of witch's brew with flavor and a scent of savor? Help me, darling; kick me to the ground with brutality, with soft ecstacy; show me the coattails of death. I need inspiration. 1.30.01 ~ ~ ~ The Learn'd Mathematician I am tired of figures, of equasions, logic put before me; expectancy for comprehension; of infatuation with books of text and d i a g r a m s . . . 1.30.01 ~ ~ ~ Lava Lamp Plea Would you love me if I slit my throat? If I swallowed your pocket of pills? If I stared on end into your same void? Must I fall in step with your decline so that you might acknowledge me? 1.30.01 ~ ~ ~ A Simple Request Don't attempt to discover what I want. I've clutched my affections on too many facades. I don't want what I want. I want you. Just you. All you. You see, loneliness has fallen madly in love with me, and I can only lose him in a crowd. He rarely fumes with jealousy; normally he slinks away, defeated, only to attempt to win me later. He's a born romantic, you know, a lover of intimacy. He loves the rain especially. And when none brushes the quiet window pane, I produce it for him. He would be a solid lover, I suppose. Always available. Always dependable. And the feelings he conjures are eternally definite. He would be loyal forever. But I cannot fawn for such a fool. I wish not to drown in affection, but to rise into immaculate blis so that the dark, deep, consequential waters of my tears cannot touch me. And I cannot love a pantomime. So don't reword my biography and suit it to your circumstances merely to win my hand or other pieces of me which I'm sure you far more fancy. Don't study my dress, my stride, my monotone; don't assume in an attempt to please. Take down your wall. Tear at the base of your hesitance. Pull back the curtain and let me inside of you. Open the door to your soul, or perhaps merely a window, so that I may peer within you. Just you. All you. All mine. 2.20.01 |