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| Song If I could pick a part of you that I could touch tonight, it wouldn't be your soul, it wouldn't be your mind. It wouldn't be your skin or the locks that frame your face; it wouldn't be your fingers, or any such a place. If I could touch you once tonight, and pick one single part, above all other regions, I'd want to break your heart. 7.27.01 ~ ~ ~ Left Below Dominance is such a foreign feeling. I can't comprehend it. How does one go about throwing away their humanity to live the joy of crushing those below? I can crush and feel regret. I can push and feel the guilt. How do I experience the joy? Or, is there any at all? 8.3.01 ~ ~ ~ Choosing Sides I want to be you right now. I don't want to be me. I don't want your possessions or the people that love you, or your aspirations, goals, and dreams. I don't want your accomplishments or your depression or fear, or your happy little image, transparent and fake as it is. I don't want your hair, your face, your nails, the roof of your mouth or your palm. It's not you that I want to be. I just don't want to be me. 8.15.01 ~ ~ ~ Plug Me In Plug me in. Into the warm summer night. Into dull consciousness and a numb sensation of being suspended in midair until you open your eyes. Plug me into a period of life void of all responsibility, where a child's hands glow of a firefly gem. Into a world soft as warm cotton. Can you feel it against your face? Plug me into an ocean of velvet with silvery slits, where the slippery carpet pricking my bare feet cannot distract me from that sea. Plug me into the hot forest. Into a wet dream. Into the beat of a heart beneath thick layers of sweating flesh. Lay me in the wild, in the dark. Lay with me. Plug me into your warm summer night. 8.15.01 ~ ~ ~ Heimlich Do I enjoy your company? Yes I do. Do you need your heart in me? Yes you do. But I don't. I don't understand you. I don't understand me. I don't know what I want your need of "us" to be. I love you. But not the way you want me to. I need you. But not every effort you put through. I just need you to be you so we can be ourselves - and not just us. 8.15.01 ~ ~ ~ Severe Tranquility Contentment is rare while holed up in this room. But there's no place else I'd rather be; I've got myself, and you're not with me. What else do I really need? 8.15.01 ~ ~ ~ Contempt Why is it that I miss her if I hate her so? Her levels of depth are easily tossed aside for that of a wading pool. She doesn't question and she doesn't listen. She's a nuisance in every degree, and I loathe her with every fiber of my being. So why do I miss her just when I'm rid of her? Do I merely need something to loathe? Do I need my memory of her hopeless mall-centered antics refreshed? Must I be reminded of her opinions on the taste of semen and her shrill squeal of each hourly anniversary with her pint-sized cat toy of a lover? Does some sick, pain-hungry part of me perhaps enjoy the torture? 8.15.01 ~ ~ ~ A Poll What do you when you feel as if your womb wants to break itself free? When your stomach is wrenched from something you said and you can't regain a state of normalcy? Do you curl up and die? Do you cry out your eyes? Do you milk all your friends for sympathy? Or do you stare into air awaiting sweet self repair or ignorance to the holes you feel, but cannot see? 8.20.01 ~ ~ ~ Sticks And Stones May Break My Heart I need my words, but I can't stand yours. They pierce me. They cut me. They rip me apart from within and clean up the nicely stinging hole. And in my naive thirst for empathy, I accuse you of a lack of caring. Am I a child? Probably so. I don't really understand you, even though you're close to me. It's rare to find ourselves at odds, long as our hearts and minds have co-existed. People think I should love you. But I don't. I don't think I could. Reaching for sympathy, I'm a hungry crococile. I'm a sensitive chameleon. I hate being a chameleon. You never stay with me as long as I want you to. You never talk to me as long as I'd like. You don't affirm your caring for me when Insecurity makes me her feast. It's a selfish thing, it's true, to always ask for a melodramatic life and unending love from everyone. You think I ask for it. I don't. I don't think I could. So I'm a child? I can live with that. So what? 8.20.01 ~ ~ ~ Styll Able Tight Wrenching Sick Clenching Thick Hollow Hot Swallow Kept Hidden Not Ridden Help Need you Can't Feed you Help Sinking No Drinking You Love me You Shove me From Your heart And We part. 8.20.01 |