#11

c. February 2009

Shaking with suppressed sobs, I can't cry here. I'll save it for the car where I can let everything out amidst a background of sound and lyrics about how she loves a stone, how she could whisper the wrong name and I wouldn't care (nor would my ears), how my stomach's always been a liar but I'll believe its lies again, how I don't mind her under my skin, how I just want something I can never have, how I want to sleep like a dog at her feet even though I know it won't work out in the long run, how this whole thing is probably a selfish infatuation anyway. I can't stop thinking about that night, the way she tasted like clove cigarettes and peppermint schnapps as she softly bit my lower lip, how warm she felt pressed up against me, how time seemed to stop with my eyes closed, how nervous I was when she was walking over, and how that completely evaporated the instant her mouth met mine - but oh, how this intellect burns, how these memories sting, how bitter they've become despite their initial sweetness. I want so badly for this to be untrue, but I fear that time meant nothing to her... yet even if it is true, I would gladly lie to myself if it ever happened again, tell myself she was finding something there as well, even if the events afterward went the same way. But then it would just hurt her again, and I don't know if I'd be able to put that aside. I would want to and not want to at the same time. I am so selfish. It kills me to know she could relate to the same songs I'm relating to...

...except it wouldn't be about me.


Saturday, August 22, 2009

You burn like a shot of Everclear
Until the intoxication sets in
And then I only want more and more
Until I'm laying in a broken heap on the floor
Wondering why I ever loved you in the first place
...but still begging you to lay next to me


Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Art has become recontextualization.


Friday, January 28, 2011

Like a sombrero to the unconscious eye