lesliec7
There were a million of them when I looked into your eyes... all the signs... and the truths I couldn't ignore when you were there and I was there and I couldn't stop looking. So, I ran away. I ran far away, because it's what I was used to doing... I wish you knew me when it wasn't just this I was comfortable with, but much worse.
It does it every time you come near; your face 50 feet, two feet, straight in front of me. It does it every time you breathe; once in, twice in, thrice in my room. It does it every time you speak; the words on your lips like the meanings of peaks of the Earth I'm disguised in-- my heart, it flips, it flips with your grin.
it was the third time he speculated that evening on the difference between letting go and giving it over to God... he still couldn't figure out which would relieve him of the weight of this world on his shoulders, the weight that took it all... right down to the very last shred of hope.
It's glittering at first... and we sway to the background temp enthused like children in the satisfaction of an arrival to a party... then we sweep in, find the close up, and the grotesque underworld we perceived so pretty is flushed and silent and all too real, so we run away; we're never ready to deal.
An architect of sorts, you surround my heap of wood determined to flame it up into something grand... you admire the way my eyes melt down your every move and begin to conjure up memories past; you're back home, young... you're building tents with your sister in your room from hand stitched quilts and heavy things... you're building me a playground, you're hanging me a swing.
Like a scent vision clogging my nostrils, the lingering puffs of smoke shot up through my system... I could taste the heaviness of tonights situation, I could feel the coiling and running and finding of death. Five seconds ago the shootout found me ready, and though the fear stung, my adrenaline poured with an unmatched strength into the diluted salvation of the heroin and sling it found there, in me. I reached into my pocket, and it was over... there he wasn't anymore... there was he gone with good intention; there was he lifeless as I stepped away, floating with the smooth of the drugs in my veins... collapsing.
You dissect the lining of my thoughts with superior fucked up ness... you decompose my justifications and you powder down my dispositions with a soft shrug and a hard hand crammed on piano keys for day, just trying to teach me something... or trying to impart a... simple song, I lost the lyrics to weeks ago...
I peeled off the scab and stepped gently into the ocean... I felt the salt water gently wade over the open wound. It felt nice; the fragility of my being exposed under the thin pressure of a small wave. I let its chill run through my soul, I let it pour in again and again... awaiting the feeling that meant I might be healing again.
He would place large books beneath his thin jeans... praying father didn't see the thick lining, the obvious squares of safety from the stinging whip awaiting fall. His punishment was meant to be a physical pain, but drew its breath farther in... grabbed more than his precious, young hide. It banished his emotional self; his being of light and safety, security and love to a dim scope of loves palette, all raw... what was never required to make a point, sank in like a punch to the gut, with hard cover books scattered on the rug.
A band... pulling at my heartstrings. Do you even want me, still. There is this light, miles away from my vision... there is a question, yanking, holding tight and quivers to the promise I once thought was made mutually between us. If you don't want to know me anymore, then what is the wait on letting go and rearing back, right into my elastic slap?
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