cerebrum.if it's midnight already and i can't feel you anymore,it's because you're savoring the taste of someone else;or maybe it's because you're just lost in all the shades of blue,the word "farewell" comes in so many colors.if you've climbed too high and still haven't found a signal,it's because my thoughts are lost somewhere in jupiter's stormor maybe it's because i'm asleep on a trainheading far, far away from you.i took a metaphor literally once when i cut you out of my lifewith a pair of rusty black-handled scissors and every picture that i had of us.it never seemed to work, i could never chase you out of my head,and that was when i realized that you lived there.you're everything and nothing i've learned in history class,about guillotines and revolutions,and if i know one thing, it's that you're surely not a Saintand no sir, i will not love you.
do you think of me?my words never turn out rightwhen i put them on paper,like every time i tried to tell youi wanted you closer;the only thing i want -the only thought that keeps me up at nightrattling at the bars in the cage of my mindbegging to be set freeis being in your arms;and the worst mistake i ever madewas pushing you away,because i never meant it at all;if this is the start of a new daydo you think i could be yours?all these lines i've writtenhave blurred into one;words don't have meaningwithout someone to read them,and i can't just press send.
i survived.i am from a yellow slide in my backyard. i am from fresh-brewed iced teaand monday night tv.i am from the strawberry-place.i am from the pink and green cushionsthe yellow high-heeled shoei remember sitting on so many nights. i'm from six-dollar lunches,and the shack next to the river,from paths in the woods anda marathon down my street. i'm from knuckle smacks with a rulerand notebooks full of doodles,from my brother's tests taped to the fridge.i'm from faithless sleeping in sundays,with criticisms loggedand bruised pride. i'm from a broken love,dinners on the deckwith the sound of air conditioners whirring.from chasing squirrels up and down a swingsetto the treetops. i am from blue skies and green fields,and I'd like you to know:i survived.
in this scene you're just an extra.i've compiled my thoughtsinto a songwith tender mellowed notesof caressing fingers and tonguesin every lyric;sung for you by my wings -each feather lifting me upand dragging me down,eating away before it falls offlike a cancer i could take with mebeneath my fingernails if i touched it.and if i ever needed youi could watch you walk away -without sympathy for my aching lungsletting loose note after note;you would leave like a strange soldierleaving for a new battle,not once looking over your shoulder to seeif i followed the footsteps you leftin wet concrete.i never did,my feet turned into mirrorsand reflected your motions;the father away i got from you,the closer i was to water -the clear solution of salvationthat could save me from your memory.
gold dust.his lips were soft,so lovely and irresistible-his kiss woke the dayand shattered the night,tracing letters on my skinlike brailleand entwining his fingertipsin the auburn cascadesof my hair.as he pressed himselfcloser to me,i couldn't help butclose my eyes andblind myself to everythingbut his gentle touchand the feeling ofhis body against mine.gold dust fell whereour lips met,marking the path behind usand carrying us beyond-turning our wounds tothe faint pink linesof scar tissue:memories we won'tsoon forget.
smoking kills.you know, my dearest,when you smoke a cigaretteyour heart turns black, too.
a kiss upon his cheek.he didn't have a smileanywhere near his lips.his expression was blank,and his eyes were etched from glass;'i don't care'they said carefully,like an unsure whisper.i don't know why,but this boy was like nicotine,hypnotizing,like a foggy dream.he was my rescue, with warning lights flashingas he came to my escape. he didn't have a smile on his lips,but i wanted them anyway.
i should have never loved you.in that one moment, i wanted to stand up and hit him: i wanted to make him hurt, make him bleed, make him feel what he did to me. make him feel his lies and deceit, push it into his skin like a knife and letting the scarlet lies pour out for everyone to see.every little lie, every "mia bella" came back to haunt me. every word that idly dripped out of his mouth that caressed and cared for me turned black and shriveled like a dead flower.because every time he kissed me, he lied.i can't believe i just let him string me along like that. he just turned me into some sort of flesh-and-blood puppet, tossed me around and stepped on me like garbage put on the curb for tuesday night pickup. he put me in a plastic bag with old coffee grounds and used condoms from a night when i wasn't there.i should have never loved him.
insecurities and hypocrities.i'm not depressed likeyou think i am, so don't lie:no one likes a hypocrite.
l'hiver.(you can't tell the birds and the snow apart in the sky:the grand church of dizzying space - )and the trees are yellowed in cowardice, raking the skyto the ground and around and around.listen to your organs: the almost grand piano of thechurches i'd never attend.and never mistake the courage of the sky for the cowardiceof the ground. never frown, never frown.listen to your palms: the salty swing of the old snowburning up on silk and splendor.and visit the dying snow birds in their graves of theground, and they drown and drown.(you can't tell the birds and the snow apart in the sky:a grand church of dizzying space will reply. why. why.would my white birds die.)