FRAGMENTS
i digress on cigarettes and stray cats and oh look there's the moon and my incense always burning and going to bed wearing matching socks and then waking up to find them gone (?) (like you?)
he said, no wonder you two were so, he's a drunk and you're a pharmaceutical drug addict. he said, you probably couldn't go lower if you tried.
i wonder about the wooden rooms and the haunted hotels of baden-baden right now, for no reason, just a pointless thought, a travelling beau on the back of the mental asylum. i would hold his hand and never let go if he asks me to, bum bumming with him forever (3 years because after that i die).
love is too much for the imaginary world- it waves in and out in forms that you don't notice/ cigarette smoke, waves from strangers, grass toes, spitting gross beverages out of car windows, rolling around all sundays in large grey jackets, relating to film noirs ("the stars are ageless, aren't they?"), poetry reading at inappropriate eight in the evenings, the smell of your skin. awkward stuff like that. i wash myself clean, i do, but it comes back with a talent- where do i run from that?
streets have gone white from the sun. it's all tears and goodbye road yelling let's go forever under bridges with jasmine breaths and can i jam my fingers in your heart chambers feel my way around where the stones are starting to set.
i am living in a dug hole with fantastic lights and bodies sprawled on top of each other gasping for air, picking dreams out of his hair, hold my breath until someone starts singing. tom waits saved a night or two with cigarettes, we're playing pianos with backward hands and i don't know what they say about the mind, it's rural, and futuristic, classified just in the humming section. i moisturize my nose, feverishly, i have a heart that can't be chained, too, but i try too hard to keep it with you, i don't want it either.
you don't understand so many things, you pull away, and while you do so, he pulls back in, seducing me with motorcycles and a sideways smile. i'm a sucker for both of you - just inside my coffee cup - i am a freak of nature, i found out, i don't know how to talk.
lying in the dark listening to amy winehouse sing about a cat in battered jeans. everything with the world hurts deep into my skin tonight. there's this pierce attitude i can't shake anymore. i keep telling everyone about my strength, my poor naked fragile strength. i never thought twice about suicide notes (not mine) (those were love letters) because that kind of state makes so much sense to me, more than this "stability" ever will. i feel the fakest i've ever been in my life, smiling, hurting, going through first chapters with a yawn stapled across my face. i want my tranquilizers and my soapy baths, how can i find that road again, honey, i'm so scared and tired of being sober. i don't want to go too far, i just want back into my old habits- my little world of faith and disobedience. i know i'm scared of looking myself in the mirror and finding someone looking back, consciously tame and accomplished. give me back my decadence.
