With weak hands
and an empty heart,
I grip onto fading light bulbs
flickering their last as
dull slurs lull them into their final bed.
A bed of bacteria, paper and disease.
Every metaphor I spit out
gives you a chance to better understand.
And I thought you did.
Better yet,
I knew.
So what happened?
Was it our fleshy "Hello, I missed you"?
A little too much,
a little too fast.
You vanished again
forgetting words you promised.
I'm such a naive little bastard,
wouldn't you say?
Author notes
I'm a very selfish person.
The huge problem with that [other that the fact itself], is that I hate bringing it to the attention of other people. Especially, people who I care about.
So they can't attempt to resolve the situation.
I'm sure it is 100% normal for a girl my age to crave undivided attention, and for the world to revolve around her.
If it is isn't, I'm fucked aren't I?
I want to make it stop, I really do.
Pfft, this explains nothing.
Words are repetitive,
dreams are awkward,
and the most obvious isn't what it seems.
Written: July 24th, 2007
Comments
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this is not selfish at all - at least from what I can see.
it IS a beautiful piece, though.
"Every metaphor I spit out
gives you a chance to better understand."
&
the whole last three stanzas...
ah-ma-zinggg< -
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Thanks.
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