I never let you read what I wrote
about how I am at my lowest form
in the dawn and in
my bed, I'm feeling sickly when
you touch me, sir.
like a child I grab at all the things
that should never be mine,
peel them from my skin and
consume them, ever
-wanting, and always
will I sputter out on a lonely child's birthday cake
as she gasps at rough hands that
pull her wishes from her
and send them down again.
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I'm needing instructions on
how to live,
how to stop pulling him closer
when all I want
is nothing,
how to walk through the front door
without my knees quaking beneath me,
how to scream in the night as the
headlights seek my face and I run
towards losing everything.
how to grasp the earth when I am in flight
and how to let the stars be;
we have nothing to do with one another.
I need to let myself be as small as I am,
and stop this
growing.
for the streets can remain without my feet upon them
and the sky does not need me to be.
you will keep weaving your wonderland
from the pine tree needles,
and the world will keep dying
and hating itself
once I am gone.
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the spiders, they'll keep spinning and
he, he will keep breathing
in that way that he does and
in time his soft fingertips will learn
how to touch graceful
better than mine did.
the winter, it will claim me,
quietly;
i will not ruin the silence.
i will not say a word.
Comments
1 - 7 of 7
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You're impossibly good. This...this is wretched. Feels like a plea.
on a scale of 1-3
you = 5
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you're fantastic, babes.
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ack, yeah right. D:
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hush, you're my favorite beebs.
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"you will keep weaving your wonderland
from the pine tree needles,
and the world will keep dying
and hating itself"
fantastic snippet.
as well as the last line.
they're my favorites.
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makes me want a cigarette.
I think I will go find my lighter.
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a good sign, i daresay. :]
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