::crazy for feeling so...LONELY...::
Submitted by blood_red on Thu.08.05.04 6:54am
I’m waiting for them to fnd me. I’m waiting for the day when someone else calls the shots.
My rape paper dress on fire.
I’ve pushed this as far as it can go. My beauty comes from collision. Now it’s out of my hands.
I’m writing this in the dark so no one can see. I’m walking in circles trying to make a spiral to lift me up. I’m playing piano with a couple of ghosts they never say anything they just listen. I start with water and I end with the moon. It’s the same everyday.
In my dreams I can fit into the car. In my dreams the bricks talk back. In my dreams its always twilight and I walk so slowly no one notices me move. In the morning it’s over. At night it starts again. I fall slowly. I never get up. It’s not a prison. It’s not a place.
I like the buckle to cut into my skin.
I count on the sweater to hold me up. I count on the stars to stay awake. I let the food go bad. I let myself go bad too. I hang my hair on the clothesline to dry and step on the sand carefully so I don’t kill anything below. I keep my cobwebs on tight.
I’m wearing all my watches to listen to the time go by. It’s easy you know. It helps you cry. Television never turns off. My fingertips are cold but my eyes are always too warm. I’m not getting sick. I’m staying there.
I can climb a waterfall if no one’s around. The paper always stays with me because the memory goes. I could keep walking if there was a place worth going. Hungry from the lack of god, I read, curl up, cry. Do they let burnouts into heaven? Now I am blind and bitter and blackened. Have to pour water on me in the middle of the night. Have to baptise the other one here.
This paper heart belongs to no one. Not even me.
Sometimes I suck in the smoke just so I can spit it out.
Tuesday’s I’m an angel. Thursday’s I’m a cat. Saturday’s I wait for something to happen. Some day I’ll break my back and pick out the bones like pins from a doll, put them in a box and crumble them with my hands. When the phone rings I talk to the dead, ask them for regrets.
Sometimes I pray for someone to turn off the radio station in my head. Other times I try to tune it in so I can listen. Mostly it just goes shhhhh.
I’m part wind, part dirt. I’m not what you expected.
There are very small streets on my palms small enough to walk on. Small enough to get lost in. I would very much like to get lost. I’ve done the pill thing. Done the misery thing. Now I’m knitting together the time. I swear I’ll be there and I’ll never get there in a box. Maybe crawl out in the dark. Scratch Scratch Scratch.
What I heard from the wind was secret. What no one told me was worth nothing. Brain turns like a bicycle and everything will have to wait. Stealing storms is no way to live. Next time I’ll steal one for someone else. I’ll remember to breathe. I’ll stop keeping birds under the bed. I’ll let the sun come up on it’s own. I cook my breath on iron.
The door goes out the window. The sheets go down the drain. Everything wants to be free. Soft or loud. As sharp as a cloud. Everything wants to be measured. Weave what’s left of the heirlooms in a crown. Storm around uncautioned.
Have to have something sacred or I’ll stay scared.
Small pile of dust on the bed to lie in. Small piece of damage I can still make. Small war to fight in my head. Small ring to pretend I’m taken.
I stalk hallways trying not to make noise. Now I’m married to the noise. Twitch until the heart attack takes over. Something has to. Have to get out of this head. I will write my dead name in water.
I found religion in my wrists. It’s there under the veins. I used to think I was a princess because my blood was blue. See?
MOMMY, AM I CRAZY YET?
no dear, go back to sleep. everything is just fine...
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