Every beat of my heart ;

21:59, Red tape

Thursday, 29 April 2010

You delight in watching a moth battle with burning wings, and prodding four-legged ants across a marble floor. And so it puzzles me, how I manage to

believe, for the longest time yet, that my shadow was the reason for the nightmares. But

now it is clear that it is you

I must avoid.

Not who you are (I love who you are), but who you have become. You, complete stranger, draw me to your flame. I want to talk to you, but you are

so unlike yourself, you bubble me into barbed-wired tomorrows. For pleasure you crush my vowels with your tongue. Then you evaporate my syllables and I am left with only the shell of our pointless conversation.

(And you wished it so. Say nothing and perhaps it will not be true.)

Have I ever mentioned, how sharp the knives are?

They carve through my throat, skater boy, hot and heavy; yesterday was the first time I saw my shadow, any shadow, bleed.