Fingers like dicks and skin made of cardboard. Upstairs they say is where to go if that's what you want to wear. Plastic bow ties hewn from ribbons of malice. Little gods on big thrones pretending to know us.
Swimming in her pantyhose she held her breath for as long as she could. Suffocating always seemed more appropriate. Imagining the nylon to be some sort of suicide contraption. A guillotine starving for a head to cut off.
Long goodbyes I can never finish. Turning boys into men. Skin into choices. Like we all are when it's left us.
Crisp snow on the window sill asking me to admit that I'm cold, but I can't. won't ever know. Deafening gods that overrule all our instincts. Liars with too much wire. And nowhere to put it.
Even if you're an atheist you can still make a deal with the devil.
It's just a matter of talking slow enough so those demons can understand you.
Sunday
1/20/2008 12:40:00 AM
Words makes you beautiful; your skin are your words. Your drunk..but, not by alchohol.
You are drunk by pain -- pain intoxicated!
But, does'nt matter to what i'm saying-- keep writing....that's where i'll probably go to meet you....and probably that's what keeps you alive.
Whoever you are; whatever you are...in your words you become beautiful.
one of the most wonderful comments i've ever had the pleasure to receive.
thank you for reading and taking the time to share your thoughts.
viva la france!
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