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[22 Jan 2010|10:50pm] |
friends only.
for now.
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| where was I before the day that I first saw your lovely face? |
[28 Nov 2009|02:06am] |
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another hotel room, another sleepless night. i rub my hands vigorously over my heavy eyelids, willing them to close, willing my mind to cease the reckless clashing of ideas and thoughts for just a few seconds. isaac is 10 miles from me right now, sleeping restlessly on his deteriorating cot, his heart pulsing erratically even while his calm body fights the activity. i've spent the past month, two months, three months, careening towards this mediocre town, towards the love i wanted to reclaim more than i've ever wanted anything. i'm clutching on to the devotion that allowed me to continue breathing, despite my desire to do nothing more but lay down and become motionless, breathless, lifeless. it's slipping, trickling carelessly through the gaps of my bony hands. matt's suffocating love peeked ever so carefully through his hateful facade today, I am trying not to love you, I am consumed with this anger, I just want you here and this is destroying me. I want you to belong to me. in my mind is the rickety kitchen table, the dark house which we enjoyed so thoroughly, lighting candles to provide the bare minimum of light needed to navigate through the piles of delilah's useless possessions, we repeat our only act of consistency, cigarette after cigarette, word after word, we laughed about how well we passed the time together, it slithered devilishly away from us, the day i left we sat in silence, elbows pressing unforgivingly into the wooden table, hands cupping our chins, gazing at each other for hours without uttering a word or breaking the intensity of our strange connection. he played his favorite song for me, my heart was instantly punctured by the haunting piano and i sat in a stupor, listening intently, tears collecting rapidly in the corners of my eyes. now i lay here on this plush hotel bed, naked and defenseless, torturing myself with this song, this fucking song. i'd do anything to feel closer to him. i'd do anything to be able to let him go. how i'd love nothing more than to become so small that i could slip unnoticed into his body, swim madly in the thick dredge, purple red blue rivers, dig my microscopic claws into his heart and latch on like a parasite, surviving solely on the clenching and unclenching, breathing his air, feeling every minuscule pang of sorrow that ricochets ruthlessly off of his bones, ceasing to exist when he does. it's never enough, it's never enough, to touch, to fuck, it's never enough. i don't want to be alone anymore, i want to be swallowed alive, i want to become a permanent part of someone else. the impermanence doesn't comfort me, the emptiness doesn't liberate me, the meaninglessness doesn't amuse me. i need this to all mean something. i need to mean something.
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| now that you've found it, it's gone. |
[23 Nov 2009|11:28pm] |
blue pills and black coffee, cup after cup, day after day. trembling hands and feet that won't connect with the ground, my skin tingles as though it's being violently prodded by thousands of tiny needles. this boy with his dark skin, dark hair, sweet voice, innocent caressing, is eerily similar to isaac. so I let him stay. this is my life, an endless series of rooms and faces, isolating my tired body with other tired bodies, it comes naturally, lost people find their way to me. we touch and speak and fuck love, but it's not love. when the air in the room becomes too imposing and suffocating we drive 40 miles into the country and pick up a dwarfish girl, skin littered in tattoos. she spanks my ass and calls me honey, tries to carry me when the pills take effect and I can no longer see or speak. back to the hotel and he's touching me lightly and hushing me softly when my words began to deteriorate and crumble into tears, I can't take care of myself, this is what happens.they're sweet but they're only strangers and they tuck me in and wander off to a place where there's not a crying girl, bloodstream swimming with painkillers and booze. I'm cold and lonely and I lost my door key so I can't leave and I swear to god I'm never going to make it through this week. I picture isaac's horrific death every day and I push the suffocating sense of loss back down my esophagus and placate myself with promises that when he stops breathing, I will too. a duprass, a bond that can never be destroyed, but oh how I've tried. our limbs will entangle and our sweet baby voices will bleed together into one and our bodies will rejoice that they've found one another again, but how I fear what I want, and having it. matt tells me he's picking me up from the airport on the 30th and doesn't allow any room for a no or a yes. a day goes by and he doesn't text me or call and I want to die, and I want to die more for wanting to die for such a stupid, pathetic goddamn reason. I'm crawling, wriggling, sliding out of my skin. I wish I could. I don't feel anything when this boy is inside of me. matt ruined me, destroyed the delicate fine line I had drawn between love and sex, never allowing the two to collide or coexist. the line is gone and the two are swirling madly together and my body won't respond to a passionate touch devoid of love or indifference or anything but matt. I am growing out of my sadness but it beckons me back like the sweetest of lovers, it won't let me go and I've never been strong enough to say no. I am safe here in this cocoon of apathy and longing and loss, I am secure in my desire for death. I am sleepy and I wish this boy would come back and press his body close to mine and feign love and fall asleep with me. I am small, smaller, smallest, nonexistent. hold my crumbling body and don't let me go.
( now that you feel it, you don't )
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[21 Nov 2009|10:31pm] |
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I'm in a tiny, delightfully sad hotel room by myself, listening to radiohead, curling into a ball because I'm cold and I don't want to turn on the heat, craving a cigarette but not in the mood to deal with the men that flock to me mysteriously, willing my heart to stop quivering nervously, my fingers to stop tingling with an intense need to feel his skin beneath them, once more. Just a picture of his beautiful face, defined Lithuanian nose full voluptuous lips reserved sadness circling the irises of his unforgiving blue eyes; my heart ceases to function as it should, I am paralyzed by desire. I am trying, I am failing. I want, need, have to bury this love. but there once was a need and a deep haunting desire that I disentangled my heart from, there were feelings I forgot the depth of, a capacity for love that I was sure had been destroyed. he's everything I had to forget, in order to survive. I want it to end, but it's never-ending. this love was never created, it can't be destroyed. it simply exists, just as every minuscule particle that forms my body is tugging it's way forcefully and selfishly back to him. some things cannot be easily surrendered or forgotten.
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[20 Nov 2009|02:00pm] |
I need to remember so I can stop forgetting so easily. the timid boy with black hair falling delicately into his eyes who wants to fall in love with me is not isaac. this intelligent man that fucks me senseless and falls asleep with his arms tangled around my body is not isaac. matt with his sweet sentiments and angry words at my absence in his life is not isaac. I undress and present my curvaceous body with a flourish and without a thought. I should feel guilt but I don't, despite my strenuous efforts to create some semblance of morality inside of my empty, echoing heart. if he were here, I wouldn't be doing this. But that means nothing in the light of my shattered promises and growing promiscuity. I am so painfully detached from the idea of marriage and fidelity. I miss the faithfulness I had to isaac that I was proud of in quiet ways. The innocence and fear that created mine and isaac's comfortable co-dependency has been lost, and I wonder at the possibility of recapturing the heartbreaking-ly honest love we shared. in eight days I'll stand before the man that I will only ever see as a child, with his newly formed muscles and dedication to something greater than himself, with my diminishing frame draped in intensely black attire and my wild hair, sticking out at every angle; and we will have become two strangers to the world and each other, regretfully leaving behind the sweet, shy children we once were, trying to attach ourselves to the idea of this new, brave, resilient person in front of us. my body aches for the safety of his sinewy, boyish body next to mine, for the coffee stained carpet we spent so many hours crawling around on in boredom, for the ball of fur with an elegant name that we deemed our child, for the beautifully calm love we whispered into the early hours of the morning, the salvation we had found in each other that etched it's way joyously across our smooth, unlined faces, the idea we had of forever that seemed easily attainable.
( I miss the girl that his love carved me so effortlessly into. )
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[17 Nov 2009|03:39pm] |
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I need the comfort of touch without the expectation of sex. I need someone to understand what I mean when I say my reflection is foreign to me now and it's frightening in the most peculiar way. I stare at myself endlessly in the mirror and the longer I'm faced with my reflection, the less it makes sense. I don't look like myself anymore, somehow. He's beautiful, in his tiny apartment with landmines of books sprawling across the floors haphazardly. His isolation is beautiful, the perverse comfort he finds in the cold, emotionless nature of numbers. He's 29 and he's never been in love, or he's convinced himself in retrospect that the things he felt weren't love, they couldn't have been, not by his definition. Loud, guttural moans escape between my soft, full lips as he touches me sensually from behind. His hands travelling slowly over the folds and bunching of my flowery, poofy skirt, wetness coats the delicate skin between my legs, I am ready, always ready to go, to be fucked, to forget, to try to sate this crushing urge. He likes it when I kiss his neck as he thrusts into me, I smile devilishly, my light, feathery kisses aren't matt's anymore, his neck is not the one I'm nuzzling into at night, was it ever? Our love existed during the day, during the lapse of her presence. This anger is devouring me and I want to hurt him, I want to hurt myself, I want a release from this gruesome longing, this need to destroy. why couldn't you just love me as I was, instead of trying to mold me into something that would fit more effortlessly into your life?he says no, he says you're trying to justify leaving, I love you madly, I miss you, I need you. I don't believe a goddamn word he says anymore, I don't believe he'll ever realize the sorrowful motives behind his actions, he'll never break free from her chokehold grip on his life. A few days ago I devoted myself to isaac, last night I fucked another man, and this morning I couldn't easily recall who isaac was. Attachment is suffering, yet I'm wallowing in my very own endless pool of anguish caused by my lack of ability to attach myself to anything with meaning. I lose my resolutions, tossed thoughtlessly aside like the packs of cigarettes that litter my room. Everyone is disappointed, they believed my fairy tale sentiments, they were under the impression that I was capable of loyalty or remorse. I don't expect anything of myself, I'm never disappointed. I down shot after shot and I mumble that I'm still coherent, that's no good. I read my old journals and write songs about the girl I used to be, the one I still vaguely am. just one brush of your skin against mine could destroy me for a lifetime. I am paralyzed by touches so tender that my heart begs me to fall in love. I crave more, always more. Touch me, breathe me, fuck me, love me. I tell my father to appreciate the woman that cradles his frozen, cruel heart between her fragile fingers and I realize I'm telling myself. I am fortunate to have someone that wants to deal with me, with my barricaded heart and my compulsion to destroy every inch of love that comes my way. I am lucky, but I don't want to be. I don't deserve this, but I want to. I will murder every particle inside of this useless body to give isaac the love he deserves, I never wanted to lose myself but it's all I crave now. Mold me into something that's easily captured, melt my heart into one that could love without the impulse to destruct, love me, love me, love me.
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[12 Nov 2009|04:21pm] |
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I smile with my lips pressed against his, mumbling through the miniscule vacant spaces that separate our bodies, "today is the last day I'll ever see you, realistically, and it's three months to the day that I first spoke to you." The reserved sadness he tries so desperately to mask contaminates his words as he whispers that he'll miss me. Pulling my body so close that we merge into one muddled, odd looking shadow on the wall, his hands holding my ass firmly, delicately kissing every inch of skin from my breasts to my lips. I watched him sleep for hours last night, his body twisted awkwardly on the floor to avoid the landmines of dirty laundry, his toes gently wiggling ever so digilently and faithfully. Kisses so undetectable and soft, etching my invisible lip prints across his skin, cupping his long, elegant fingers between both hands and holding them to my chest, pressing my lips against his in a touch that's like a whisper. I want to be his wife, I want to bear his children, prepare his meals, clean his house, lay out his clothes neatly every night and devour him fully so he would never feel the ache of loneliness again. But I can't rescue him from his mindless bitch of a wife or detach him gently from the memory of love he had with her, he'll destroy himself to fulfill an impossible ideal of perfection and I can't bear to witness it. He speaks of her with a tangible hatred in his voice and I want nothing more than to tell him to leave, to find happiness once again with the woman who so digilently catered to him; but I can't. I can't do anything but to leave and try my hardest to never return, despite his pleas and compromises. be with both isaac and I, I am unbearably jealous and this hurts every second, but you're worth it, don't go away, please. I know I can't, and I know I won't. I miss isaac in a way I'll never miss another, our lost bodies collided one winter and it feels as though they'll never separate, despite time or distance. I feared the loss of self being so intimately intertwined with him, but I realize now that without isaac I am just a faceless girl tumbling down a spiral staircase of wistful longing and despair. He is my home, and after all of these months drifting weightlessly through indistinguishable places, I want nothing more than to go home.
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[08 Nov 2009|02:55am] |
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I try to ignore the emptiness that hollows out the room, closing my eyes and riding digilently, trying to be somewhere else, in another life, perhaps. destroy the desire for that which is impossible, and accept what you get with a smile. but I'm incapable or unwilling. I'll never have him fully, by my rigid old fashioned standards, and that sparks a need for a certain level of indifference, of flighty nonchalance. Especially around her. Drunken voice mails, she hasn't heard my voice in almost three years, vodka and orange juice and my fingers gliding effortlessly over the keyoboard, hello darling, oh just a drink or two, but soon I'm on the floor and I'm spinning in one direction, the room twirling recklessly in another, I mumble through the vomit, I have trouble with loneliness, I'm so sorry. there are garish red cuts on my arm and a painful grimace on my face when no one is looking. Do you think I'm happy here? Am I happy anywhere? My stomach is weak and it is empty, I'm increasingly pleased upon inspection of my diminishing frame each morning. Your love is draining me, I'm dwindling into nothingness again and I enjoy it. Hannah's words are firm and unrelenting, she questions how I swallow the tragic lies I feed myself, how I gobble down man after man and proclaim the deepest of loves. you don't love and you don't need, you're preoccupying yourself, once a flower in the park in prescott made you happy and now nothing does, I don't know where you've gone or why you limit yourself. the boy next door wants me, the boy at target, the boy... I flaunt and I tease, I have the desire to incite jealousy in him. I want to hurt him, the compulsion grows with each denial of my intensely fragile heart. He turns my arm over lightly, averting his eyes slightly from the 50 horizontal scabs and says, you're not strong enough to take care of yourself. Maybe I don't want to. Maybe I am envious of blake's newfound salvation with jesus christ. He's discarded the dissatisfied, destructive life and escaped himself, almost fully. We shared the need to be anyone but who we were, his darkness rivaled mine and brought me an odd sense of comfort. My head is heavy and my body reeks of sex, I hate waking up to two people instead of one. I hate the way he makes my ideals on love and monogamy seem trite and close-minded. I want to be the only one, apparently that groups me into everyone who fails to understand him. I'm not alone because I don't care enough, about anything. I'm not alone because someone always wants me and saying yes is easier. I'm not alone because I've been detached from everyone for so long that loneliness and happiness don't exist anymore, and if they do, there's no distinction between the two. I stare at pictures of isaac and I beg my heart to react, even the slightest twitch would do. His face is beautiful, but strange to me. That symmetrical, sculpted face is no longer one I recognize. I only know how to lose things, not to keep them.
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[06 Nov 2009|05:59pm] |
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I just want someone to hold on and never let go.
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[05 Nov 2009|12:53am] |
'crush the enemy', tom repeats like a prayer. Yes, but tommy dearest, how do you retain interest without the threat of loss? His cuddly, boyish face is bewildered, plagued by an innocent charm that negates his wrong-doings, "I don't want a girl when I have her." I understand dear, and then on goes the pleasing french techno, and off with the chic, black, leather clothing. Dance parties at 5 am in hannah's wonderfully barren apartment. We squeal in delight, bouncing quite literally off of the walls and each other, like children who have snuck into the candy stash after halloween and become wild eyed and manic with the pleasure of the forbidden. We are on a permanent sugar high. Our three bodies, which are ridden down with anguish and the exhaustion of being so aware; are brilliantly free for a few moments in time. We dive in the air, fondle each other mid-dance move, rejoice in our own pessimistic way at the happiness that permeates through out the room, seeping out through the cracks in the doors. We are narcotics to one another, an overdose of self, prolonged exposure would result in final, irreparable madness. But the beauty of our simultaneous breakdowns is such a delicious temptation.
And as I sit here writing this, in the presence of two admittedly simple people, my heart swells obscenely and collapses back into itself just as quickly. I am a hopeless pessimist, a proud misanthrope, a nihilist and a person devoid of faith or morals. I am quite frankly, in every sense of the phrase, 'meant to be alone'. My unbearable anger infilitrates every relationship, and cruelty is a favored vice of mine. I can be sweet, but it inevitable dissipates and disappears as most feigned actions do; without notice. I enjoy anger and loneliness and cold, devilish cruelty so much more than play pretend love, hugs and kisses, "I love you's" before bed. So why am I here? The question is endless. I don't love him, or I've convinced myself that I can't, which is one in the same. I can't love fully or continously. My love is intense and overbearing, disgustingly sweet and easily dissolveable. I melt like sugar in a boiling cup of tea, fragments of me drifting through the murky liquid, stinging your tastebuds unexpectedly. But if challenged could you gather the shards of me and place them back together? Would they create the same image? The sex is pleasing, but you destroyed my appetite for it with one simple, revelaing gesture. Tears were forming in my feline-green eyes as I writhed beneath you, devoured by pleasure, possessed by some false or true sense of love, depending upon one's perspective of love's validity and legitimacy. As I began to surrender myself to you, the telephone rang and you shoved me off of you, quite forcefully. Strewn aside like trash on a desolate highway, carelessly. Delilah becomes angry if you miss a call. Snide comments crowd my mouth, pushing angrily against the back of my teeth, begging to be spoken. But the fragility of my heart renders me immobile, it is not breaking or it is not broken, simply drowning in wistful disappointment and wrapping itself in nonchalance as though it were the finest fur coat.
I am sick with the idea of anyone claiming ownership over me. I run not from myself but from the rapid death of love. The touches that seem so full, bursting with intensity, and ever so quickly, but subtlely, always unnoticed, into a touch whose emptiness could devour me. I've never understood the act of belonging and I'd cease to be myself if ever I claimed comprehension. I am free, or I am shackled. Either way my heart denies entry and my palms radiate emptiness. That is the manipulation that taints my existence. I fit effortlessly everywhere, as though I were the missing puzzle piece to everyone's heart, but I don't belong anywhere. My ability to find perverse contentment in any situation renders me incapable of true happiness, of true anything.
I am a real phony.
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