Saturday, February 23, 2013

You Are Like The End Of Me.

We don't occupy the same space
and so you are here and I am there
it must be
Because I sometimes find myself
swirling through the shadows of your mind
I see that you think of me
I know that you feel for me
what I feel for you, for you I feel

And since I don't occupy the same space
as you
I so want to be with you
I want to want you
to climb inside me
and surely then I'd occupy some part of you
like you now occupy some part of me

And since you don't occupy
the same space as me
I want you to know me
like a stranger
you live in a cold place
while I live in hell (which is sometimes hot)
and sometimes I'm in the clouds about you
only to find that you don't exist
you're like a ghost in the night
you come and take my soul and play tricks
with me, with your twirly finger
you intoxicate me with your love
as they say, you exist only in the desert
oh how love is thirsty
like a virgin
like an untouched thing, touched
and we don't occupy the same

You are like the end of me.

Thursday, February 14, 2013


I thought I'd be a wild flower to you
And like paper I am,
yes a paper flower
And so you tried to suffocate me
to drown me in your water
Your sweat were pearls to my dreams
and now what?

What can water mean to me- paper
Among the living
on the ground untouched
untouched by the language
the words of love
Oh if only you knew
How much I've dreamt of life
how much I too feel
it's so unreal.

I thought I'd be a rose even
with long thick petals
and colorful too
like deep red or lilac
And although I was born with thorns
I am paper you know, I couldn't survive a storm
That storm that swept all the good with the bad
And thunder ripped right through me
right before I became nothing
Now what?

What can love mean to me?
What can learning that language you speak so well
clear for me?

I thought I'd even be some kind of weed
yes, like the kind that infests backyards
and front yards swarmed by these
At least I'd learn to breathe
learn to enjoy the few moments of life
But paper I am... I used to dream even
of being written on, of being needed
of being wanted and of being
I'd let the ink on me
sink into me...
but now what?

Nobody knows how to write anymore
no one cares for words on paper...
a letter even - yes
it was only, wait, I can't remember.

So I was invented by some grace
I was folded and made to look real
but I feel, I assure I feel!
And now what?