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You Make It Up -AND- It's True

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  • You Make It Up -AND- It's True

    It gets dark during the day. I remember the ruby majesty of the green grass stretched upon my path. The little rodents by the side of the road, caked in mud and flea-bitten; at work on eating something from a silver shred. The air is heavy, wet, warm to breathe ... fresh. The delight turns upward at the edge, golden ringed flame. Eyes that probably see more than just simple color. You're the recognition.
    It might be that I wished for love to come to me in a box. Lingerie, frills, laced with x's. Dark romance in Gothic cathedral. Churchbells swing, and water ripples itself away. The ribs of ships move over, the waters pass through a series of waves. In places the water is dark red. Should I walk around afraid of leery eyes. Should the paste of clouds taste like something familiar. The reasons I foray. You are the rill of bloodred water, and the knowing eye. The baleful rebuke to a self still holding on ... I know you're close to me. Hint at the vague--
    I've loved and wanted enough. I worry about all sorts of stuff, I swing on tangents, hung to please the town audience. I used to believe in the 'haunting'. I am left with the weight, undesirable, of a fortune I could never even budge. Coin by coin, this ireful world of pastel iridescence ... I am but a circle's reflection, geared toward the moving eye, sensing pleasure. Gears in motion remind me. The daimonic realms ... imaginary ... brittle like scarab wings.
    Nails in my flesh. Self-flagellation, tears under pressure, precious beautiful pane of glassy ice. Slice my lies from my heart, snatch the pen, and write. Wist-filled eyes in misty fields of cold dark afternoons. Is there pressure from the skies? You are bent upon me. I write tragedy, all my teeth counted, and I flame impossible before your eyes.
    My goal became what is sybaritic longing, I became to myself Monad while machine broke down to its essence. I played with ideas, strange ideas of people communicating, truly connected.
    I see with one eye the stars connected by blackness, to hint at terrible vagueness ... and then the acute realization, homesickness. No where left to go.
    You either get up and go anyway, or you worry until you forget. You converse with dead ghosts, you say, in the corners of Afternoon: flowers bloom and die during your conversation.
    I only wanted to love you. You have no face anymore. I have run out of any excuse. After the abuse of tantrums, and the death I've been handed ... the sunlight is my companion, but dark tracks in the sky lead me beyond the earth. Something inside the air.
    Something cracks and thunder and rain shake the flowers. Morning air, night waves; anchor in the washing sea.
    My strident eyes begin to close.
    Will you promise to remember me?... I meant to say.

  • #2
    Still trying to process what I just read but you write so engagingly and with great colour to the pictures you is going to take another read.


    • #3

      The plethora of imagery is almost overwhelming!