| 04:55pm 03/11/2009 | |||
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I saw when you made your new name.... your name of her. And in the statistics, I saw her scratched on you over and over and over again. I was only yours, in you, once. So while you only loved me once, she was your repeated addiction. I should've known. I was never your addiction of choice. You always preferred the harder hit over me. But what happened to your new name Sweetie? So old and neglected. I know I never kept you recent, but you claim to love her, need her, replaced me. Let me know when your new edition is out, I'll want to meet her. Then I can count how many times the new one is scratched on you. Soon your scar of me will fade. I won't even be a memory in your little black book. The name 'Trisha' will be outdated, faded. I will only be a smear of old ink that was never in permanently. |
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| 09:46pm 09/02/2009 | |||
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I yearn to find them.. to feel the burn the tears create, as I feel this recognizable haze settle in. The numbness does bring a bit of nostalgia with it. All the familiar lack of sensation. I almost welcome it, part of me demands it back with open arms. I said I'd never come back here and yet I seem to have taken a wrong turn along the way. Back here again. At first I didn't know where I was... stumbling around in the black... a couple of weeks pass and finally my eyes adjust. I start to recognize my surroundings as the burn fades from my eyes, from me. Yes, I remember this. I try to fight, but my limbs are getting heavy. I try to find my tears, to make me feel, but to no avail... I can't remember the last time I cried, the last time I felt. As my lids fill with lead, I try to focus on her beautiful face, and I stay conscious for now... but she's starting to blur around the edges.... How much longer until I'm completely lost, under? |
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| Convoluted | |||
| 02:09pm 28/01/2009 | |||
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So once more I promised to use it often only because it fits so well. It's perfectly you. Me. Her. It's so perfectly all of us. So convoluted. Only because of the perfect way we make it so. and it tastes so well coming off my tongue. "There is that again" she said Taste.. Your taste.. It's taste.... It's all we live for.. to see how the next person, thing tastes. TASTE THEM AND MOVE ON It's our proper procedure. Get with the show... You're holding up the line. My taste is not for you, no matter how you think so. Just taste and move on. Next please. I'll prepare: Close my eyes. He'll taste me; I taste him. She'll taste me; I taste her. Swallow and move on. Forget the aftertaste. It only drags us back. How convoluted. There are too many words to describe how callous, cold we truly are, and yet not one is perfect enough. So perfectly perverse. So perfectly us. Convoluted. |
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| Taste... | |||
| 11:16pm 21/01/2009 | |||
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As I hold my breath when my words dangle between us, silence is your only answer. So when silence is all you can breathe out, I will spew languages and you will be the one who doesn't understand. When 'No' is all you can nod to me, I will be everyone's 'Yes', insatiable as they are. when you try to mellow this, me, to your advantage, I will pack a party to unleash, and my riot will ensue. Then, when I am all you can paint, you will only be a faded photo in my memory book. When I become your addiction, I will have lost my taste for you. |
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| In that moment.... | |||
| 01:53am 20/01/2009 | |||
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I wrote many times of how you would save me, all the different ways you make this world perfect. & even as I held you so perfectly still and beautiful, the world, imperfect as it was, fell away. Time stopped and nothing mattered, existed. And in that frozen moment, I memorized your face, the shape of your nose, the curve of your lips. I burned in the memory of your hand in mine, the weight of you in my arms, your smell. I took you with me in that moment. I took you so I could keep you.... forever mine. And no mattered what happened after that, you'd still always be mine. In that moment, just the two of us, alone, I felt every fragment of me that fell away, piece by piece as it fell, and didn't care. In that moment, the definition of a broken heart had no meaning. It didn't matter. Now time has passed and I don't know exactly when time started again, I don't remember, but I do know that I saved you, over and over, every time it was something I should've done differently. I've got a whole list. Now I know that in that moment you saved me after all. I could, should write the many different ways that you saved me, but it doesn't matter which way it was, or how you left, because you did. And which ever, or how ever many, ways it happened... It was meant to be. You were never meant to be... not mine.... not here with me... in this world. When you left me, you saved me. I love you. Imogen Serenity Gonzales 08-18-05 "My daughter on wings" |
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| 09:20am 14/01/2009 | |||
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As the houses fly by... I feel the wind on my face.. the raindrops just mix in with the wetness on my cheeks. Inhale and blow the pain away. intoXicate. I love you better when the hurt you make is dulled. When everything is just a bit less sharper, I'm less likely to bleed. and the light of fire no longer reaches me, but I still smell the smoke it creates, you create. I'll just inhale again until I can no longer feel the pain, feel anything. |
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| 2009 | |||
| 09:30pm 06/01/2009 | |||
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Take your time.. it's all new. A fresh start to explore. Try not to fuck it up. Count it out. Make sure to lick your finger while you train. It makes it all so better. Let me know when you can see again. Because I'll draw you a pretty picture to utilize your vision. (with) It'll have all your favorite colors and the frame will match all the others on your wall. It'll fit perfect. So when this year is over and all you can remember is a fuzzy girl when you think of me, you'll still have the frame that holds the picture I once drew for you.... while you slept.. with her.. while you were tasting me. |
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| Fender Benders... | |||
| 11:37am 23/12/2008 | |||
| As I continue down this road, I wonder how many more fender benders I'll get myself into before crashing headfirst into something a bit more intricate, convoluted. The aforementioned fender benders are just passing inconveniences that never last before I get back on my way. So how can I cover this complication without entangling her? The safety net is unavailable and the pavement burns thru. The scabs and burns from the last one are still fading... repeatedly misreading the distance between the mistakes. As I continue to mark my body with reminders of failure, I continue down this road... a bit more cautious... a bit more .... not. | |||
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| 03:22pm 20/12/2008 | |||
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I spoke of you today. I spoke of how you once loved me, the stories we once created with your words and pictures. “More” was just a contest that had no meaning and the arguments that never happened so loudly, were spilled. You were supposed to stay my dirty little secret and I shared you with everyone just like I did before. Can you say that it’s over? Can you say that your notes are gone? The notes for me? All packed away just like the year I found. Forgotten days that were perfect. Flowers and hearts that were crushed. I thought it all lost, but there it laid, waiting for the perfect wrong moment and you were unavailable to listen to story of a girl who loved you. A girl who died for you. A girl who lived for you. All I got was a recording saying you would listen later when you ran out of time to be hers. I cannot put the end to this as the words begin to double, blur. I’ll lay down my book of you. You weren’t listening anyway. Be sure to check your messages, there’ll be one from a girl you may remember. |
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| UnReal. | |||
| 01:53pm 18/12/2008 | |||
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Unknown to all these people, with tra-la-la laugh, they think that it’s all so great. Sitting here in a separate world I can see all the confusion among them.. I know what they don’t. they don’t see the looks that get sent between them.. they don’t see the sounds they make and how fake they echo… only the fake ones leave that mark.. the one you can see long after it’s faded. The lights that show from their face is only a hollow glow.. a temporary light that fades as soon they turn away. When they start showing their lack of true color… so bland they blend… all the same.. screw your party it’s a bit too corporate for me.. I want real people.. real words.. real colors. Real. I am only a bit too real for this. |
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| Read 1 - Post | |||
| Cierra | |||
| 02:11pm 16/12/2008 | |||
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She invited me in last night and said she wanted me. But Sweetie, you lost your taste for me long ago. Now I just sour in your mouth. Just a bit too plain for you, I am. Square. I don’t fit your mold anymore. Jealous, you say? But you stopped loving me 5 years ago, maybe more, if you ever did at all. So now she claims to want me, but I know it’s only because of her. That’s the only time she wants… anything, when her Angela isn’t there. I’m just the backup, a second choice by default, just revenge. Sorry, Sweetie, I don’t go for fucking. Not you anyway. See, everytime I fucked you, I loved you, and I knew that you loved me back. I may still love the stranger you’ve become, but I won’t fuck her. She doesn’t want me. |
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| Read 1 - Post | |||
| 09:27am 07/12/2008 | |||
| As I bleed these words onto this page, I think of the time I have left. How much longer until I’m complete? A completely different person? I’ve been so many I’ve lost track of just how many Trishas I’ve been. And yet every one has been discarded, so it doesn’t matter how many times I’ve been because none of those Trishas has been good enough. Not for you, not for them, not for me. I’ll always hate what I become no matter how differently I may spell Trisha this time. The “c” makes no difference, except in your case. Upper, lower, who cares? I’ve managed to stick with the “s”. It makes the word only slightly prettier. I almost forget what an ugly girl the word is trying to hide. So tainted, dirty, and no matter how many different layers of new Trisha I put on, the dirt is still inside, he’s still inside. Scrub, scrub, scrub, till blood is drawn. Still there. It won’t fade. And I can give it a new name and call it better, cured, but it’s not. It’ll never be. Time’s up. Time for a new Trisha no matter how used this one is. Don’t worry, I’ll introduce you to her when she’s done. Her name’s Trisha. | |||
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| 09:11am 04/12/2008 | |||
| As I turn around and walk away from you, I wonder how I will address this letter. I’ve lost your address. I’ve got the wrong house. Because when I knocked on your door, a stranger answered. Different eyes, different face, they didn’t know me. Confusion/disgust or maybe indifference, but then, what’s the difference between the two? I never knew what that would look like on your face. I know now. It didn’t end bad like you said; it didn’t end. Those normally have goodbyes etched somewhere in the ending credits. Watch carefully as they scroll up the screen and you’re bound to catch it. This just stopped, not even a brief acquaintance. No familiarity here. I back away from this wrong house mumbling some apology about a mistake. And I’m sorry. I am. I guess I’ll just fold away this letter and put it in the box that contains all the broken frames I’ve gone through. I’m through. This box is full. I’ll put it away somewhere in the back of the closet and forget about that imagined possibility. I’ll start living my life the way it’s supposed to be. | |||
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| 09:20am 02/12/2008 | |||
| Under the angles, I can see where you really lie. Remember to add the extra breath just for that word. Will it ever be enough? The lightheaded feeling will go away after I’m gone, I promise. I’m not good for you. It’s just my taste killing your senses. I never knew Perfect until she shook my hand and the name she gave me was Yours. Then she turned around and walked away from me. That path is worn right thru. Tread so often. I don’t even need to put a sign or arrow. There is no other path. I’m just a DEAD END street that has a broken light and those who manage to find me were just lost or using me to turn around. Do a line while you’re here. The dark is perfect for it. My dark is anyway. Don’t bother turning this way. I go nowhere. You’ll never get anywhere with me. I’m no good for you or your senses. You’ll feel better once you leave me. | |||
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| 09:10am 25/11/2008 | ||||
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contemplative| A letter to you. | ||||
| 11:24am 24/11/2008 | ||||
This is my testimony, my statement of thoughts that I put to you, to paper, to burn. I feel the need that you know to make it right, whole, the way it’s supposed to be. Everyone’s picture perfect. The perfect frame with the perfect family in the wooden white fence. There’s Mommy, Daddy, and all the perfect happy children with their bright smiling faces that match the sun’s and the puppy’s. The apple tree in perfect blossom. Everyone’s picture perfect. With your green grass that’s a perfect 3” and a painted red door with a knocker. It’s all so perfect. Everyone’s picture. And yet we don’t. I know the need to complete the picture, to make it right, whole, perfect. I want the perfect too. The mini-golf on Sunday afternoons, picnics in the park, movie nights in the family room. (family room, that’s a laugh.) You want to complete your picture and make the faces shine and smile, everything is so bright, but will you? When you’ve got your perfect 3” green grass, the apple tree in perfect blossom, the perfectly painted red door with knocker, will it be perfect? Will your face be shining and bright? Will theirs? You see, me and her, we don’t fit in anyone’s picture perfect. He left us for his frame, for his perfection and I see the pain on his face. He tries so hard to make it (b)right. So in our picture, mine and hers, we’ve got a green scratched door with a peephole, no grass or yard of our own, and puppy that runs on batteries. And an empty spot where Daddy goes. An imperfect, incomplete picture, but she’s perfect and our faces shine bright and happy. So we’ll still hang our “Home Sweet Home” sign over our green scratched door and should you ever walk through it, you’ll see the Welcome sign upon entering, and know that only love with bright happy faces dwells here. You see, I feel the need just as you do, but being happy is good enough for perfect. |
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| 09:53am 19/11/2008 | |||
| today when I wrote your letters, I spelled what you would never become... M I N E. But the 'I' looked a little crooked and my eraser smeared it all... soon it looked just like ME alone on a blank page in a mess of letters that weren't there anymore. The slightly faded thought that you could ever belong (ended there. never connected) to me. I'll stay a smudged, incomplete mix of letters on a blank piece if paper that I'll never give to you, even as I pen the address perfectly on the front. I'll wait for the ink to dry and stick it somewhere in a drawer and try to forget about it. you. try to forget that I once knew your taste, that I once recognized your feel. Now you're just a faded memory. I'm just a faded word, a smeared person waiting to be fixed, waiting for the day to finish, for you to be complete. Grab the white out please, a correction is needed. Soon I'll be a word that makes better sense and is spelled correctly... after the paint dries... | |||
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| 09:29am 20/08/2008 | |||
| A CELEBRATION. A HOLIDAY. CLOSE YOUR EYES AND BLOW YOUR WISH AWAY. THE SONG WILL MARK THE NUMBER. NEVER ALONE AGAIN. THE SOUND OF THUNDER WILL DROWN OUT YOUR SMILES. THE HANDS KNOW HOW TO FUNCTION. RUSTED FROM TIME. AS THE LEAK SPRINGS NEW URGES. YOU CAN’T SUPPRESS THIS INSTINCT. AS THE ACHE SETTLES IN ITS OLD FAMILIAR PLACE. NEW SENSATIONS WEAR ON AS WELL. THE BEEP OF HER ARRIVAL. I CAN ONLY GUESS WHAT SHE’LL WANT NEXT. ANOTHER PAGE? MORE LIQUID. CAN’T EVEN SAY HER NAME. THE BROKEN RECORD HAS STOPPED REPEATING THAT LONG AGO. EVEN AS I STARE AT YOUR LETTERS. NO SENSE. ILLITERATE. I ALREADY KNOW THE SOUND YOU MAKE. IT’S TIME TO TRY OTHERS. HOW LONG CAN HE SCREAM BEFORE MY NAME MAKES NO MORE SENSE? TAKE CARE IN THIS AUDITION, YOU’LL BE HER REPLACEMENT. SORRY, SWEETIE, IT’S TIME TO CELEBRATE SOMEONE ELSE. | |||
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| RELAPSE | |||
| 12:36pm 17/11/2007 | |||
| YOUR BLANK IS COMING BACK. I SEE THE EDGES OF THAT FAMILIAR VOID. EACH TIME I SEE YOUR NUMBER ON THIS SCREEN. I KNOW ITS YOU THAT MAKES ME [SEMI DRUNK] SEMICONSCIOUS OF WHAT I DO [WITH YOU]. SO I GO TO MY MEETINGS TITLED "YOU ANONYMOUS" BUT THEY DON'T SEEM TO BE WORKING CUZ WHEN I GET HOME I REACH FOR THE YOU I HAVE HIDDEN UNDER MY CABINET. THE YOU IN MY CLOSET. THE YOU NEXT TO MY BED. IN THE MORNINGS AFTER MY DAILY DOSE OF YOU SOMETIMES I WONDER IF I'LL EVER BE ABLE TO BLINK THIS INTOXICATION AWAY [SOBER UP, THEY SAY] I NEVER SEE THE END OF YOU. NOT ANYTIME SOON. [TO THINK] I ALMOST FORGOT WHAT YOU TASTED LIKE. THOSE TWO YEARS WITHOUT YOU. [DRY]. I CONTINUE TO HIDE YOU FROM THOSE WHO KNOW ME. [THEY THINK THEY KNOW ME]. THEY DON'T. I CAN BLAME IT ON THEM. [I CANT]. YOU'RE THE REASON I DO THIS. YOU NEVER LET ME GO. [I THOUGHT] I WAS STRONGER THAN YOU. I THOUGHT I COULD HANDLE YOU. ALL THIS I SAY IN A BRIEF MOMENT OF CLARITY. [SOBRIETY]. IN A FOG OF MY RELAPSE. | |||
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| 08:36pm 11/11/2007 | |||
| You don't know how to press these buttons. Stop this trip from happening. These images continue to flood. Heart continues to pump. Halt this orchestra of so-called emotion and suck in that apology that automatically tries to escape and prevent this monolouge. Create yourself a nice comfort zone so you can stay for 3 months. You need to listen to this vent. Screw your timetables. This is my watch now. And the second hand ticks when I want it. Not at your command. Not anymore..... | |||
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fake_iloveyous |
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