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(A another kind've old piece, written with thoughts of a friend of mine and her troubles. It kind've only makes *real* sense if you knew the situation, but I like the vibe it gives out anyway. Feedback and critiques welcome.)
title we all play those waiting games
one, two, three, she falls to her knees
broken in her own world. the sun has imploded, it has fallen into her. she burns, she burns with passion, false passion and fragrant need. she shakes with the need, she trembles at the whim of it's fury. it is so strong, the passion so strong, so fake. and still she quivers under the dark light. the dark light within, the shadow that dwells coldly around her. so coldly, and yet it seers through her. it claims her like the broken prostitute makes claims to rape.
she had wanted so much more than this for it. she could have given it her all. her all, her death, she's dead now. why did nothing ever turn out as she planned? why could nothing be perfect? it's not fair, the bliss that fills her is so fake, so fake.
she loves it.. she loves it so, and it hurts, it burns like the passion but not. candlelight silhouetted over scorched skin and outlined scars, but it's so beautiful. it's beautiful to her. the need.. still it takes her. the dew on her skin, invisible in the darkness and present like early morning tears. it tastes of a stale spring, tart and sour with rot, and sweet with growth.
a sickness, it is, to be so trapped with the pain. but the light that burnt out inside her glows so wonderfully, because it isn't there, it isn't there. and it fills her, it fills her like an opened whore, and she wants it, she wants it badly. but she doesn't, she needs. she needs to see the body. she needs to taste the full lips, she seeks them, she needs the skin, she craves the lips. she wants the touch, she longs. through the darkness she stumbles for them. and pleading, pleading, she stumbles.
this is why she is on her knees. she made no god to her world, there is none to pray to and none will answer her. why did this happen? the sun had left.. the remnants only burning her more with need. need must be fake because it is not returned. it looks so ugly, so hideous, but she sees, she sees past it all. it is gorgeous, it is hers.. it was hers.
three, two, one, she's come undone
it left.. god.. give it back. like a phone beeping in denial, an operators voice within her chimes. it chimes so loudly.. we're sorry, god isn't here to day.. god! no god! she is her own god.. but her god is gone, is gone, with the sun that fell into her when it left.. give it back. give her back.
she unravles. she is dead to all now. if only she had seen.
if she had seen how much her need was real.
but so convinced otherwise, her excuses, they flooded the realms.
until she took it away from her.. she left her in her world with nothing but false hope. nothing left to cling to in the cold of night, nothing to cause her skin to damp. it only sweats tears now, from her closed eyes. she keeps them closed, closed, forever closed. she doesn't want to see the truth, she can't see the truth in the darkness. she never loved her.
and she wept, the dead wept for her, lost for anything else.
lost without her, tears to draw her back, eyes closed.
she didn't want to believe she wasn't coming home.
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accomplished
tired
crappy
scared
crushed
disappointed
cheerful
artistic
apathetic