December 2007

English poem, ask not why……

If life were an eternity

Bound not by this mortality

Surely my love would not be so

Stubborn and unwilling to go

We would dance under moon lit skies

Ponder the stars and fireflies

Spend our days sailing far away

Welcoming salty ocean spray

I would follow you if you run

To the end of time just for fun

Bestirring from slumber my love

Pierces the clear heavens up above

Lifetimes I shall spend a million

Drowning in rich vermillion

Eons I shall spend awaiting

Mind numb and fingers aching

To feel the silk of your smooth hair

Wispy as midsummer night’s air

I’d savor your sweet cherry

If only life were so merry

But often I am haunted by

Frivolous death mocking and sly

Laughing and bitter he draws close

To hang me by a lonesome noose

Softly time whispers in my ear

Make haste for the end is near

In thy hand a single dark rose

My heart or his for you to choose

Of this game I soon grow weary

Tarry not you sad sick fairy

Oh darling surely I would hate

If you were to make death your mate

Now sweet let us go you and I

Soon before life passes us by

While daylight is young and plenty

Die a little sweet and gently

Burn quick in the carnal fires

Of my insatiable desires

Now let us find them while we may

And now like frolicking cubs at play

Seek yonder horizons broad and wide

For no longer have we to hide

Uncork the bottle of our strife

And drink to the lees this fine life

Thus, though we have no true power

Delay him we can by each hour

Stay, stay a little while…

“Hey,” a tired, soft greeting, she slips into the sofa, cotton pajamas frictionless against her pale, milky skin. Her creamy hair falling to one side, she cocks her head to look at him.

“Hey,” he replies.

Sometimes I think about him, too. It’s weird that. You stupid bastard, you. Goddamn you, you’re kind of charming sometimes, only sometimes. And I miss sitting next to you, you make class bearable. Now, that’s taking it too far.

I liked that sword of hers. She swung it with such ease and grace, it was elegant. I liked that show, I really did. It was so warm and so…warm.

I smell like that perfume grandmother sends from China, from the depth of some murky pool, perfume to cover the stench of death. Ceaseless reaper of souls, take mine, will you?

Oh god, oh god, oh god. OH GOD!

Were you thinking what I was thinking?

“Take my hand, stay with me a little while, stay right here with me.” He took her hands, forehead against hers, looking at her, pleading, those eyes of his. A gentle wind rustles the leaves, billowing across the endless plains of grass. Was he just lonely? High above the shimmering stars glittered and danced, across the ebony halls of space, the empty of the sky, the silent oceans of waves upon waves of light, stretching from the end of the universe to another, the enormity in which he was only a small part, a small part of a bigger whole. He pleads. “Stay. Stay right here.”

She nods, she nods, she nods, she will stay, “I will stay.” She assures him, gripping his hand tighter, she will stay. Because she wants to, for his sake? Because she wants. She’s staying, because she wants to. She wants to, she wants to be here, right here, with him, under the weight of a dying world, under the weight of her own foolishness, the weight of everything in her little world, the weight of it all crashing down, for him, for him, those pleading eyes, those hollow eyes. They need to be filled, like a mold, like a mold and she’ll pour herself in, fill them, stay with him.

“I will stay.” And the sadness, sweetest smile creeps across his lips, and maybe, maybe he’s found happiness. Only after knowing true despair will one know true happiness. The emptiness at the bottom of that well, that deep, abysmal well, that was his, that was his. What did he drop down there, what did he give, what did he give to be apart of this world, what did he give that he can’t get back now? He grapples, reaches, searches and found her hand, her hand. And as he stands, here, there, here and there, under the blue blanket of the sky, the eerie quiet and echoing love of her words, he smiles, smiles to himself. He’s found it. No, no, she found it for him, reached down that well and emerged, radiant, wet, and in her hands, she’s found it, found what he once lost. Himself? Maybe, maybe a chipped self.

My eyes are itchy, dry? Tired? I sleep, I sleep now. Finally, it seems, I sleep.

Time flies; did you ever love me?

Time flies, I barely remember a thing. How long has it been? He checks his watch, three hours, maybe four, maybe a lifetime. It’s a bit weird, like a half eaten bowl of green grapes, firm, round, earthy, the little stubs where grapes should, and used, to be, sticking up and out like the inside of your lungs. It’s all a bit weird.

Tell me something, she says, lips moving, plump, rosy, smeared with red, blood filling in the crinkles, lipstick. The deteriorating sweetness of her skin, he tastes the bitter perfume, hovering just above her face he watches her speak, the formation of her words, the rise and fall of her chest beneath his, raw, smooth and dead. A streak of amber in the darkness, her wrists pinned above her head, his fingers wrapped around them like rope in a discombobulated knot. Light from the hallway interrupts the bed sheets, pierces the partition in her hair, the valley between her breasts, the hairs running down her left thigh. His fringes tickle her face, his breath mingling with hers in a twisted ritual ceremony, a beat in the musky air of the room, reverberating from wall to wall. A fire in her eyes burns past him, a desire, a lust, for the corrosive acid of his response. His hips straddle her waist, she’s strangely submissive. One last look, one last breath and he takes her, drinking the blood from her lips, the wetness of her mouth, her tongue, her soft ovals crushed against his broad chest, bare and firm. She moans a little, he edges in closer, feeling, searching for her little heart, exposed, open, drawing closer to the flame, anticipating the pain.

Did you ever love me?

12:25 AM

I’m just a little bit pathetic, aren’t I?

Yeah, it’s a bit crazy, just like that. I can still hear it, the soft, melodious sound of his voice. Words, words I have none and never will.

I think I’m in love with you. It might’ve just all started out as some sick joke I played on myself, but at some point, some random point, I might’ve actually fallen in love with you. Will you take me seriously if I tell you? Judging from that personality of yours (you’re such a jerk sometimes, thought I should tell you), you’ll probably just laugh at me. Or, maybe, seeing how you do this a lot, raise an eyebrow and squint at me, and, even more probable, you’ll think that I’m lying. I might be. I honestly might be lying, to you (if I ever told you), to myself (I do so everyday) about being in love with you. But sometimes, I can’t help it. Your smile, that unfortunate smile of yours, is permanently engraved in my mind, with a damn blowtorch. And it’s not going away. I see it, a lot, in my head, I play back seconds, seconds of time we spent together, seconds, seconds in a day, over and over and over in my head, to make the time seem longer. Is that cheesy? Was that bit, that whole bit, two or three lines long bit, a little too cheesy? I thought so, too. It’s all just horrible, it’s horrible, you’re horrible, and I’m just a fat piece of lard, sitting here, confessing my love to moveable type, computer screen and Microsoft word.

I love you. Hear me. Listen to me. Please don’t laugh at me.

Speech and Debate makes me emo….

So, honestly, what is it all about? Time like this, you gotta think to yourself it’s all about the people. But, really, that’s a tragic lie, isn’t it? The more you say to yourself, the worse it gets because it’s all about getting ahead. Even if it’s just forensics tournament, really, I don’t know anymore. I don’t want anything anymore. I just want an answer, an understanding. Then, I’m done, I’m good, I’m over with it and I can get out of here, move on. I’m trapped, seemingly, by my own inabilities to do anything. Sad, but the truth.

Yeah, and I’m in love with a totally random kid, I don’t even know about love is. It’s not a stupid question, it’s a valid question because I don’t know and I want to. It’s snowing outside, I have more than a day’s worth of anime sitting on my desktop, I’m tired of everything. Sometimes I think I’m in love with him, too. That dance, when he ends up mouthing the words to some Kanye West song, in his silly suit, skips a beat and I think I’m in love with him, too.

So, honestly, what is it all about?

Anyone? Someone? Hello? Please, don’t just leave me hanging.

I need ya right now. I’ve been needing you for a while. Why is everything so convoluted.

Alright, since we’re here, I don’t like her that much either. She has bad breath occasionally, but there are redeemable features and they outweigh the other ones. I end up hating everyone, except when I’m too blind to see the truth. Too…caught up in something to really see what’s going on. I wonder if he likes me, I highly doubt it. I’m going to pitch myself off a roof regardless of how he feels, either in despair or euphoria, but I’m going to die anyways. Aren’t we all? I cut class for him, silly bastard, you better like me back, you better.

I can’t wait much longer. Man, I’ve waiting all night now, that’s how long I’ve on ya. Work it hard, lalalala

I play songs on loop, I don’t know why. So does my mother, she puts four tracks of the same song and loops and loops. Life is a loop, endless loop, perfect continuity, it’s almost freakish. Almost, but not quite.

Never over.

That’s worse. It really is never over. I want him to like me, so, so, so, so much. And he probably doesn’t. I’m use to it, of course I am. Ugh, fucking things. Everything, everything feels like they’re trying to kill me.

Fat kid, Adam? Sat next to me in OI finals, his piece was about a bunch of Vietnam things. “Muthafucker.” Something like.

Damn they don’t make ‘em like this anymore.

Bow in the presence of greatness.

You should be honored by my lateness.

Something like that and he laughs, hard, at Alvin’s big breasted babe joke. I thought it was funny, too. I wonder, I wonder, who all these people really are. 10:44, 1944. I’, silly, silly. Fuck Ms. Dunkel. First name I mentioned. I don’t want to work for her, she’s annoying. I don’t even remember why I hated.

She’ll do anything for the limelight.

Bonus for anyone who can figure out the song.

I need you to hurry up now. (Oh!)

Mouthing the words to the song, hands in his pockets, glasses, the way he holds himself, beige jacket, red tie against blue shirt, freshman. He’ll be really freaked out if he knew I write about him, sometimes, if he knew I think about him, sometimes.

The other one? I really think I might be in love with the other one. I hate the whole you have your definition of love thing. What is love? I’m fucking scared of not knowing. But, for what it’s worth, I think I’m in love with the other one. He’d just look at me funny, raise an eyebrow, squint his eyes and call me a liar. I did cut class for him, I didn’t lie to him. I think he just stays to play checkers or whatever it is he plays and not really for me. But, whatever, I love sarcasm. I love him. Whatever, whatever, why am I so silly. I hate being a teenager, goddamn hormones. Goddamn everything. Yeah, I like him. His skin is so nice, so smooth, so soft, such a shade of purity, it’s strange. It’s snowing outside. I miss him, almost, but not quite. Almost, sometimes I just want to see him, have him talk to me. He’s not a moron, no, no, not to me, he’s my, cheesy as it sounds, knight. Something like that, he’s the thing that rescues me from the banal world, the world that swallowed me whole and I’m like what’s his name, Pinocchio? Whoever trapped in that whale, what am I doing? What the hell am I doing in Omaha.? I’ll see him on Monday.

God put you in front of me

A thousand you’s only one of me

I’ll do anything for a blonde dyke

I’ll do anything for a, a…well, you know.

I can’t wait much longer. I can’t get much wronger.

It’s not even a word, but I suppose, it fits, right? I can’t spell rhyme which makes more sense than fits. Work it, work it, never over….

Yeah, yeah, god, I want to kiss him. I love pronouns, the ambiguity. Heh, oh well.

HURRY UP NOW I CAN’T WAIT MUCH LONGER

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah……………..About that.

I hate high school. I hate everything. I hate knowing. Ignorance is bliss. Rewind, play my life back, seven years and I’m already sick and tired of my existence. Laugh, laugh long and hard and I’m going back to school on Monday. Test on Tuesday, Mr. Kalish’s wife had a baby.

Pigeon on my window sill, looking in, at me, it’s weird. He twitches and moves, flies, away. It’s still snowing, sheets after sheet after sheet of white, coating, falling, snowing.

T-t-that don’t kill me.

Only makes me stronger.