Ramblings of a Day and a Half

Today was a nonsense day. What was I doing and what was I thinking?
Here it was, an experiment, what will it do, how will it react?
How long will it take before it goes?
Finally it knows, it is getting nowhere, because I am nowhere.
And then it stops being an experiment,
And now I have a small bruise where my heart should have been.
No one believes in friendship anymore. It’s no wonder I make up my own.

Where is my anchor? I am left swimming in the sea. I am left to crash into the jagged rocks at the bottom of the tumbling cliffs. The sea raises me to greet the sky. I taste the blue, take the clouds in my mouth. They look like cotton candy but taste like nothing. I remember, I made a promise.

I’ll tell you my dreams, I’ll pretend to be nervous. Your smarter then me. It won’t be long. Inside my head is filled with room temperature syrup and lazy lines of honey. It makes me slow and sticky and tired. I watch my reaction to you. It is going well. It will end bad. I hate that I already want to look cute for you. I am going to make as I don’t care. You’re not interested anyway. It doesn’t hurt my feelings.

I won’t care. That’s all. I refuse to be used.


I’m going to write, write and write.

On and on, the tide is full and forward. The moon is pulling the strings and the sea is striking the chords. I’ll tell you a secret, you’ll know it’s true. There is nothing that you can do when she is wet and withered and wild. She arches her back sweetly and moans to measure the beats of the song.
You play her like a violin.

She is twisting the sheets like a sinner praying.
She is making a face like a child playing.
She is lacing her fingers through the cage of my chest.
She closes her palms about the thing she detests.


Clutter is creeping, creeping up the walls. Piling like giants leaning up tall.
Our home has a cold, and only now is it clearing.
The clutter is only hiding, never truly receding.

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Ramblings of a Day and a Half by 


Just venting creatively in prose. Writing my life in bits of code.

Comments

  • hjhiggin
    hjhigginalmost 7 years ago

    “Inside my head is filled with room temperature syrup and lazy lines of honey. It makes me slow and sticky and tired.”

    Absolutely lovely. Wonderful visual metaphors. Just lovely.

    And you’re never ever alone. Not really. xo

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