Monday, April 20, 2009
Become invisible my mind tells me. You are no longer opulent, no longer inviting. The assemblage looks on, although I feel as if they are looking through me, sometimes staring into me. I feel like a mirror sometimes, a reflection of the ugliness one might feel on the inside of themselves. I adorn myself in luxury to hide the fact that my insides are as ragged as a hand me down from the five and dime. I speak in riddles so you can draw your own conclusions, sir. I am as abstruse as they come, baby. Try to figure me out. Let's just see if you can triumph. When you finally figure me out, My face will have already changed.The scalpel will have already cut deep, darling. The bandages will come undone and I will once again be a great beauty. You will never recognize who I have become.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
I am bruised and emotionally spent. I feel as if time is escaping me, I keep running but cannot latch on. You are also escaping me. Running and hiding. I can tell by your fastidious disposition. Is it me you fear or what I have become? I cannot change how uninviting I look to you. I want you to look at me with the same fascination of days before, instead you look at me with such antipathy. My beauty is what makes you stay, I know. I want you to kiss me like the very first time because only then will I know that I am okay, that we are okay. I feel dissolution breathing down my neck. I hope its just my unruly paranoia and not the inevitable. I love you.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
I feel a strange placidity lately. I can only cross my fingers that it lasts forever. I feel like me again. This better not be an April Fools Day bon mot!
Complications of a love affair gone wrong linger like a hopelessly familiar effluvium. It follows you on every corner you turn to remind you of a liaison, that is no longer. We weep under a haze of cigarette smoke and we lie on a bed of empty bottles consisting of the "lets forget about it quick" potion. We need to erase this. The old cliche "time heals all wounds" is becoming a sick joke. Years have passed by like centuries. I still covet your admiration. Do you still yearn for mine?