malalalell

I let the memories flood like rivers through the valleys and caverns of my face. I weep and sob into my mother's bosom. I wailed, where has it gone? My youth and naivety escaped out the back door with my loved ones last night. This morning it was replaced with an unwelcome sense of awareness and an ache in my stomach. The shriveled grass crunches and sizzles beneath the soles of my feet. Frost coats every tough glade self-consciously, just as a woman conceals her face with make-up. The slightest wind kisses my neck, a cold tease. I shove my hands in my pockets in confusion. The fabric is warm as a fireplace. I scan the field. Slinking licks

staring in the faces of my own pathetic lies half the truth spitting right between my eyes sitting in a setting where footsteps creak noise a lullaby inducing silences sleep why does every girl's writing have to be a cliche. an endless ramble of mismatched metaphors, a splash of an oh so pretty adjective here, an array of stupid nonsense there. and you could never glimpse into her heart, because all her not-so-eloquent words cast a sheet to hide, what she so desperately wants to spill from her lips.

The cow jumped over the moon, but you leap from planet to planet, alien to me. Green one minute and red the next, opposite colors, opposite sex ambling among the stars admiring as they pass you by. Or are they admiring you? You know that the cosmic ball in the sky, could never burn hotter, could never even shine brighter than the burning fire inside cackling, sizzling, spitting flickering, dancing, so enticing. The fire burning inside of you. But baby, I wish you could know how dark it is in there.

I saw vacant eyes. -- I knelt in the dewy grass on a spring morning. The fleece of my sweater was luxurious on my skin like my bed and its blankets. My denim jeans were muddy and wet at the knees. The sun peeped over the hill. Near the roots of the apple trees and in the flesh of the fruit all I could smell was freshness, all I could hear was birds tweeting, all I could see was her. I strolled through the flourishing orchard but I could never take a bite of the forbidden fruit. I knew she was here. In the earth, in the dirt, in the roots and in the blossoms, she was everywhere. Or maybe she was apart the most beautiful tree on the hill. T

I was shivering, but my lap was warm. Her head nuzzled up on my thigh, her breath  erratic and humid against me. I never wanted to leave her. She was alone. And no matter how cold I was, no matter how many hairs stood up on my damn body, I was her comfort. On this concrete surface I was what kept her concrete. I cupped her jaw in my hands. Her eyes glancing around in slight worry. I would stay. I was her last moment of peace. Her legs had given way. She could not get up. Behind the curtains I could see that she would never walk past my bedroom window again. Not in the sun. Not in the rain. There is always a time and a night where

I rest my head on the chest of my love. It is drenched. In all of my clairvoyant, imaginational thoughts. In all of my deeply disturbing worries. In all of my transparent, caring tears. Each droplet soaked into the fibers of a t-shirt, lost in the turquoise pigment. Somewhere beside the particles of fabric softener, and cologne. In the air. Each word drifts away, like a potent scent, right in between space and time. Every letter, off in a dimension of existence and of death. Only to return to me reconfigured, reconsidered, rearranged. And lost once again in the sheets beneath us, A maze. Amazed. A lie. Alive. A girl, a boy..

Sometimes I'm tip-toeing across a sea of eggshells. Pearl white and cracking on imaginary seams. Sometimes I'm gallivanting, wildly prancing across a sea of coals. Sizzling the pads of my feet, tickling me like the feathers of a quill pen. I look up. To a sky of fuchsia, of azure, of canary yellow, reflecting to me my own dynamic moods. My own eyes emerald, envious of the endlessness and freedom of the sky above me. It's difficult. Each step I take. So much so that my mind wanders every which way just as my legs do, as a lone nomad, a vagabond, indefinite. Yet. In a difficult dance across this land I find you. Outstretched i

Sometimes I wish I was back to being blind. An obstacle trapped in the stone of my mind. = When it was only his laugh that chose to shine. When everything was just perfectly fine.