Little pieces keep coming back. They float in and out of my head. Impermanent, detached fragments of a foreign person, weaving in and out. Fingers on my earlobes, hands on my body. Palm to my face. Words, strings of crepe paper words fluttering just out of reach. Time spreading over me so quickly. Losing track of hours, wrapped up in dreams I can’t describe, mysteries I no longer understand. Lonely, needing love so badly. Aching for contact. Please just touch me. Make a mummy of crepe paper words, tell me I’m beautiful. Tell me anything. Stories about a girl like myself with a beautiful soul. I like that you think my eyes look sad. Kissing a finger quickly, thinking it’s a bite. Trying not to laugh, so very immeasurably floatingly sad. Forgetting to breathe. Losing track of the inhale exhale rhythm. And time running over me like water. Feeling dirty and messy and so warm and comfortable and uninhibited. Sloppy and so lonely. Begging for love like a dog for a treat. Wanting to be patted on the head and told good girl. Fingertips on my nose, my whole body following. And music, bathing me golden. Dirty golden lonely liquid touching. And that swimming pool longing for it. I want to go back.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment