| Do I actually know anyone on here anymore? Jeez. I'm not going to UArts anymore. Kutztown next semester- for professional writing.
Boop boop boop. Let's talk or something.
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| hi.
I have a secret child,
That keeps me awake at night,
Yeah, I listen to the inside of my palms,
But I can also hear it screaming through the walls,
And I can't tell if it's cursing at God,
starved for attention and pouring it's soul,
or if it's all a way of speaking directly to me.
If I walk to find it's source,
(Foot, by foot, by foot)
It covers it's mouth,
And pretends to be asleep,
So that later tonight,
I can be stuck on a mirror,
Watching the bags under my eyes taunt me,
When I finally pull the sheet over me,
(Inch, by inch, by inch)
And above my apparition's side of the bed,
You can almost hear her breathe,
I wonder, to her, "Did you have to die on me?"
As I trace the lines in my head,
Around where she had slept,
And say to her, "At least we have our child."
This is where I'd kiss her, and she'd wiggle her feet,
Every night, I sing to myself,
"I can always come for you."
And notice my fleeting ghost,
Turn on her side and stare at the sky,
I'm left, on her right,
Parting the ceiling into sides,
Having this millstone weigh down,
I'm so deserving of this,
Cleaning up after our unnerving mess,
Finding out that this is what happens,
When people destroy me,
And with what you've left me.
I wish you could listen to it at night.
--
partly so I don't lose it, partly so I feel like someone other than myself reads it.
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| Xenu owns my soul.
And airplanes.
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| Merry Christmas.
How's it going? |
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