Tag Archives: stand

77. sometimes i just need to know that you won’t die

the week is nearly over. again.
and it feels like rain on skin in the heat of summer, raising goosebumps in spite of its warmth.

i never want anything to end.
not even nightmares.
i drag them out carefully, tossing and turning, roasting, like a pig, in my own cold sweat.
i had one every night this week. sometimes two. and i remember. i don’t keep tabs on my subconsiousness because it scares me. the brutality of the mind always scares me. and i dream of death. of death and failure.
y flores. flores para los muertos.

right now, my world is a house made of paper: cards with pretty scribbles on them, where blanche‘s words i lived in a house where dying old women remembered their dead men have more than substance; they have depth to go on and on, revolving in my head.

i’ve seen them from every angle. i swear.

what is it with death?
i’ve always said i have to die before the one i love. i couldn’t stand life otherwise. and i’ve made you promise you won’t die before me. i’ve made you promise me the unthinkable, the unpredictable, the unpromisable.

i did it just because sometimes i just need to know that you won’t die.

Advertisements

68. and this is no more than a parallel

it’s funny, this. i started a post on the 19th of october and never finished it. sometimes i do that. sometimes the words are jumbled in all sorts of ways and i just can’t them to make sense. 
19th of october: viktor’s birthday. i always wrote a story on that day; my form of celebration. but this one went untold.

sometimes i still think about him and wonder if he made me. sometimes i think he did. victor frankenstein created a monster. but that is no more than a parallel.

consecration.
when you look back to your childhood and remember the way the priest broke the bread during mass, is there not something in it you cherish? the moment of peace, the silence as the bread is broken. for you and me. for us.

i didn’t know you then. you still don’t know me now. but lets plow on – you reap what you sew.”

i remember my thoughts that day. of S and how not too long ago you were him: longing to stand by my side, waiting forever for the imaginary day where i was yours.
and i reminisced on the act of consecration, the way one would when breaking bread and pouring wine. only not of christ. of S.

and that was that.
and this is no more than a parallel.

66. as we stand there

what moved me yesterday was not the explosion after explosion in the sky, nor the coldness enveloping us in a tightly huddled mass of warm bodies. it was the way you looked at me, as if seeing me for the first time. or the last time. and i don’t know how much truth there is in the world, but so long you keep looking at me like that, my heart will long for yours.

yesterday was an annivesary in ways. 7 months, but more than that. 
i was with X then, and with Y to an extent, but that night, a year ago, you held my hand in yours, warming it, holding me gently under the fireworks and the stars. a friend and no more, keeping me warm placidly yet wanting me wholly.
now i’m yours solely.
please burn for me still.

this was the poem i wrote for you a year ago. and now you know.

a drizzle of rain warms me up
like your hands on mine, polishing the silver
the ground not yet ready to settle, the sky – to erupt
and we are languishing in the middle
of the broken
reverie
I conceived with someone else

smiling in knowing
you’d carry my life on your shoulders if I let you
bequeathing me your last breath as a parting present
but how could I ever justify your love or lust
as we stand there under the unremitting gaze of stars
almost like an audience awaiting the typical finale
my heart so suddenly awake

wanting to take
all that you offer, grab it in handfuls
frigid hands clasping yours with the ferocity
that would make you bleed and leave crescent shapes
as a memory of my need
living signature of my greed
instead I leave you with a seed

of hope.

62. straight into the recovery postion

blackout before my eyes.
blood, scalpel, heart, darkness. and then my mother’s voice, soothing, recieving, full of love.

i fell softly, straight into the recovery postion, noiselessly, languidly, water flowing downhill, gurlging softly at the impact with the rocks. as if i’m used to this. as if. 

and there was drama, panic, shock, laughter even, lab oozing with emotion like a devil sick of sin.
noone would have ever guessed that i would faint: i was strong. a rock. a pillar. nobody’s princess. 

but there it was. pig’s heart. or lamb’s. whichever. i cut it open, hands almost firm, quite agile. who knew how i was trembling deep inside? i didn’t scream or flinch, i looked at it from inside out, i smiled and laughed and feigned disgust. i know how to put on an act. 

tension released, i fell like a birch leaf in the autumn gust.
standing there passive, watching older, firmer hands cut right through a heart, talking of it, the ventricles, the muscles, the–
that was too much.

no use for me as such.

and yet–
are you surprised i crumbled or rather that i didn’t crumble straightaway?
whichever one, that’s quite okay.

i came around.
before you know it, i’ll pick the scalpel up again.

31. my secrets in the buttons of your shirt

i know i went cold on you today, my bared torso immobile. i couldn’t pretend that i could stand being so vulnerable, like soft white putty in your hands.

i wanted to scream until my lungs ruptured because seeing the tables turning made me dizzy with fear.
a fear of conclusion.
and it’s irrational, being so scared that you will depart, leaving only a purplish shadow of your foreign kisses lingering on my neck. 
it’s stupid even, because you waited a lifetime for this, whispering sweet nothings in my ear all day, reassurances of your being mine, promises rising up from the heat of want, passion, longing, colouring the humid air scarlet.

but sometimes, when you close the door as you leave, it seems we are parting forever, my secrets in the buttons of your shirt, my scent lodged in the tips of your hair, my love clinging to your need like a phython going in for the kill.

so, forgive me my weakness, my inability to be promiscuous, my pain at forgetting how i was and my lack of hope for the future.
and i know if i was to say this to you, you’d shush me, so maybe you do love me after all.

and maybe one day i’ll need to know the truth about how you feel, but for now it’s enough to just hear you saying those three words.

it’s enough.

25. a little more single

valentine’s day tomorrow.
everyone knows that. most people care. some, like me, are a little more weary of its coming. a little more reserved. a little more single.

walking the streets today was like waking up in a foreign room. every pattern established over the duration of the year (bar Christmas time) had changed. for today only. all the world needed today was a banner screaming for one night only like those one off concerts by a renowned superstar.
illustrious illusion of love taking the world by storm:
the vendors on the streets shouting roses, not their usual bananas or tomatoes;
the music blasting from the shops a mixed array of romantic songs, every single one played to death;
and hearts, chocolates, champagne everywhere.

call me a cynic, but i just can’t stand it all. a dog should be for life not just for Christmas, so love should be for every day, not just the internationally-recognised day of coupling.

i say that but i still don’t know what real love is and noone’s in a hurry to show me.
you went off to Devon. i have to you said and i don’t doubt that you do. you ought to see your gran and if it so happens you visit overlaps with the day we should have spent together, that’s fine by me. no, honestly, it is.
it reminds me of the fact i’m free again. amen.
as to X, oh to hell with X. hot, cold, freezing, boling and then cold again. who knows that boy?
something tells me i never did.

and never will.