Love Sickness ii

And we wished we could keep our loved ones in draws, ever close but just out of sight as we play pray in the wilderness of so-called maturity and ourselves we don’t need other people. They called for us from out from the old backyard and we came running in and found nothing waiting for us but nothing was our playground.

Love Sickness

One word flew out of the morning and in one second everything they had was broken in two. Who noticed?

Janus

Draw a line down the middle of my face and then I can tell you where ending is the beginning and the beginning is a start and then I can have a start.

I skip childishly between a thug and being a butterfly. But the butterfly can cut you too if you get too near. I’m the cat that sits on your lap, I’m the cat that turns and bites your head off. Don’t think I can’t scratch you and love you at the same time.

Drawing a life out of inks of black has an ecstasy that only we can see; In my dreams and in my bed where life does not exist. Things existing somehow were not good enough. I watch myself from the outside. I’ve put away my life neatly into compartmental draws stuffed safely away where no one can see them. I made a coat out of my own skin this morning, someone else can wear it now.

Epiphany

And she came out of nowhere and kissed me in the darkness. It was strange how nowhere always felt like somewhere. The ties of meaning wrapped up neatly in one second seconded themselves into one sweet little bow.

Those ties came undone and spread themselves like an imagined angel of darkness spreading itself out to go to sleep as though in its rest it was the most alive. Pain was normal, it spread itself out and went to sleep taking your dreams and your nightmares with you.

She’s still there in the darkness, my lips see lips but i can’t see and the sea of darkness surrounds us like we were two twins sharing the same amniotic space.

There was something that went click and all of who I was fell out of my homeland. Time is on no ones side and if God that isn't there was a she it wouldn’t be on hers are either. Firing bullets out of my own mind that were imaginary. I’d want to be wrong so people could shoot me down out of the sky. Taking your marching orders from time the clocks have eviscerated millions. Governments are factories and factories are governments and they have a different design now but imagination can’t dream up a delusion good enough to unmake them and we have now only the making to spin something, perhaps better if only infinitesimally small and only to be blown away by the confiding hands of the clock that we are all running away from. Always remember to ask the victim what it’s like to be beaten and what it’s like for the vigilante to get away with a kiss when no one was looking. The best I can do is to remember my Amnesia.

She made honey where my lips were, the acres of space in my head shot apart by an electric spark. The darkness past a gaping doors; is this a dream, a fantasy, a memory. All we ever had was the gaping door and the acres in our heads and what is in our hands now, an electric honey that makes me cry and bite. The cut and the bliss drove by me and through me like a bus sauntering off to crash somewhere else but even if it was only ever crash that was delayed in our own predictions where else are we to go? Love and Liberty can never be evicted from each other’s bed or minimised or made remote from responsibility or kissed out of sight. In the end we all do it to ourselves and maybe we never deserved it anyway and we have yet to come to terms with life not coming out of the darkness to find us, we have to go into the darkness and find it, where ever it is.

The tongue sat in the fishbowl of the mouth and what the hell is this, a kiss? Someone your senior kisses you, this is no more than a handshake but somehow so much more. The hands on my face or on me anywhere in time are bigger than any fuck and twice the mark.

Stately the stars sit there doing nothing as though they were waiting to be pinched out, they’ve done enough already. Stars and angels mean nothing to being kissed in the dark. Doors opening up and the darkness comes at you quicker than the light. When did darkness get to be something bad by the way? Several million years of passion spill out in the mouth. It is not my desire, it is your desire filling me and making my desire. My darkness has a full stomach now, its safe now to look.

27...

Does 27 years all come in one second, all the blankness confiding itself into one moment. 27 years and counting. All broken brain a set of scattered parts glued together. I take off my skin and there’s no blood beneath. They take a sideways glance and their eyes go right by me. 27 years and counting and I’ve been evicted from my own body. My one second is seeing the sprawl of the day and the years before them which go all the way to that day to tell me I’m 27 years old and counting. The seconds have crawled in through my stomach and up my spine eating out what made me human and spat themselves out through my mouth. 27 and no longer human, I’m a spider watching the world, give me the word and I’ll jump on you. Does 27 mean anything or is it just the number before 28 and the one after 26. The sideways glance backed out on me over a childhood, over adolescence, over adulthood.

A human tide comes annually over me like a brutal love, maybe I’d rather have a slap, a kiss or a caress run away with me. This adulthood is a game I have sleepwalked through, come and meet me where the rain isn’t raining I can hear my stomach screaming, I cut out my stomach but a anew one grew in its place and said the same things. It was singing all of today and yesterday. Like a scarecrow moving in the wind 27 and fucking lonely. The powerless need a place to go, Where the signposts go to hell. It must be better than this, the demons moved out ages ago, even they couldn’t bear it anymore, lips like honey keep trickling into my memories but so does the blood and the mouths that spit seconds of glass, life here is a full of a stomach of hate. The hate cut out a smile where my heart was and now I’m grinning.

The Climbing Frame.

We condescend and are arrogant to the people we love too easily and obedient and dutiful to the people we hate who deserve so little less. Hatred and hierarchy have twisted your sadness and hatred into the shadow of something you call love and made your love hide in a darkened closet and scream out in your dreams where no one can see them. This is all well beyond having tattooed with a knife across your spine all the things you assume you care for or think are buried beneath the skin of your underside where no one can read them. Up here we mount the climbing frame of time and with things that last that little bit too long at least we have a better understanding of them. Sunshine in out own time makes years of rain welcome and even seems to make sense.

We make our way up monkey ropes, which should be ours, and equality of opportunity is to be on the higher end of the pole as you are sliding down. Blink once and we are gone, time carves out a think slice and meats it self out neatly but briefly. Tie up your horizons into a polite bow. Put away all your dreams neatly into draws and nice little compartments that everyone will approve of. Do up the buttons of your own applause and make them around you happy by doing what they expect of you. The sand we played in was the place where we shaped out our dreams but they never told us and made us think the opposite that the world outside was a place of continents where we could shape our lives like that sand in that sand pit of our childhood’s.