You Knew The Words I Never Said...

of course however, you would ask me to call. And naturally I agreed with a departing hug. But we both know the rules of this game. You won't hear from me agian until I'm desperate with desire.

I pulled up at a red light. I didn't bother to walk you out last night, so how was I to know the appearance of you car? I'd have taken a right on red without peering into the window to discover the identity of the driver in the next car, if I knew it was you. What are the odds that I'd see you not even five hours after we used each other for 25 minutes of nothing?

Fate.

Fate because we are both playing the same game. we're supposed to exhange those forced smiles while rolling down the window with apprehension to discuss the plans about today, even though neither of us are truly interested.

But he doesn't know that I can take it or leave it. Cause girls are supposed to be sensitive about their sexual encounters. So he plays the role of the disapointed one in saying that he's sad I didn't call him. And he acts genuine when inquires about my dinner plans, as if he would actually take me out. Girls like that in a guy. They like to know that the one they gave their bodies to actually cares somewhat about them. But I don't. So I save him the trouble in saying I'm working, when I'm really off for the night.

Cause he doesn't know that I can take it, or leave it.

Baby Let Me Explain Somethin It's All Down To Drugs, Atleast I Remember Taking Them, But Not A Lot Else.............

you remember these are the instances your mother told you about. these are the moments that we, as moral human beings, would regret the next morning. but they failed to mention that repetition leads to apathy.


Ordinarily, I can't remember enough to gather any information about the night. So how can I come to any conclusion? But sometimes I can recall. Sometimes I'm so sober it scares me that I can keep doing this without hiding behind the justification of alcohol. But it's too far past the regularity these foul tempations have become, that I just don't bother to think twice about it.

Point your fingers with an accusing look of shame. But I'll still be here. Still starting out the night with a sober mind but making premature decisions from an inebriated stand point. Still calling the shots before I hear them,
second for second;

smirking slightly, because I always get what I want....

"How long before this lifestyle grows empty?" , he said to me one day. I didn't even have to tell him that my patience is wearing thin. I looked away, around, then finally back to him.

"Maybe I'll be the one who saves you?", he puts in agian before I can even answer.

"Doubt it..." I say. the brutal honesty.

last night was fun.....had a good time....round up was really good....i heart line dancing....the boot scootin boogie is my fav...i just need to know it better...or stop dancing drunk....by the time i got home i was sober....too sober....but i lied and said i wasnt....makes me feel better...

And To Think I Thought I Lost It....

I second guess my passion for you. Not enough, I guess, in my heart to have that intuition. love is one of those connections; the kind that moves us up out of our reality, if need be, and into something that isn't quite so perfect.

And you? You weren't so perfect this morning. But I slept through your hysterical sufferings as if the world was finally at peace and children around the world slipped into dreams with a smile on their face on a daily basis. That's how good I slept. And when they told you the risk you could have encountered, I was probably selfishly dreaming about the potential plans I had in store for us. But you? You were staring back into authority's eyes with pleading emotions and trembling limbs, while I woke up wondering about the time I'd be hearing from you. With an oblivious smile.

We think the world's tragedies that visit everyone we see on the news, won't come near our existence. We take for granted the privelage of being a part of someone's life, and use the phrase "graced with his presence" in too sarcastic of a manner. We honestly are graced with individuals and too often don't acknowledge it.





And there's also you. I've got the clairvoyance in regards to your life and it's truly a curse. I'm on the outside of myself looking on at the brainwashed victim you've made out of me. I'm deleriously giggling over the sight of myself twisting my hair into tight, strained twirls around my purple fingers losing blood. Apparently, I believe that I go to sleep every night to a grave I dug myself. And your sloppy, hand painted pictures of a life I'll never have with you are set strategically above me; before I close my eyes I'll see what I'm supposed to want. But even though I've always hated the person you are, I'm still crying every night thinking I'll never get back what you gave to me, because you now give it to her.

And I believe this is how I am supposed to feel when I see what goes on miles between us. When I watch you stroke her forehead and turn your voice to that dull whisper and wish her goodnight. Even though I brushed your hand away from my body and tuned you out after I got what I wanted. You told me nobody would do me like you did. And I believe you.

WHY CANT I FIND ANYTHING TO WRITE ABOUT?!

Is This Really A Dream? [read slowly. pause after sentences...better that way]

"She was not ready.

She was absent minded; couldn't remember to take care of herself, let alone another living individual. When was the last time she thought about the well being of someone else, before her own? Too concerned with superficial gains to be wondering what she could give to benefit another. How can a child survive off of that?

But the silence fell. You don't need to be a mother to know that silence is golden. Silence is golden... and rare. One look towards the door, as if she might see through it to the other room, a guilty frown came across her features and silence was replaced with gasps.

How can you forget? Is it possible to just neglect the fact that a peice of yourself is waiting helplessly for you to make it flourish? That's quite a burden. To know that you are a life-line. And at any moment, you can just stop. And walk away. She wasn't ready for that.

Losing something is a product of carelessness. And all was certainly lost at that point peeking over the crib. She lost her mind. She lost the child. Who loses a child?

Without her sense she sorted through those small blankets a thousand times. As if this next time lifting the thin sheets, the shrill cries would come creeping out from inbetween them. And it would only be a matter of time before she could comfort and fix her mistake.

They followed her. She was ashamed, but assume she was supported. People came out from their homes and peeked out the windows two stories above and watched her while she questioned and searched. They shook their head and dropped their eyes as if to say, "She just wasn't ready".

The asphalt was cold agianst her knees as she hit the ground. Wet and damp as she slid slowly into a ball. They closed the windows. Turned their backs to her. It was obvious why they left her. Nobody wants to hear uncontrollable agony. Who can stand to listen to moans filled with pain we can't even dream up in our minds?"------------who knows who thought this small excerpt of a story up. but its powerful. and i like it.

What Goes Up Must Come Down

it wasn't unusual for me to be sneaking out from underneath the blankets after their minds were in dreams. queitly tip toeing towards the door i'd make my way slowly out to my car. falling asleep in my own bed seemed more practical, and i knew they only invited me for the night because it seemed like a packaged deal. you "put out" in exchange for a place to stay, and the next morning they might make you breakfast... but that usually only happens in the movies.

and i was the one who avaded the truth with a smile so convincing i even made myself believe these absurd claims:
that it was my mother who had called me so late in the night, and i locked myself shut in the bathroom whispering, because i didn't want to wake you, not because i didnt want you to hear the things i say behind your back to another prospective, future relationship.

i guess i got too comfortable. taking your life and breaking it. i suppose i was too busy being on top of the world; being the one in control of every intimate situation i placed myself in.

you were so oblivious as to what was happening everyday around you. beside you. sitting in the car next to you, texting away naughty suggestions to God knows who. it was so easy. to have you and everything else i wanted along with it. i got too comfortable, blindly thinking that it would always be me, ruining you. foolishly believing that this wicked head game i was playing on you, would never get back to me.

and then it did. and im sure the whole time the distance between us was growing, you were laughing at the thought of me crying as i realized that i was waiting for something that would not be coming back.

Your A Traiter To Your Own Heart, Be Ashamed

Before today,

I woke up yesterday with a hand resting on my hip. I knew exactly whose hand it was and why it was there. It is always there on those certain weekends. And every time he lays his sencere hands on my waist in an innocent embrace, I'm slightly easing it off with delicacy. Very carefully so not to disturb the half conscious body sleeping so close to me. I throw out one of those fake coughs and inch closer to the edge of the bed, and his hand will fall down beside my back. My efforts are useless. Something in his heart or mind tells him that something very important is missing. And that hand goes back up on my waist, sometimes pulling my body closer to his.

Our relationship can be best described by others as nothing short of perfect. He is perfect. Perfect for someone else, but not me.

In truth, I loathe those hands. Almost as much as the breath that heats up the back of my neck as he whispers, "mmmm, goodmorning beautiful". I hate the feet that casually and affectionatly brush agianst mine...

It reminds me of one of those commercials or sappy greeting cards. The ones in black and white with an image of nothing but two feet intertwined between blankets. They caress eachother in love and the viewer can't help but see the implicit message of pure joy that isn't directly displayed before them. But make no mistake in this one, my feet long for the front door treading towards my truck....

[why i stayed i'll never know. and why this previous writing of my lamentable relationship seems important me, i dont know. maybe im trying to smack myself in the face with reality. he's not for me. but i cant help but wish i was with him now. even though we all know if this was feasible, id long to leave agian. i dont understand why when i acknowledge that foolish people are always wanting what they cant have, am i doing what i find ignorant? im just like the rest of them i suppose. even though i can find that place in my mind that says i care so little for him, im so caught up with the way he loved me that i want to find that love too. so convinced am i, that you can eventually fall in love. i think you can settle for someone. even if it isnt the right one for you. and i dont see why i couldnt do it then. or even now. maybe my theory of settling for less is wrong. but i have always been going about things the wrong way...]