This is The Hole In My Heart I Got For Being Fragile In Love

March 7th , 2008

   I am beyond tragically "emo" these days. Everything I do, everything I see, I just want her there to make it better. I haven't been in this much pain for years... Anything emotional, anything with a crescendo, anything moving in the least pulls tears from my eyes. I'm a child again, crying as bob sagget hugs his three kids at the end of a twenty-minute melodrama.

   The passing years of perspective living on all sides of cool, loved and loving, hurt and dealing pain leave me with an all too clear image of how completely pathetic I look to the world right now... I've given up cool. I've given up appearances or pretense or self-defense...

   I am pure and raw and bleeding, completely exposed and completely unconsolable and unconsoled. No one could ever give me enough right now, and those who might dare try would be sucked dry, left an empty husk, as week-old melon-rind, begging the vampire to open a vein to ther lips.

   So I ask no one, I dare not. I have no veins left to open. I beg the one who took my blood to help me, to return it, foolishly... foolishly... She knows who she is. She knows what she is. Her heart runs deep. Her body is calloused.

   Once I told her I had a dream. In the dream, I died. Only then, when she realized what the word was and why my life had been given, could she use everything I had given her. Only then could she understand and become what she was destined to be sloughing off the pain and protection, hiding only behind reality and the truth and her own enmity and integrity, a far more powerful and realistic force than me, and coupled with my energy, with every ounce of blood and tears I had poured into her... pure and perfect and sad and eternal...

   It sounds like the worst kind of manipulation, to tell someone such a dream. But the dream was real, so clear and poignant, with hints of a sixth sense, like projected deja vu. It was more than a year ago, I think. Then, I was certain then I would die within the hour. I just wanted her to know before I had no chance to say goodbye...

   I lived on, as most things do... far past their usefulness, and I forgot the dream... as I forget many things...

   But here I am, sobbing over my keyboard, inundating myself with duncan shiek's "she runs away", foo fighters' "walking after you", chris isaak's "wicked games" dave mathews band's "satellite", india arie's every song she ever made, etc... pushing myself into cliched hysteria and hoplessness, striving hard to hit bottom...

   And the dream floats back, the urgency of it subdued, but the power increased ten fold...

   These are the pills my sister gave me for sleeping when I was in the states...

   There are too few, and my pain, my desires for oblivion, revenge, and transferral of spirit into those who would be more productive with it than I don't yet outweigh what I once called my optimism and hope, but have come to realize is only my basest animal self-protection afforded me by my egotistical and delusional psyche and fear of 'final disappointment'... "Is that all there is?" - peggy lee.

   I have more and more faith I will defeat the lesser reasons and find stronger pills... but not today... Maybe I will row to the middle of a calm lake in autumn, as the golden leaves of a black trunked forest reflect against the sunset-lit ripples in the peacefully undulating water. Maybe I will find Hemmingway in my golden years... maybe I will join Christ and Lennon in my double-san...

   Whatever the case, when my final tears hit the water, I hope the ripples go far and wide, deeply and gently pushing the actors n what was my story into roads less travelled and paths more pure. If I never see the sunlight, I hope through me, someone will... I love you Maymay...

In your eyes, I can see that you've had enough... and it pains my head...
Even if I live to be a hundred and two, I dont think I'll ever get over you...
When you dream, what do you dream about? Are they colored or black and white, yiddish or english or languages not yet conceived?
i have to speculate that god himself did make us into corresponding shapes like puzzle pieces from the clay.

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