sorrow waited and sorrow won
sitting in a strangers room in portland, oregon listening to the national. his caramel voice washing over my body like tapioca, like some kind of taffy. too many metaphors. no way to pin point anything i am ever describing. my body aches for something more rewarding, for fulfillment. a constant state of either dissatisfaction or depressive apathy. released from your chains. the high hoped let down and not-good-enough. whether that label belongs to you or i - i am still unsure. my eyes itch from new-state allergy. finally got on the plane. finally broke my biggest physical fear. so what is the residual anxiety? the leaky washed up faded heart attack. half-forced.
no words left on my chest. everything held inside of me taken out. i am a walking zombie. life force taken away. no desire. no trust in the future. bleak. the scalp-itched discomfort of physical new place. without you. without the desire of you. without the crutch of the possiblity to shrivel and croutch next to.
No comments:
Post a Comment