be my Dali

I hear your voice in this song, you with the wild hair and intense eyes. A voice so smooth and thick, and never once did it trip over all those pretty lies. I want to breath it all in. Hold it in my lungs, never to exhale, never to give you up. But that was all so long ago and I was so different then.

A small tear occured in reality last night and I felt your hands reaching out to me through the distance, from the past. Your acrid laugh and my appalling naivete. I never wanted to be the one with regrets. Never wanted to be the girl who sat in the shadows with wet eyes and bruised thighs; wrapped in a cloak of nostalgia and weeping tears of saccharine regret, the young virgin auto-sodomized by her own chastity.

But you reduce me to this. And I close my eyes and try to will it to be another way. I feel every rain-drenched October night like a thousand tiny teeth of glass, tongue bleeding, gagging down words that should have been spoken instead of being cast adrift on a sea of silence. Silence is the slayer and I am the feline bandit that stole my own tongue.
So of course you never knew. Never knew the depths to which you infected me.

This regret eats at me slowly, a torturous decay, I hobble about clutching this redundant �what if� like a crutch. One day I will ingest this festering memory, embrace sweet amnesia with my chest torn open and with my mouth in my reaching bloodied hands, swallow you down with a cocktail of strychnine and novocaine.


2009-02-17 12:10 p.m.