сряда, 28 май 2014 г.

Eat Pray Love

I think I'm falling in love with you...

I'm not who you think I am, I'm just your fantasy

Rubbish..., you're real...your scars, your  talent, 
The fact that I only own a piece of crab bar and you accept that that's all I'm gonna do
I love your pain... and I love that when we're together I can make it go away
Your love is like hot panini...
And when I look into your eyes
I hear dolphins clapping...

Here's what he doesn't know yet, I disappear into the person I love
I am the permeable membrane. If I love you, you can have it all
My money, my time, my body, my dog,.. my dog's money...

I will assume your debts and project upon you all sorts of nifty qualities you never actually contemplated in yourself...
I will give you all these and more until I am so exhausted and depleted that the only way I can ever recover is by becoming infatuated with someone else...

It begins when the object of your affections bestows upon you a heady hallusigenic dose of something you've never even dared to admit you wanted.
An emotional speed ball of thunderous love and excitement.
Soon you start craving that attention with the hungry obsession of any junky

When it's withheld you turn sick...crazy not to mention resentful of the dealer who encouraged this addiction in the first place but now refuses to pony up the good stuff.
God damn him... and he used to give it to you for free...

Next stage finds you skinny,... shaking in a corner certain only that you would sell your soul just to have that one thing one more time.
Meanwhile the object of your adoration  is now repulsed by you,
He looks at you like someone hes never met before.
The irony is you can never blame him...

I mean check yourself out...You're a mess unrecognizable even to your own eyes

You have now reached infatuation's final destination...
The complete and merciless devaluation of self.

To the ends

to the ends of the earth
would you follow me?
there's a world
that was meant
for our eyes
to see

i was ready
to die for you baby
...
doesn't mean i'm ready to stay

what good is living the life you've been given
if all you do is stand in one place?



This is how you keep her

Kiss her. Slowly, take your time, there’s no place you’d rather be. Kiss her but not like you’re waiting for something else, like your hands beneath her shirt or her skirt or tangled up in her bra straps. Nothing like that. Kiss her like you’ve forgotten any other mouth that your mouth has ever touched. Kiss her with a curious childish delight. Laugh into her mouth, inhale her sighs. Kiss her until she moans. Kiss her with her face in your hands. Or your hands in her hair. Or pulling her closer at the waist. Kiss her like you want to take her dancing. Like you want to spin her into an open arena and watch her look at you like you’re the brightest thing she’s ever seen. Kiss her like she’s the brightest thing you’ve ever seen. Take your time. Kiss her like the first and only piece of chocolate you’re ever going to taste. Kiss her until she forgets how to count. Kiss her stupid. Kiss her silent. Come away, ask her what 2+2 is and listen to her say your name in answer.

понеделник, 12 май 2014 г.

Take me to church

I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies 
I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife 
Offer me that deathless death 
Good God, let me give you my life 

четвъртък, 8 май 2014 г.

One day he's going to know


“One day, he’s going to know. He’ll know your birthday, your middle name, where you were born, your star sign, and your parents names. He’ll know how old you were when you learnt to ride a bike, how your grandparents passed away, how many pets you had, and how much you hated going to school. He’ll know your eye colour, your scars, your freckles, your laugh lines and your birth marks. He’ll know your favourite book, movie, candy, food, pair of shoes, colour, and song. He’s going to know why you’re awake at 5am most nights, where you were when you realised you’d lost a good friend, why you picked up the razor and how you managed to put it down before things went too far. He’s going to know your phobias, your dreams, your fears, your wishes, and your worries. He’s going to know about your first heartbreak, your dream wedding, and your problems with your parents. He’ll know your strengths, weaknesses, laziness, energy, and your mixed emotions. He’s going to know about your love for mayonnaise, your dream of being famous when you were five, your need to quote any film you know all the way through, and your fear of growing older. He’ll know your bad habits, your mannerisms, your stroppy pout, your facial expressions, and your laugh like it’s his favourite song. The way you chew, drink, walk, sleep, fidget and kiss. He’s going to know that you’ve already picked out wedding flowers, baby names, tiles for the bathroom, bridesmaid dresses, and the colour of your bedroom walls. He’s going to know, get annoyed at and then accept that you leave clothes everywhere, take twenty minutes to order a Starbucks, have to organise your DVD’s alphabetically, and check your horoscope… just incase. He’ll know your McDonald’s order, how many sugars to put in your tea, how many scoops of ice cream you want, and that you need your sandwiches cut into triangles. He’s going to know how you feel without you telling him, that you need a wee from a look on your face, and that you’re crying without shedding tears. He’s going to know all of it. Everything. You, from top to bottom and inside out. From learning, from sharing, from listening, from watching. He’s going to know every single thing there is to know, and you know what else? He is still going to love you.”

He is not a writer

but when I looked into his eyes
I saw poetry naked and pure.
he taught me what books don't mention about poetry,
it's a revelation.

Did anyone ever find out what teen spirit smells like?

You kids with your boys falling out and your panicked discos, your romantic chemicals and your imaginary dragons. Your days to remember, your pierced veils and your strange demand for the horizon. Your five second summers, your sleepy sirens, your black veiled weddings and your low low times. And why the heck is the day green?!

I want to write poems on your skin with my lips

i want to live in a tree in a fairy forest 
and wear an ivy crown
and eat honeycomb and flowers
and i want to sleep on a carpet of moss
and swim in a turquoise lagoon
and fly around with owls all night

It's not that I don't love you

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back she was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.

So don't tell me how love will rescue me

I was carnivorous about love, I ate love to the ankles,
my thighs are gnawed with love

Are you going to kiss me

or do I need to lie to my diary?

I could never cheat

I could never cheat on anyone. It's the kind of mistake and wrong-doing I couldn't live with. Knowing you destroyed someone's trust is bad but destroying someone's perspective on love is far too worse.