No Bones.
Monday, July 12, 2004
Where have you been? I was wondering if you were ever coming back. I was starting to worry. Just a little. I didn’t know how else I was going to get everything from in here, out. I wanted to. I want to. But know that you are here before me; I have nothing to say really. I just want to know…
When’s it gunna rain?
I want it to be me now. I want to be fixed to. I want you to see me in a new light, my background a hazy watercolor of our past. I want to make, and create, and run on the speed of new ideas that push, and pull, and motivate me to create love songs and sonnets for you. I want to see fresh flowers in this desert. But…
When’s it gunna rain?
I lost it all. I was surrounded by backs where once I saw faces. I knew that I was trapped and alone. I was kicking and screaming and trying to understand you. I wanted to be held and comforted for as long as it took But instead, I was left alone to what, I imagined, were my own devices. I wanted to not be a burden. I wanted to believe that the roots I had woven would hold. But they were brittle and frail. I had nothing but you. And that was what it took to realize that you were all that I needed. But now I look at the dried roots and wonder.
When’s it gunna rain?
I hurt. My body, spirit, and mind. I can’t find comfort. I was holding on to a single strand and calling it a rope. I am desperate. I am flailing. I am poisoned. I am thirsty. I turn my mouth to the sky and yell.
When’s it gunna rain?
Everything. Everything has changed. The sickness in me has seeped through my skin and coated me like mud. But it is gone. I breathe. My lungs are frail and tired and struggle breath by breath, but the smoke that filled them once, hangs now in the air obscuring my eyes that have newly learned to see. I am covered in filth. I am naked underneath. My muscles ache from atrophy but long to begin the journey. The muck is a hardened shell, a past just waiting to be washed away. I smile. I wonder.
When’s it gunna rain?
¶ 12:33 PM 0 comments
When’s it gunna rain?
I want it to be me now. I want to be fixed to. I want you to see me in a new light, my background a hazy watercolor of our past. I want to make, and create, and run on the speed of new ideas that push, and pull, and motivate me to create love songs and sonnets for you. I want to see fresh flowers in this desert. But…
When’s it gunna rain?
I lost it all. I was surrounded by backs where once I saw faces. I knew that I was trapped and alone. I was kicking and screaming and trying to understand you. I wanted to be held and comforted for as long as it took But instead, I was left alone to what, I imagined, were my own devices. I wanted to not be a burden. I wanted to believe that the roots I had woven would hold. But they were brittle and frail. I had nothing but you. And that was what it took to realize that you were all that I needed. But now I look at the dried roots and wonder.
When’s it gunna rain?
I hurt. My body, spirit, and mind. I can’t find comfort. I was holding on to a single strand and calling it a rope. I am desperate. I am flailing. I am poisoned. I am thirsty. I turn my mouth to the sky and yell.
When’s it gunna rain?
Everything. Everything has changed. The sickness in me has seeped through my skin and coated me like mud. But it is gone. I breathe. My lungs are frail and tired and struggle breath by breath, but the smoke that filled them once, hangs now in the air obscuring my eyes that have newly learned to see. I am covered in filth. I am naked underneath. My muscles ache from atrophy but long to begin the journey. The muck is a hardened shell, a past just waiting to be washed away. I smile. I wonder.
When’s it gunna rain?
¶ 12:33 PM 0 comments
