Not Yours.Not Yours. by sXe-freak-show
I'm singing to empty kitchens, sitting on counters and wishing to melt into my cup of tea. There are no stars out tonight, and I wish there were. It's a nice night, still. I'm watching the people walk by.
Somewhere, someone is dying. It's painful and peaceful and they were loved, they were hated. Somewhere, someone is being born. A brand new baby is getting its first look at the world. It is healthy, happy, sick, crying. Someplace, a relationship is ending. He cheated on her and he's not sorry, she left him for someone else. Somewhere, someone is telling someone how much they love them, how much they've always loved them. They would live, die, breathe, fall for them.
I'm watching the people walk by. The man in the hat, the woman jogging. I'm wishing to be any one of them, just for a moment.
To know that I could fuck up their lives completely and be gone by the time it mattered. I will not be your dying, your sick, your beloved, your trash.
My collarbones are collecting rainwater again.
TempleAnd then there was this; he and I loved eachTemple by princesszyrtec
other in the beginning. Our faces
revealed everything; their truth stopped the world.
And after it was all over, for quite a while, nothingness.
I used to feel as if the tide approached
him, freed only by his benediction.
He sang of changin' times and ancient signs
and he sang over the din of my soul-rooted quietness.
In those days, the only worthy thought I
had was ever itself. What I mean to
say about him having no substance was
that I lost my way and screamed for direction with voiceles
I need AvocadosI need Avocados by ohfever
Today, Princess Diana Died.
I am crying, but not because of this. The tv is on and that's all they talk about, and when they announce it I am cutting up an avocado and mom screams, "Why? Why?! oh my god! Why?" and I slice my finger to the bone and I flinch. The blood pools around my white skin, so dark and red that it seems surreal.
I bandage it up and walk over to where my mom is on her knees by the cat, crying and holding her face with her fleshy hands. My mother loves Princess Diana, she always has. Not really because of any good reason other than that she always wished she were her. I want to smile and tell her I bet she didn't wish that now, huh, but I am afraid of her answer.
I ask if she wants anything. Tea, toast, the avocado I sliced. I help her sit down and tell her I cut my finger. She isn't listening. I tell her I had two twin babies last year, that I'm really an alien from mars, that her boyfriend ran away with the circus. Her brown eyes are glued to the screen.
I turn i