the world is getting noisier and noisier. here there, every corner is buzzing sounds and voices. people is struggling to find their own voices among the crowd so they scream louder. i fell into the same stream once twice till my own voice managed to nudge from the inside : what are you doing? i am here. then i would awake and stop screaming, and LIVE.
his shadow bores me, his wordplay bores me, no mystery anymore in the beauty he paints, too fragile, too vulnerable, too graceful, his kisses are probably getting boring, no more after flavor, nothing linger. i cant feel the sharpness of his words that still dripping in my head, they dont tickle me down there anymore, they dont make me come anymore.
I dont see kids running around in the park. I dont see their bright smile and stare from under my breasts. I dont see anything but that female figure standing at the tip of a cliff far above the clouds as if listening to the stories told by the moon. And the urge, is to be with her.
Thin air. It presents. It never left. Naked bodies, wash and move on after thousand kisses, the smile and fragrance linger a while more, but evaporate as I roll over another day. The desire to feel real, that this heart can bleed, but like thin air, how can I bleed when i can not feel. I am the memories.
He lives in the castle of dark blue mist, smells lavender, or at least that is how i like to imagine it. He howls his ballads thru night air, as an effort to take the hand of the moon and ask Her to dance. “A dreamer” i thought of him “The brave one at least” i added the thought. And what that makes me, really. He howls and howls his heart out to the empty sky where the moon resides, in the impossible distance. Woman are in and out of the dark blue mist, the story tells he has been fucking them by the window where the moon can witness, suppose to make Her jealous. His bravery makes me feel so small, my fingers even get numb tapping the letters of “fucking”. I am shrinking, but i can not turn away, believing his words could lead me to my own redemption. Cause, I too want to dance with the moon.
Like love or the word of love, do i know what they really are? interpretation, the play, the twist, the dance, as much as i want to believe in those characters, into their truthfulness, into their lies, they play my fingers, they whisper, they rule my blank space, they fill my void, empty it out, their demanding existence, arent i nothing but their slave?
Words, sticky like spider web, hurting like broken glass, comforting lies like the clouds.