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arubybluebird Sep 2014
I want to go to sleep
I don't want to feel you right now
Not by will, not awake
Your asbsence is too real this time

I know you're not coming back
But I don't want to know
I don't want to know anything

I don't want to know
What this life is like
Without you

It should be raining
It should be midnight
It should be Winter

My skin feels too warm
The clouds look too soft
There's too much sound
There's too much movement

Cars keep passing, people keep pacing,
Specks of light stream incessantly

Everything is as it's meant to be
Nothing is as it should be

Your eyes should be open
Reflecting like shadows into mine
Your hands should be gesturing figures
As your lips bring words to life

You should be awake right now
This sentence should not be here

I should not feel such demanding heaviness when
The tsunami of your blood
That once streamed through my veins
Has left me desperate, hollow, and empty

You will never feel as I feel in this moment
I think that's for the best

Yet I pray if love is as they say it is
Wherever you may find yourself
You can still feel my heart

The way it beats for you
The way it longs for you
The way it swells up at the mention of
Your name

I want to be asleep
I need to feel you now more than ever

I will survive this oppresive melancholy
If only through temporary intervals
Only if in dreams
arubybluebird Aug 2014
I hate the way I allow myself to feel for you
I hate that I'd still feel this way even if I had a choice
arubybluebird Aug 2014
Am I a ***** for not wanting to be alive right now?
Am I a ***** for running to the pills?
The alcohol no longer drowns out the sadness
The music no longer fades out the sounds
Or fills up the silence
I'm in the center of a crowd
Of a thousand sweating bodies
And I can feel their heartbeats pulsing as my own
But I still feel more than I've ever felt
Oh, I'm not quite sure I can carry out
So empty and alone
arubybluebird Aug 2014
Wednesday night. Making a list of places to visit and languages to learn. Listening to rebroadcasted recordings of Pablo Neruda poetry readings. Wishing I were in New York, wishing it were 1966. Some things are better seen with closed eyes. Some things are felt most without touch. I hope the cause of my death the day it comes is due to some sweet tragedy such as that of drowning in the depths of my own heart.
arubybluebird Aug 2014
I hope you are well. Truly. My name is gladys, I am twenty-two, this is not an autobiography. This one time I almost crashed my car into a metal sign post in order to not run over a pigeon. I often leave secret notes hidden between the pages of books from my favourite authors in public libraries and book stores. I never got my photograph/ senior quote published in my graduating class' yearbook in high school because I am eminently indecisive. I don't mind it, however, I sort of like the idea of it, a somewhat absent nostalgia. I really like it when people unthinkingly do kind things for other people. I like the color blue, a lot, although I rarely wear it. I use commas quite excessively in my writing. I like that they indicate a brief pause but are not as final as periods. I like many things, I like to do face exercises and arm stretches at night before I go to sleep. And that, that is all. For now.
You are wonderful, goodnight.
arubybluebird Aug 2014
life
  is
    but  
        a
           memory.
arubybluebird Jul 2014
post a photograph on the internet
feel stupid
delete it
you mean very little to me but
I desperately want your approval
sit down, place mobile fan in front of face
close eyes
try to breathe
fall back into meadow of linen
rest head on lillypad pillow
teach mom how to properly pronounce "cherry triple soothing action"
fantasize about growing up in Laguna Beach
open eyes
get off bed
stand in front of closet mirror
this is your reflection
this is your mouth tinted in violet
these are the outlines of restless nights beneath the crease of
bottom lashes
these are your shoulders
these are your *******
stretchmarks replicate on the spectrum of your back like
electromagnetic waves
fantasize about growing longer legs
write a letter to somebody that you used to love
wonder where feelings go when you no longer feel them
mind begins to waiver oblivion
you can no longer follow
and you no longer want to
tear up letter in four pieces
stare down at idle light pink hands
they are the same two that caressed his face between them
they are the same two that wrote the words that would tear him apart
attach an emotion to a memory
paste meaning to a sentence where there is none
store consciousness in binary file
shut down computer
restart brim of indifferent heart
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