25/Genderqueer/Copious amounts of stress Cruel and Unusual.
I feel what I write and I write what I feel.
It’s a sweet and sour profession of confessions and mistakes.
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Take me to Gelena in the winter where our lungs will be crowded with icicles as our capillaries assemble on edge each and every one aching just to quiver like my bottom lip that I simply can't control oblivious to the weather though fueled by a shroud of eager anxiety that covers and embraces my skin like the quick and even breathes I'm taking to stay awake in something that predicts like a dream
Follow me close as I perceive this vividly that the moment bookshelved between inhale and exasperated exhale is flooded with thoughts of you that I would drown in it willingly and all I can credit my thoughts to be is to wonder if I am lucid dreaming or not of your lips on mine of your fingers earnestly entwined in my shaggy hair as you pull me closer and I can smell your warmth and feel your passion through this possibility that our our hands are locked like the door of my bedroom every night in my empty apartment because being safe has taken me 21 years to understand and even then the fear shamefully crawls its way into my spine but it is in this ten seconds I can finally sink into this fogless reality of enjoyment and felicity
And in this accelerating sound of assurance I will teach you the language I studied in moments so short that a staccato could fill two lungs tip top and still be 100 yards behind this message gawking at the starting line and as the gun goes off I am already there lungs filled wanting to do justice with more than just an ***** in my chest but with the treatment hidden inside skipping beats and minds running and screaming so loudly as I'm howling this adamant resonance from the top of the complex to empty my mind until my throat is sore until what follows are the neighbors voices escaping angrily open windows bellowing at me to please turn it down for the umpteenth time but I want to remedy this disease with the softness of your neck I want to hold you close with your head nestled in my shoulder where scars beneath clothes usually sit dishonorably but not now because now they know a relentless forgiveness and amity so authentic that now I can exhale
I have the windows down for the first time it's 60 degrees this night. I'm sweaty from my workout the breeze is causing the hairs on my arm to stand on end. The cold is mildly to somewhat uncomfortable, but I refuse a jacket so I can at least feel something right now. I blast my ****** up music as high as it can go so the vibrations hit my arm hairs. I need the sensation to remember I'm here as I autopilot this car home. Anything past my headlights isn't there, and you can't tell me it is. Anything closer is a day dream. And the eye's the prize because this isn't sweat rolling down my cheek, just my furrowed temple. That's tears my friend and salt is all the same when it stings into wounds. Don't worry, though, I'll be home soon. For what that's worth nowadays.
I wonder if I could hang on I say as I trip into the sun never been one for balance as Libras usually come
I have done nothing creative for about four or five years. From now I'm finding myself back to a person assumed lost forever. But I'm trying, so be at peace with me posting here as I claim to be not one of any talent or in search of any praise or notice.
I'll invade your dreams , wake you up in a bed sweat make you sleepwalk through all the things you haven't felt yet enough is never enough but what I know is what I know most things never need a spoiler warning because they aren't fresh in the first place
365 days ago I met you well sort of anyways in the strangest way and 365 days ago I would never know that impact that is sorely does now because a year ago I was a clean slate and now I feel the reverberations of strong words being forever scratched into my chest tattooed into my sternum like the biggest regret that the cover up story is "for the art" though behind my teeth I know false tones come from my throat
What is it with you and pictures of "attractive" girls with their cigarettes and half ***** bodies as I'm left standing with my Turkish Royals watching this helpless accompanied by a heavy heart and ash on my pants weighed down by your judgment and disgust?