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artemesia-blastsidePoems
Breathe in, Breathe out, ... I'm lying in bed Honey-sweet sleep is pulling my eyes to unReality, dark and velvet and purple But I got these words tossing in my belly Roiling and churning up my throat Trying to spill out And burn the pale ****** air BUT at the same time Trying to crawl back down Scraping with just-cut claws down to my toes curling up in plush-snugly socks. Scared to be born. SO I'm lying in bed Ready to spin truth wrapped in fibs sprinkled with simile I just feel frustrated Because I'm saying the same thing over and over again But it's just NOT RIGHT. ... Here's the deal: I'M NOT REAL. Or rather, I might be real, but my existence is highly improbable. I feel weightless, like I could jump off a bridge and fly But I can't even convince myself I just hover on the knife's edge of uncertainty. Am I real? Or can I fly? I know it's one or the other. And I know it's double or nothing. Either I'm real- just a person (but- here's the rub- one who knows her limits...) Or I'm not- I can fly and dance and love men and **** dragons. ... This knife blade is anguish. I'm not suicidal. I just want it to stop. ... I need someone to prove me wrong. I need you to look me in the eyes And know that I am yours And know that you are mine And know beyond a doubt I exist And maybe just maybe I'll see myself in your eyes And you in mine And some of that reflected certainty might. just. stick. .... do you love me?
0
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 11:13 PM UTC
The Love Song of a Knife
Breathe in, Breathe out, ... I'm lying in bed Honey-sweet sleep is pulling my eyes to unReality, dark and velvet and purple But I got these words tossing in my belly Roiling and churning up my throat Trying to spill out And burn the pale ****** air BUT at the same time Trying to crawl back down Scraping with just-cut claws down to my toes curling up in plush-snugly socks. Scared to be born. SO I'm lying in bed Ready to spin truth wrapped in fibs sprinkled with simile I just feel frustrated Because I'm saying the same thing over and over again But it's just NOT RIGHT. ... Here's the deal: I'M NOT REAL. Or rather, I might be real, but my existence is highly improbable. I feel weightless, like I could jump off a bridge and fly But I can't even convince myself I just hover on the knife's edge of uncertainty. Am I real? Or can I fly? I know it's one or the other. And I know it's double or nothing. Either I'm real- just a person (but- here's the rub- one who knows her limits...) Or I'm not- I can fly and dance and love men and **** dragons. ... This knife blade is anguish. I'm not suicidal. I just want it to stop. ... I need someone to prove me wrong. I need you to look me in the eyes And know that I am yours And know that you are mine And know beyond a doubt I exist And maybe just maybe I'll see myself in your eyes And you in mine And some of that reflected certainty might. just. stick. .... do you love me?
artemesia-blastside
Written by
artemesia-blastside
American
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 11:13 PM UTC
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