those sounds you make with air and your voice box, they're all made for me. the words...that's what you call them.
when you pen down these words for me, you're knitting my clothes: black thread embroidered on white. always the same always so different.
that's how everyone gets to know me: with your name, (always) the right fit like a shoe that goes with every dress
I am the soul of all your creations that part of your soul that resides in white I am all that energy that has bled from you I am your soul - your soul is in me
I dwell in the blood that sweats through your pores. I am the thrum of havoc in your veins. I am the reason your heart beats. it beats to my name. you're mine. you will never forget me.
I am your arrogance I am the reason butterflies flutter I am truth, I am redemption I am lies and smiles and that story you ache to write...
I am alive in the human touch that keeps you hurting healing bleeding tumbling in pain agony hate through the impossibilities of your humanity. I give you strength warmth courage tolerance to go on, to keep on living and to keep me alive...
I draw life from that weird goofy and frankly whacked out part of your mind that thinks I can talk to you
at this very moment...
I thought of some lines by Sylvia Plath & Bukowski while writing this, you might recognize their words. PS: Please do comment, I welcome criticism as well :)