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Now lunacy kicks its hoof, throwing dust across my heart. The taste of sour gin lengthens out the smart. All the the things I've ever felt entitled to are gone. I've felt deeply about too much, I've felt it all too long. I guess I understand now, if to understand is to think. Where and when and how are still fabulous unformed things. There isn’t much reason to heave these dense veins unobligated and alone. I lay down and let the rain cry for me instead. On my face I can tell it wished it was frozen, cryogenic as it fell so it could be solid, strong, colder. It would never fall again, just melt to a throng of puddles and vanish. I realize now nothing I thought was mine was. Not the spectacular waves receding or the buzz of beer. Not my guitar, its rich sounds, that shooting star that I wished on in the desert August of 2008. Not my first lover or my big brother’s hate. Right now I discover what was mine is here: my veins, my skin, my eyes, my face, my happiness and hurt: small sanities in the rain's lace.
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Jul 4, 2012
Jul 4, 2012 at 7:57 AM UTC
Now lunacy kicks its hoof,
Now lunacy kicks its hoof, throwing dust across my heart. The taste of sour gin lengthens out the smart. All the the things I've ever felt entitled to are gone. I've felt deeply about too much, I've felt it all too long. I guess I understand now, if to understand is to think. Where and when and how are still fabulous unformed things. There isn’t much reason to heave these dense veins unobligated and alone. I lay down and let the rain cry for me instead. On my face I can tell it wished it was frozen, cryogenic as it fell so it could be solid, strong, colder. It would never fall again, just melt to a throng of puddles and vanish. I realize now nothing I thought was mine was. Not the spectacular waves receding or the buzz of beer. Not my guitar, its rich sounds, that shooting star that I wished on in the desert August of 2008. Not my first lover or my big brother’s hate. Right now I discover what was mine is here: my veins, my skin, my eyes, my face, my happiness and hurt: small sanities in the rain's lace.
christopher-howard-gorrie
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Jul 4, 2012
Jul 4, 2012 at 7:57 AM UTC
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