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?
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 11:13 PM UTC
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?
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