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 Jun 2014 Theia Gwen
soliloquist
you
 Jun 2014 Theia Gwen
soliloquist
you
your eyes are hurricanes;
they enrapture me in their
stormy green-blue shades,
they whisk me away
like alice
to your wonderland.

your lips are earthquakes;
each quiver
of those perfectly curved lips
make me tremble and shake
inwardly
and my knees buckle without
my knowing.

your hands are tsunamis;
they travel up and down,
a mind of their own,
aliens.
they caress every curve and edge,
study every detail of
the skin
over my muscles and bones.

you, my dear
are a spectacle indeed.
idea taken from @unbalanced on twitter
I will ask only once:
In all the 36 months
We danced around each other
Did you ever want me as a lover?

Did you dream of holding my hand,
Of sinking into me like quicksand,
Of romping with me in Dixieland,
Of making plans with me beforehand?

Did you?
*I did.
You don't like me.
You like the idea of me.
You like the idea
That someone who is
Suicidally depressed
Can make you
Extraordinarily happy.

You like the idea
That my deep
Cynicism and scepticism
Can fuel your
Overjoyed optimism.

You like the idea
That I'm  the
Wonderful, beautiful
Intelligent, nerdy girl
You thought I was.

I am nothing.
I am empty.
I am not an idea.

Ideas are dangerous
Exciting, giggly.
They fill the idealist
With roaring delight.
Such a fantasy
Couldn't be real but in
The mind of a
Surrealist, Idealist
Socialist, Capitalist  
Fascist.

I am not an idea.
Ideas are fun.
I am not an idea.
Ideas get things done.
I am not an idea.
Ideas are good.
Ideas aren't real.

I am real.
I wish I was only
Your idea of me.
I wish I wasn't real.
Written 14th May.
before I run out of falling space I just wanted to tell you that it wasn't your fault.
 Jun 2014 Theia Gwen
Marlo
We used to say to burn to death would be
excruciating
But love,
You do not know
The extent of excruciating;
The pain of losing you.
To me now,
Burning to death
Would be a pleasant escape,
Compared to having to
Take breaths
And live each day
Without you being mine.
. *** .
You are an old habit
clinging to me,
like a child clings to a comfort blanket.
To elaborate, I need to cut the apron strings.
Discard you like a cigarette ****,
another old habit.
We've marred and scarred each other and called it:
Love.
We are nothing more than substance abuse,
for each other.
Habit formed, co dependent adults.
No twelve step program for us.
Just your charred remains, found
in our bed.
Our bed that justified our habit.
© JLB
20/06/2014
Pop a pill
Swallow it down
No more smiles
No more frowns
You can't feel
Through the fog
A drug induced haze
A medical cloud
A hollow version
Of who you used to be
Hallucinations
Become memories
But what price
Are we willing to pay
For society to label us
"Normal" one day?
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