Rina
10/14/09, 08:52 AM
little blue veins to suit my little ghost wrists.
I have questions to ask, but not to you;
not to the snake.
with my whole heart and my head heavy,
I rested on your pillow.
I closed my little lashes and prayed for the year to end.
you never understood anything I did.
the sounds that my voice-box shaped into words were far beyond any comprehension.
mumbles.
a little, lone melody that plays over and over in my head.
a little less ink in my pen.
enough nostalgia to fill up gallons in rooms people are sleeping in.
enough nostalgia to leak into the streets and flood up to the lamp posts.
I pause, and my heart gets so hard.
the pulse I swore you didn't have speeds up when I let go of your wrist.
last rights. last regrets. last kiss.
the only parts of you I'll ever miss.
I sink so far into a warm tub that I flatten out.
all my insides start to make sense.
every inch.
every inch of pale skin stretched across these frozen bones.
my exterior.
my ribs and the beating, bleeding thing that they protect.
my skull and the droning, restless thing it protects.
my hands and the things they can't fathom.
"things" - ever touching you again. ever being touched by you again. burning.
my interior.
lines and lines and lines and lines and love and lines and lines.
infection. bacteria. itch. fester. crave. pine.
shoot and miss.
fall and break.
cause and effect.
the sun that rises and sets.
the same song over again.
the same broken reasoning in my head.
the same day I realized you weren't dead.
"this is not the cullen boy you're looking for"
three times I threw up.
you were never really in.
illused. ill used.
ill. used.
I have questions to ask, but not to you;
not to the snake.
with my whole heart and my head heavy,
I rested on your pillow.
I closed my little lashes and prayed for the year to end.
you never understood anything I did.
the sounds that my voice-box shaped into words were far beyond any comprehension.
mumbles.
a little, lone melody that plays over and over in my head.
a little less ink in my pen.
enough nostalgia to fill up gallons in rooms people are sleeping in.
enough nostalgia to leak into the streets and flood up to the lamp posts.
I pause, and my heart gets so hard.
the pulse I swore you didn't have speeds up when I let go of your wrist.
last rights. last regrets. last kiss.
the only parts of you I'll ever miss.
I sink so far into a warm tub that I flatten out.
all my insides start to make sense.
every inch.
every inch of pale skin stretched across these frozen bones.
my exterior.
my ribs and the beating, bleeding thing that they protect.
my skull and the droning, restless thing it protects.
my hands and the things they can't fathom.
"things" - ever touching you again. ever being touched by you again. burning.
my interior.
lines and lines and lines and lines and love and lines and lines.
infection. bacteria. itch. fester. crave. pine.
shoot and miss.
fall and break.
cause and effect.
the sun that rises and sets.
the same song over again.
the same broken reasoning in my head.
the same day I realized you weren't dead.
"this is not the cullen boy you're looking for"
three times I threw up.
you were never really in.
illused. ill used.
ill. used.