Friday, July 23, 2010

for hub VII/ Black

My dear. I wish I could be where you ask me to be. I wish things were simple once again, like back then, when I cried for no reason, you know. The trouble is, my darling boy, I've been aching, my heart has been fighting. And I'm tired, you see. So tired, I felt like a man. I sit comfortably above the (sea) city, but I couldn't figure stuff out. I couldn't figure out the position of her arm. And so I miscalculated. Was she moving or just laying? (on top of him). Either way I was mad, I flicked my cigarette heavily. People think she is a hero. I wish I could be a hero, sometimes. I mean, wtf anyway, you know? Maybe when I grow up, I'll know better than to tamper with hearts that aren't mine. Maybe when I'm older some day I'll learn not to let bugs bite me. Because these things are in my control. Things are what they are, but they also become what I want them to be. It's all about skewed perception, dear. I'm sorry I was hard on you by letting you be hard on me. I'm collecting all the people I love to sing me a song.

6 comments:

mehreenkasana said...

Is mai dhair saray loag hain. Kitaab likho.

Zh. said...

i was high when i wrote this.

desert eagle said...

i agree with mehreen. so just write more when you're high.

mehreenkasana said...

Don't want her to write when she's high. The collision with reality, no matter how beautiful in slow motion, is life-altering. Almost fatal.

Anonymous said...

Re: what reality does to you. I must disagree. I think this is lovely, and I wish I knew who the hell she was (I have my ideas).
You: You're not real until you hit it face-front. You're meat and bone. You're good.

042
No collisions for you. Just glances and slight scrapes.

Zh. said...

i hate not knowing who you are.