The newness of you was like that first bite of moist chocolate cake, so sweet, tingling to the pallet, making me yearn and crave for just another bite. Yet as I continued to eat, and fullness took over my stomach, the appeal of the forbidden lost it's magic. Now I look at the empty plate, dried crumbs around it's edges, the bent fork thrown across the middle, and I wonder if I could even take another bite. My taste has grown bland but longs for the richness of that first bite. I want that sensation on my tongue, when my eyes closed, and I breathed in each drop of your essence. I want to smell that aroma of your freshness drifting into my lungs as it did in those first moments, when we spoke in soft words, whispering into each others ears. I want to war against your will again, fight my submission, instead of being stagnant here in this place with no firm edge.
2003-04-04 - 6:11 p.m.
Have you ever felt like you are just existing, not living, but just here, like a moth on the wall, that clings until death. Endless walls, that seem like miles of desert, dry and absent of any oasis in sight. Worlds apart, seperated by time and space, kept apart by the deniance of chances, knowing that neither can ever be what is wanted, feeling the settling of the foundation, the shifting in the sand, we turn our heads away from each other and walk on. It saddens me, that in just one moment, our fingertips touched and danced to one silent rythmn that only we could hear, then suddenly as if yanked by some invisible string, that aura that drew our hands together, ripped away, never to be joined again. Tonight, I cry, only because shedding tears, like rain on my windows, cleanses the dust from my view.
Last night, in the quiet of the witch's chant I gave back your misery. With baited words I threw back into your despondant karma all of the tears that I have allowed to flow my milky face, spurned by want and desire of what I now know you can never be. Yet it does not feel finished, although finality has raised her hand to indicate farwell. Twice I spouted it, and even as one tried to absorb it's power, it sank into your existence all the same. I had hoped to feel satisfaction in the knowing that your loniliness would sink you to mires beyond anything that you could ever rescue yourself from, yet sadness is ever present. Even as you drown yourself in the liquid that you hope will numb the edge, and weep when you hope that none will be aware, I know. I know of your sickness, your lack of resistance, your weakness and your ugliness. It does not bring closure, for there are no loose ends to be tied, only a sadness of the realization that you do not own the worth which you believe to have.
2003-04-08 - 1:40 a.m.
What must it be like to feel comfort? What must it be like to feel peace? What must it be like to be completely satisfied with the life that has been chosen. Confusion is prevelant as I view your words, not knowing the want, not knowing the need, not understanding what is being said. No explanations come, no simplistic descriptions or realities that I wish to hear. Only accusations of lies that baffle me, not wanting to understand this place in which I reside, inside myself. What you feel I search for is not my journey at all. Yet my perception paints a picture of one that revels in this chaotic verbage that has no rhyme or reason. This pulling in and pushing out is making me dizzy. Decisions are not easy to come by, and even harder when there is no base with which to make them. You want my surrender, yet show me not the path to the cross. Pushing my way through this jungle that blocks my advancement, losing my grip on this sword that eliminates the tangled stems that reach their arms out to entrap me, I struggle with this lack of understanding.
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