Blogging 3

[11 Feb 2007 | Sunday] 

Category: Blogging The two sides of me seem to be growing further and further apart. Writhing in the corner, with hands over the back of his head, tucked down into some sort of makeshift crouching fetal position, I see me unable to speak my mind. Bound at the wrists, unable to make a move I question whether or not a move would truly change a damn thing or if I'm just fooling myself with stupid hollywood romance movie bullshit. I start questioning how I ever got into this postition. I, the casual heart, the person who always spoke his mind, how can I suddenly be unable to speak? -And yet, here I am, scared of my actions and equally frightened of inaction. Sadly I know the answer to questions that I've yet to ask and that's what kills me the fucking most. I'm emotionally castrated knowing that if I said anything, everything would get weird and reset me back to square one. I'm hardly the person I thought I'd be at this juncture, yet I still wonder if this isn't growth, a progression if you will. I sit next to her and want to be closer. She says no and I want to reach out, grip her by the back of her scalp, and kiss her... because then she'd see. Fuck, have I always been this much of a sap to believe in crap like that? I guess it had to work for someone. Fact is, even saying stuff like this is a mistake. Words make awkward physical meetings. Fact is, I barely know how to console her anymore. She admitted a truly horrible thing, something no person should ever have to experience... and I just stood there like a frozen statue scared of her touch. I really wanted to reach out to her, to tell her that eveything would be all right like I know I should... and yet... Gees, it's like I have to learn how to be me all over again... She  Tearing and rending Premeditating And the soluble distress Of dissolvable happiness The stench and reek of unrequited      Loneliness-  She touches me through a phone line Reaching through time She graces me Entrances me Kisses me With rubber glove intimacy And leaves. The buzz of the hang up Frustrated and banged up I reach for the cold And it fits like a mold So much for the hope of reprieve-  So much for remembering She-