A Random Image
 

Jett Superior laid this on you on || November 20, 2001 || 2:55 pm

Fall twilight in the midday.

And here is me, listening to “This Years Love” by David Gray, all dead-lipped and thick-tongued, this winter’s impending cold already locked into my marrow. The center of my bones are ice today. Or maybe I am icy-marrowed every day and I simply don’t take notice.

So the periodic sorrow is here, that wailing emptiness and I see strangers looking into me, silently asking me if there is anything they could do. It makes me uncomfortable. I know that it is not like this in other places, so in a strange sort of way it’s a good thing, as well. Good thing or not, there is nothing they can do, and I cannot erase it from my eyes, so I walk with them cast downward or away as I go about my daily business.

Nothing personal, world….I don’t dislike you today, I dislike me.

A long stroll sometimes helps, but I feel like I could walk the soles right off my shoes today and not unseat the ugly inside even one bit. (“I’ve been talking drunken jibberish/Fallin’ in and outta bars/Tryin’ to get some explanation here/’Bout the way way some people are….”)

What will be will be, so come on over –mind you walk softly, so as not to startle– and plant a soft, ginger-sweet kiss on my cheek. I will smile and run the tips of my fingers across that warm place as a thanks to you.

Nobody worked it out »

Don´t be shy. Lay it on me.

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