Jan. 26, 2005 - 01:39
how this wearied heart doth bleed
the scent of victoria's secret secret 55 lingers on my hand,
so dry, so cold, cracked and almost bleeding.
i could hardly feel it though...
as i lied i watched the teardrops gently fall onto my bicept one-by-one to fall laterally, following the gentle curve of my muscle onto the pillow case.
on top of me, was he,
the one whom i asked centuries earlier how long it had been since he had last seen me smile
year and years and years
and heartache and heartbreak
the one who made infidelity a defiable reason to believe in the existance of love.
and then there was me,
a facade of something i scarcily knew i created.
what did i do?
questioning God, questioning whom i had become and how; begging Him to somehow forgive this most lewd of a girl only aged of seventeen years. fifty-six weeks. and roughly nine hours.
we rose.
mildly joking to rationalize the weight of occurances that have turned us into fetters of our mind's own consumption.
it was centuries ago that Shakespeare translated these dross emotions into script when the fictional character Hamlet depressed the thought that God made a "law" to live.
"To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
....
Be all my sins remember'd."
...
if you don't see me as beautiful tomorrow, i will more than understand.
but if you ever start to covet...
my life is only as vapour, not much longer i will stay.
i'm sorry i've become so selfish.
create your own body language to communicate secretly with each other when you're in public, create a secret body language. touch your nose to say, "let's go home." tug an ear to say, "i love you." bite your lip to say, "i want to kiss you."