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April 12, 2006
Paper planes
The door was not locked, we had to dare and let our curiosity take over our fears, I was not brave, but I knew to leave I had to pass the door, an open door, but what was out there?, outside the silence of the room, life was moving on ward, going on toward forever, and all we needed was a seat. The red Bus stopped by the gate and the door opened, I heard the chorus of the songs I had written the hymn, the sweet voices of angels and all the paper planes that flew that day in the blue clear sky.
We stood by the window as the bus moved on, and looked back to what we left behind, all the days that had brought us there to that moment in time, then we sat back as the bus's movement lulled us to sleep.
I have painted a portrait of you, used all my glossy oil paints. I gave you brown hair with amber highlights that shine in the sun, your white porcelain skin, your red pouting mouth, your brown misty eyes, and I could somehow between the movements of my fingers and the thoughts of you bring all the love I wanted you to have for me in your face, and my troubled heart was so feverishly amused when your face was done. ......... now you are hung on the wall and every night, as the fires still burn, I miss you and raise my glass of wine to you, and walk the lonely walk upstairs to our bedroom.
This kind piece of steel, and all the intentions that has brought it, in this package, this shape to me, cool, gray silver, with sharpened edge, used for every day grooming of men, whole they hurry to their work, how did they know, this kind edged silver, this sliver of sharp edges, and how it sits on my skin as I cut myself in repeated exact parallel lines, and the pain it brings the sweet soothing pain it brings to me, in its cutting intervals, as the red blood gushes, and my heart beats faster, and for a moment , for a second for a beloved eternity, I forget my heartache, as I cut and stop and cut again, managing my pain.
Posted by Idinraha at April 12, 2006 04:28 PM