Monologue
You open your eyes and break them.
You make it thirty seconds late and the first drop of liquid skids down your pants.
You don’t move
You want the repugnant smell of perfume to scratch itself off the bed sheet
You think that water makes no sense. It only cleans skin
Your insides stink of nightmares. Your face stinks of stupid ness
You write a letter you will never mail
You breathe in your first cigarette. You gulp down your fifth pill
You call. Fascinated by the horrible variations in her voice. The sentences trickle down like cold sweat, pushing backwards and forward. Backwards and forward. Unwanted release. Five second guilt trip. It reminds you of the first time you fucked.
You want the fetus to strangle itself
You want these shithole memories to dissolve like tears on a cheap tissue paper.
You want a new life, a new beginning, some fucked up miracle or a clue about redemption.
You look perfectly fine. You smile. You fornicate. You lie and prosecute. Circle upon circle. Mask upon mask.
Fuck
But the difference between how you look and how you see yourself is enough to kill most people.
-Ali Sultan
Tags: Monologue
May 2nd, 2006 at 10:25 pm
devastated ma senses…! awesome !
May 3rd, 2006 at 10:43 am
you were doing fine until you ripped fight club off you paki beckett you.
May 3rd, 2006 at 11:38 am
Man! i wish i could write half as good as you!
May 6th, 2006 at 07:16 am
this piece made me remind one of mine
cheers :/
You walk and a slow shadow precedes u
And your heart can’t race his footsteps
The strong man you were is now a fragile woman
And the roar of your being
Now you use for an excuse over not making it on time
And he is a young child too small
To see your closing eyes
And know they might shut
His world begins when most people you know
Are names on stones and some unmarked
Your tainted fingers cannot tie knots
His shoes you cannot mend\
And for all his fancies and questions
You have nostalgia the stinking pot of age to dispense
An old ragged crippled old man old as time
You have been another man
Now you have the shoulder of a toddler
Once upon a sad time you shouldered a man
Your child is weary and you are tired of your self
At last we must see the hand we are dealt
There was never no beauty but which that
Would be taken one day
October 4th, 2006 at 08:35 am
It really wasn’t that good. More disturbing.:twisted: