innamorataitaliana
They took it out, pulsing and beating, I watched every minute of it though they believed I were to be asleep and soon no longer breathing. They ripped it out and threw it deep into that hole. Kicking the gravel. Buried it down. I watched and felt nothing. Nothing anymore. It's still pumping there under the rubble and rocks and dirt, trading the mud for plasma. I feel the earth now, not my skin.
The signs on the road keep saying stop. We pass them and I always seem to wake up as they fly by. It is a miracle that my eyes can keep up with them at this speed. You hum away as you listen to the radio. Even when the car is silent you hum and I beg you to stop. Stop. Stop everything. The humming. The driving. The us.
No, I did not cry out like you would have expected. No scream, nor moan, nor sound of any kind escaped my lips other than the breathing. Lost, I shook and sat on one edge of the moss covered concrete thing...may have been a bridge at one point, maybe it held railroad tracks. Looking through the expansive yellowing treetops as the sky darkened and the blade grew colder and colder in my hands. I've always said I could never live in the country. Don't you remember? For the sounds are so different when there are not a thousand and one others to drown them out or make them seem less like a threat and more like an after thought.
Together. To-get-her. Do you think that was done on purpose? Funny isn't it, how we made up words in this language? Do you think these things happened in the formation of any other language other than ours? Or is ours just goofy in general, like more than the average language? I mean, that would make sense for as often as English speakers are portrayed as a source of comedy rather than a credible source. Hm.
I have never felt as alive as I did in that city all those years ago. When I had full reign to walk for hundreds of block and climb statues and salsa in the streets. No one to stop me. No one to make me think. Just me and the constant drumming in coexistence.
The energy that will never escape farther than it can last in your lungs as you leave. How far can you hold in your breath? How far will you take it with you?
something I should never eat. never ever ever
it is so magically yummy and delicious however
he eats it all the time
i would bake it but the oil is calling me. i swear it is.
if i could fry my heart i would
because he would love it more. so much more. I swear.
I wish I were the oil sometimes.
So everything that I touched he would desire more and more just because I was around.
and I would be oh so magical to him.