raspberryswyrl
in the nature of man is nothing that could be called holy. i wish i could civilize you the way he civilized me, out on the porch stairs, with a whip and a chain and a big fat Nothing for a name. there were centuries that passed before i realized the pain. he had claimed it was for the good and the better.
bury the depths of you, in to me. there is a pulp soil that i have burned your heart in. your fucked up face is all that is left and it won't haunt me anymore, not on the cold walk home, not in the bar, not in the wretched dreams of my sleep. you'll fade out like the last trip hop beat i heard on the way out of the door.
since you left and the leaves turned; since you turned and the leaves burned; since you burned and the leaves crisped - fallen from trees, some still hanging stubbornly, much like the memory of you.
and the faces that swept by in the crowd, just phantasmagoria, just the red swirl of a clown nose or an ice cream cone, all that history, all that nostalgia; gone. she'd wanted him there when she dug out her guts, right from the center, but he was gone, too.
i am wet. i feel wet. the surfaces around me are wet. there is a microcosm of space and time and feelings and perceptions that shimmer in a vast ocean of wet; like you, like he, before you: diamond blue eyes, soft and still, ocean of gold, right at the center - like your heart, where i keep trying to go to, the place inside, wetter than wet, glistening blue and black and pearlescent
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wetblueoceanburnedsurfacecoldsoftraincenterheartdustyevilslickeyepantherstalking