Tiny Thoughts.

43

431
You always have to give up something when in the pursuit of knowledge,
Citizens and money,
Odin and his eye,
Prometheus and his freedom,
Eve and paradise.
Why is she the one to have been socially slaughtered,
Why is she the one with all the blame.
——-

432
Serpentine eyed woman; Of pain and regret,
Why do your eyes shine so bright?
The glowing uranium pearls, dipped deep below the ocean Surface,
Serpent of the garden,
Are you a Devil, like me?
Do you feel no emotion except wrath and Pride? Does it quiver around you in excitement, constricting, like the scaly skin around my neck.
Do you watch the prayers lift their prayers up,
and only wish you too could believe in salvation.
Did you try, when you were young and small, only to find, god is not as merciful as they say.
So, when you were older, (not wiser, not stupider,) did you make a pact with the devil?
Did you unpack your woes onto him, letting him take the burden while sitting on your back porch, lemonade in one hand, both of you watching as the trees bent back and forth in the chaotic winds.
In a way, did you too, sell yourself to him?
No one listened.
So he listened.
And in some way, people would call that sin in itself.
And in some way, I could've agreed.
It had the same draw as sin.

433
When I was younger.
I liked to think I was an earth Angel,
Something special, someone who was destined to help people, a being of stardust and cosmos, one where divinity didn't leave a speck of skin on their body untouched. Where at every move, the 'other' seemed to pour from their very existence.
I liked to think I had wings, ones that could carry me away from any conflict, ones were I could dive, and soar, rather than fall, and die.
Now, I realize. Like any person who grows older by each passing moment. That I was nothing of the sort.
And if I was.
I was far from a so called "earth angel".
My blood had boiled down until only an oily substance was left. Tar and fat from past pains. Something divinity would spit out, like a grandfather spat out tobacco in the 1850s Carolinas.
My soul, only worth a dime, I sold long ago in order to reach perfection.
Perfection had been the only thing that meant anything to me for so long. I never learned what it was like to care.

434
"How could you let it get this bad?" She sobbed into her hands, "How could you not tell me?"
...
"You never asked." She replied back. Her voice smoothing over the air like monotonous death.

435
I feel like I'm constantly having the worst week of my life.
And at the end I always tell myself.
It'll get better.
But it doesn't.
And I tell at myself.
At my childish naivety.
How could you believe that. This is REAL life.
And I'll do it.
I tell myself one day I'll Just do it.
But I don't.
And I'm stuck in the cycle.
Watching others from the other side of the fence.
Watching as those around me grow wings, and fly, and join, and cry, and meet the others on the other side.
And after a while I sit down.
And stare.
And watch.
And sob.
And yell.
And curse.
And pray.
And scream out why.

436
Dear future lover,
I love you.

436
Let me lie down,
In a field of crayola pansies,
I watch as they brush your face.

Dear talia,
I Deliver you love,
In a tightly sealed envelope,
And pray it may never leave your grasp,

438
I just need one scream,
Just let me get it all out,
Let me crash into the earth, destroying myself, let me let it all go,
Let this cursed oil spill out of me and cleanse somewhere else, find something else to latch onto. Anything. Anyone but me.

439
Silver sheen, silver sheen,
Come down to thee,
Like glistening lunaria in summer's sea,
Opalescent beads of morning dew,
I dip my fingers and anoint thee,
~
Say your prayers and jump in,
Submerge in my depths,
Breathe in my words,
Graze in the meadows of my thighs,
And laze in the space between heaven and earth, mind and body.

440
The fate of the world is in the hands of the dreamers?