| Ghosts of her touch |
[Oct. 18th, 2005|03:31 am] |
I let myself be haunted by the ghosts of her touch, the warm body pressed against mine, not able to keep the loneliness from spreading over me. I let my mind play tricks with my heart, old wine turned sour on parched lips, trickling down my skin, leaving sad footprints on the ground while I meander in oblivion. It's been an exhausting walk so far, and as I turn back I can only see my footprints fade off into a bleak horizon, and a long shadow marks my trail.
It has been so long since we touched, ages since I covered her, gave her comfort, whispered in her ear that I'd stay. I didn't, and now all I wish is for her to return, now that I've come back to the place where we should be, only I have no right to ask or suggest. All that's left is the ghost of her touch, and the bareness where she used to be. |
|
|
| It Flutters, Once, Again |
[Feb. 1st, 2005|12:27 am] |
Things were never simple between the two of us.
There simply shouldn't be a "between the two of us."
And,
if
worse
comes
to
worse
We must never forget, or try to remember all that's been said,
remember all that's been kept
and feel comfort
resign to change,
resign to context, circumstance, crossroads
but
I
hope
to see you again,
not soon,
but sometime
some other way. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Dec. 13th, 2004|12:52 am] |
You never write about me, or include me in your online thoughts, even when the night was nothing short of a good one, or at least in our case, tolerable.
I wish for the day when it wouldn't have to matter whether you do or not. I wish for the day when you would mention me, or not, and it wouldn't mean a thing to me. Or better and worse, whenever you do I'd be happy, and whenever you don't, I'd die. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Dec. 1st, 2004|02:18 am] |
|
I feel, so terribly, that I'm dying. Save me. Save me. Save me. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Oct. 30th, 2004|12:20 am] |
|
I feel betrayed. Thanks for not being more considerate. |
|
|
| Scent of A Woman |
[Oct. 22nd, 2004|06:49 am] |
|
The news of her terminal illness leaves me in shock, as her scent, to mingle with the night, slowly leaves me. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Aug. 7th, 2004|03:10 am] |
|
I am a worthless boyfriend. |
|
|
| Anima |
[Jul. 28th, 2004|03:32 pm] |
|
With every breath I am aware of her, and with every thought her my heart glows with her essence. She is all of them, and yet none of them, unless she takes on a face and a name, and then we possess each other. I am a man, singular and solitary, and yet my very being turns inward to find her at the core. Without a hope of discovering her face I do not live. Without a hope of knowing her name there is but death to complete my existence. I take comfort in knowing that she's there, or at least, she might be there. And even if I'm mistaken, at the very least, I looked. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Jul. 16th, 2004|12:02 am] |
|
My other self has found happiness, and thus for now I disappear. |
|
|
| There is nothing to jump over. |
[Jul. 3rd, 2004|12:34 am] |
Go win yourself a prize. Go get yourself an Oscar for acting as yourself. Bottoms up, and your glee shall be justified, and with every yellow drop your sanity ebbs away, and with every yellow drop, your body ebbs away.
my mouth is dry and I cannot speak, yet speaking will only cause pain, so I shall rather die of thirst than force myself to speak to you
Severe punishment no longer inflicted, self-immolation always predicted, burn baby, burn baby, it is what you see, what you say that will be remembered. Eat like kings, flaunt like princes, fuck like regal drag-queens on the dirty streets. It is not what you say but how you say it, and once you can say anything boring with such gusto so as to make it sound like gold, you have it made.
You have it made, you have it, maid. And you shall serve thee, and I shall serve thee.
Once, twice, thrice, to say that you love, to say that you care. To swallow your pain, to check your pride, to check that your pecker is in its proper place. That is what men are made of.
That is what fucking pansies are made of.
Complain, complain, complain, and you can avail of critical dialogue. Complain of life, live in style, work like a dog, die like a burning log. And it all comes crashing down, into oblivion and into nothingness.
It hurts. I die. I live. It hurts. I die. |
|
|
| When it's actually a bad thing |
[Jun. 24th, 2004|01:55 am] |
The disadvantage of writing in anonymity is that I cannot write about what I do, lest I give away who I am. Lately, I've been having very deep-rooted problems concerning my work and I can only write them here.
Oh well.
---
Her name is vile and every thought of her clouds my mind. But I keep it there, the traces of her figure, there where only I can see, there where skeletons hang and mildew forms. Her poison returns as I return to thinking, and each thought is attached to her, each anxiety attributed to her. I cannot move without the glint of her eyes startling me from the corners of my mind, and every word I speak is tainted with the scent of her memory. I may leave at any point, change, but the ghost of her touch remains on me like a mist so thin, so cold, and it makes me weary. My eyes heavy, I have nothing left but to sleep and be with her without remorse or fear of knowing it isn't real. |
|
|
| To YOU |
[Jun. 21st, 2004|08:17 pm] |
Take care of your friends' hearts. Sometimes they hurt more and are more fragile than those of lovers.
You know who you are. |
|
|
| When I Wake to Dream |
[Jun. 21st, 2004|08:30 am] |
There is a certain sense of peace in not expecting anything out of the next few moments in your life. Not waiting for change, not tensing in anticipation of something. It is in the absence of tomorrow's reality that we can hope to rest, to sleep, to dream.
Which is why I sometimes wonder why I cannot seem to let go of the day that has passed or the day that is to come. I go back on past projects, personal and otherwise, revising and re-revising, regardless of whether there is still a deadline to catch or not. I find myself in meeting places and events way too early: I hurry up not wanting to miss anything and end up wasting my time waiting for something to happen. I sit up on my bed until the sun comes up, my mind reeling from an endless barrage of needless worry. Only during times of extreme physical and mental exhaustion do I find rest. Only during inebriation do I forget that I have things to do (although lately my tolerance has become so unpredictable that I'm beginning to stress even when I'm drunk).
Lately I've developed anxiety attacks, moments of cold sweat, muscle twitches and lack of confidence that hit me during the oddest times. I was in my bed last night, tired from a long day of work, when suddenly I felt an terrible knot in my stomach. I stood up, caught my breath, and looked at myself in my mirror. In it I saw my face, beet-reed, with worried eyes, brow and forehead furrowed in worry. To add to the confusion, I didn't know what I was worried about. Soon though, I started worrying about the attacks themselves. Several similar incidents later, I fell into exhausted slumber at around 2 o' clock in the morning.
It's a problem that's been affecting my daily routine as of late. Only in moments of pure passion over work do I feel normal. In essence, only during moments of stress do I feel relaxed with myself. Only during moments where people see me in my element do I find peace. And now, rarely do I dream, except, ironically, when I'm wide awake. |
|
|
| Unprepared |
[Jun. 20th, 2004|02:14 pm] |
Everyone seems to have the same comments and reactions regarding fete de la musique, so I won't say anything to add to the din.
Though I agree with everyone completely. |
|
|
| Answer me this |
[Jun. 20th, 2004|03:26 am] |
| [ | substance |
| |  cynical | ] |
I don't need names; If you're uncomfortable with identifying yourself then don't. Just relate to me what is in your heart. Please be honest, and please be true, for while you write to me, I shall read, listen, and we shall all remember, and learn.
"What is your most emotionally painful experience ever?" |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Jun. 18th, 2004|12:13 am] |
No matter what people would say about love, I seem to regard their opinion with a tinge of cynicism.
even if what they say reflects my own thoughts on the subject |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Jun. 16th, 2004|08:15 pm] |
|
Work kills the Demon. |
|
|
| Of Obsessions and Good Intentions |
[Jun. 13th, 2004|01:24 pm] |
|
Only truly twisted individuals such as I would get stuck in situations such as this. In an attempt to convert my improper longings I have transformed them into friendships and sympathy. But now, I've become overly concerned for matters that most would deem trivial. It's almost obsessive, what I do, and although my thoughts are far from impure, the amount of time with which I focus my attention on that person is unhealthy. Now, if only I could distract myself with matters more trivial and less consequential... |
|
|
| Megalophobia |
[May. 28th, 2004|09:15 pm] |
The endless divide remains within me, and the divide is clear, the sides distinct and irreconcilable. The me that you see can love, or be loved, can share compassion, can shed tears and feel pain. I am that me always, and that shall be the only me that you will ever know. Standing on the other side of the divide is me as well. Distant, minute, unable to love, refuses to be loved, thrives on apathy, can only feel hate and disgust. He is always there, always behind my eyes, always present, always invisible. From within what you see is a sleeper who loathes the world, yearns only for death and dissolution. It yearns only for my death. It yearns for yours.
There is little discomfort in this disparity, this duality of a whole, indivisible human being. I can only seem to love and forgive, but this is only because I can compare myself to me, the other me, the one that remains at odds with everything, inbcluding himself. |
|
|
| Go away |
[May. 24th, 2004|01:53 am] |
|
Some people don't value privacy at all. |
|
|
| navigation |
| [ |
viewing |
| |
most recent entries |
] |
| [ |
go |
| |
earlier |
] |
| |
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
endlessdivide's journal