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chrysesofia
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8/21/2007 10:42:06 PM
something old ...

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chrysesofia

8/21/2007 10:42:06 PM

something old ...

cleaning out my closet. this one doesn't fit anymore.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~

990922

it's so close
coming like a sneeze that won't
that will
hurt like hell
because of the stitches

bleed you out
bring me my leeches
and a tourniquet

perc as needed for pain
and a dark dark rain
a dead dreamless sleep
hours of silence in which to weep
and no one comes around
whatever will i do
without you

sit alone on my stool with my stuff
pound my fists in the dirt til my wrists hurt
listen to the beads bounce and rattle the walls
darkness falls all around my cage
and spiders come to inhabit the dust

rust in my brain and blood in my lungs
my head hurts from banging it against the same old wall
i'd call you but it would seem strange
i'd change it all if i could and who i am but
i'm no one else's anymore

out with a bang and a whimper of dread
up with the guillotine
off with her head
get on with it you fool get out

cold in my flesh and my bones
from the stress and the strain
and walking around in the rain
doesn't help but somehow it feels better
than sitting at home with all the lights on


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fly on the wall

8/21/2007 11:14:56 PM


Sounds like a nasty breakup.

I try not to have those myself. I let them all linger for years, in all kinds of strange frustrating mutations. (said with tongue in cheek)


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chrysesofia

8/22/2007 8:24:48 AM


it got nasty because it was totally unexpected. i was angry, but often i don't know what to do with anger--i don't let myself get angry, so it just depresses me.
but that was a long time ago. this makes me cringe a little :) melodrama and all that. the words are not really me, some of them.
everything turns into an experiment .. i wonder if writing sometimes isn't a distraction from the feelings as much as an expression of them. like ... once i start putting it into words ... i want to make a puzzle out of it. and then doing the puzzle shifts the focus from the unacceptability of something that i can't wrap my brain around ... to converting it to something else that i =can= wrap my brain around, dammit.

it's mysterious. i can go for months without feeling compelled to write in that way ... but when it shows up it's like an ecstatic fever ... and when the work is done, it goes away and i can no longer remember how that happened. like orgasm or tornado, anything that is so intense in the moment that you are just living it, not paying attention to what it looks like or where it came from.


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fly on the wall

8/23/2007 5:37:57 AM


As if living life isn't painful enough, we have to leave a trail.


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