Thursday, January 20, 2011

Sleeping Through Life. (Memoirs)

"Maybe it's a dream and if I scream it'll burst at the seams..."- Jack Johnson 

We love, we hate, we turn.
I prop my legs up on the sill, and yawn.
Tousled hair and an oversized tee.
The sun, nudging past obstacles, 
Touches my forehead tenderly.
And just like that you look at me,
You're beautiful, your eyes seem to say.
But your mouth just kisses me.

We obsess, we fight, we hurt.
With kohl-lined eyes and a scarlet mouth,
I make my way down the street now home.
But even home at night houses strangers.
But all dangers,
I pose,
Are to me. Myself. I don't know you anymore.
I tug at my LBD, take off my stilettos, 
Glinting gold.
And slip into you.
Into your once safe and warm hold.

We break, we take, and remake.
Bleak street lights on a winter night.
December clouds hover.
Two years and I've already found a lover,
In the heart of this city.
Bound to it by an intricate weave of friendships,
Sisterhood, love, laughter, heartbreak and tears.

We think, we ponder, we procrastinate.
Strewn DVD's across purple bed sheets,
The blue and white of Facebook...
Fashionistas and snob magazines,
And empty pizza boxes.

The innocent eyes are now a distant haze,
Seeing but not focusing.
Vacant with all the smoke.
Call me beautiful.
I'll bear with you.
Me into the deeper recesses of insanity.

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