I swear this is not becoming a picture blog but... I love my horses. They are my life.
Pasha (Prime Meridian)
Roo (Roo B Tuesday)Wednesday, March 31, 2010
...
03.31.10
I swear this is not becoming a picture blog but... I love my horses. They are my life.
Pasha (Prime Meridian)
Roo (Roo B Tuesday)
I swear this is not becoming a picture blog but... I love my horses. They are my life.
Pasha (Prime Meridian) Roo (Roo B Tuesday)
Monday, March 29, 2010
Sunday, March 28, 2010
...
03.28.10
He asked me questions I didn't even know. It felt as though a scandalous part of my life was triggered out of me. He took a taste of my tea and told me it was too watered down. He was referring to my life.
And I could taste him in the air, my arms felt him in my sleeves. He seemed too real to me. Like concrete under my toes; uncomfortable and cold. Pushing him back only sends me into space. It binds me in a spectral sanctuary, but I know that someday I'll crash.
He wrapped his hand around my wrist and led me to the window. My pulse filled his palm and I pondered what he felt there. He placed my arm back by my side. He climbed through the window and I laughed because I was terrified.
Standing on the other side, he asked me if he looked different, if he looked new. And somehow he did. He looked more like chocolate. He looked more like dough. And the tint in his voice sounded like fake diamonds and gold. The kind I'd worn on my fingers at the age of five. Like a startled little girl I asked him what he'd done. He told me he'd left his fears in the room beside me.
I reached out and I could feel them. They were sharp. I felt about to bleed. I tore off my tights and stomped my way up and over the window sill. My skirt snagged and curled away to reveal my thigh.
He kissed my lips. He told me I tasted like porcelain. Perfect but breakable. He touched my cheek and told me it felt waxen white. Easy to melt. He pushed his thumbs into my forehead and told me that was where my secrets were hidden. Then I knew I hadn't left my fears in the room behind me. I could feel them piercing me from the inside out.
He gave me a menthol cigarette and it choked my lungs. I missed the pink prettiness of my Sobranie Cocktails. He knocked his ashes into my hair and told me he liked the smell mixed with my perfume. I felt gritty and mean and beautiful, if only for a second.
He'd asked me questions I didn't even know. The answers escaped from my lungs like the smoke winding away from me. They were lost, gone, like a memory that never really existed. Those questions were the line between my life and what I wished it was. The line between me and him.
He asked me questions I didn't even know. It felt as though a scandalous part of my life was triggered out of me. He took a taste of my tea and told me it was too watered down. He was referring to my life.
And I could taste him in the air, my arms felt him in my sleeves. He seemed too real to me. Like concrete under my toes; uncomfortable and cold. Pushing him back only sends me into space. It binds me in a spectral sanctuary, but I know that someday I'll crash.
He wrapped his hand around my wrist and led me to the window. My pulse filled his palm and I pondered what he felt there. He placed my arm back by my side. He climbed through the window and I laughed because I was terrified.
Standing on the other side, he asked me if he looked different, if he looked new. And somehow he did. He looked more like chocolate. He looked more like dough. And the tint in his voice sounded like fake diamonds and gold. The kind I'd worn on my fingers at the age of five. Like a startled little girl I asked him what he'd done. He told me he'd left his fears in the room beside me.
I reached out and I could feel them. They were sharp. I felt about to bleed. I tore off my tights and stomped my way up and over the window sill. My skirt snagged and curled away to reveal my thigh.
He kissed my lips. He told me I tasted like porcelain. Perfect but breakable. He touched my cheek and told me it felt waxen white. Easy to melt. He pushed his thumbs into my forehead and told me that was where my secrets were hidden. Then I knew I hadn't left my fears in the room behind me. I could feel them piercing me from the inside out.
He gave me a menthol cigarette and it choked my lungs. I missed the pink prettiness of my Sobranie Cocktails. He knocked his ashes into my hair and told me he liked the smell mixed with my perfume. I felt gritty and mean and beautiful, if only for a second.
He'd asked me questions I didn't even know. The answers escaped from my lungs like the smoke winding away from me. They were lost, gone, like a memory that never really existed. Those questions were the line between my life and what I wished it was. The line between me and him.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
...
25.03.10
I've stopped listening. I've shut the door. I just want to be alone.
When someone's stabbed you in the heart all you have left is your own sanity. It's the thing that keeps you from falling over the edge. I've been taken to a slaughterhouse and I'm dying slowly by bleeding out. I'm hanging from a hook, the hook you put me on. And the thing is, there is no escape. You can't get out, you just have to wait for death and hope that it's quick.
The death of the heart heals for no one. Do not let it out of it's cage of ribs, do not let it free, do not let anyone near it. Even the most careful lover can puncture it. Love is not worth the risk of heartbreak.
I've stopped listening. I've shut the door. I just want to be alone.
When someone's stabbed you in the heart all you have left is your own sanity. It's the thing that keeps you from falling over the edge. I've been taken to a slaughterhouse and I'm dying slowly by bleeding out. I'm hanging from a hook, the hook you put me on. And the thing is, there is no escape. You can't get out, you just have to wait for death and hope that it's quick.
The death of the heart heals for no one. Do not let it out of it's cage of ribs, do not let it free, do not let anyone near it. Even the most careful lover can puncture it. Love is not worth the risk of heartbreak.
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