Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Releasing Pressure So Deep It Can Lay Waste To Cities And Daydreams

And like the crashing of a nearby and tragically deadly tidal wave her voice shoves itself through my feet on vibrations of deep, hollowed out like whispers through the tube of an empty paper towel roll gently pressed to her lips, just as gently to the side of my head like a rifle blasting sex, slow and smooth, then violent, as if it were shoved down my throat and into the base of my mind, she rested there, this image only described initially as beautiful by my thoughts, this construct hybrid of who she was by my perception, who she was by the general perceptions of she and I's loved ones, and I stare at her wondering if I should continue to continually birth such a creature into my consciousness, arguing with myself and others about whether or not any of our calculations were correct on the actual her and settling on what would it matter?

She's like a shitty thought from a beautiful voice, a salesman's pitch to the overly romantic hearts that want nothing more than to give someone everything they are and have them accept it when they haven't even accepted themselves, a shiny used sports car with parts held on my bubblegum, and I sit now with my right foot making motions like a depressed acceleration pedal, next to her, giggling like a doped up, retarded schoolgirl, my smile so wide my face seems about to break as I speed through yet another daydream that I fail to fully acknowledge could go bad any second, and like a baby being born while having a heart attack I snap back into feeling so damned fragile and small, helpless, stranded without that face that could make me laugh and feel okay as I lay in some terrible scenario of my death, and it's in these times I wonder if I'll hold her this way until just before they load my casket, or if someone else will fill the void that letting her go completely may create.