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the best i can promise is the moon.
11 July 2020 @ 08:53 pm
20 November 2009 @ 05:43 pm
i have a scratch on my forehead; anxiety speaking.
what's more is the broken record you made of me,
trashed and taped together with love.
because when you hold her, you will not think of me.
you will not feel, touch, warm me.
though our lips acquainted for five hours straight,
you will not remember. a vision of erasure,
i am, have always been.
don't act like i didn't warn you--
crazy, i said.
you agreed.
this is not who i wanted to be,
crying on a train, cheeks swelled, paper, ink.
this is not what i meant,
by you, by me.
and when i asked, you replied i was the only one,
plus another.
i thought that meant something--
do you remember?
you held me, and we sat together
beneath the smoke
unfurling from our mouths.
and why did you ever?
did you know what it would mean,
to pretend?
acquainted for five hours straight.
all arms, twisted with mouths in between.
when you see me, it will be her in your eyes.
it will be easier to forget.
so go on, have a look.
pretend.
you are in my mind, eyes mouth.
and you will not remember
all we have seen.
08 September 2009 @ 02:24 pm
Mark Z. Danielewski, House of Leaves
17 August 2009 @ 06:15 pm