Thursday, June 30, 2011

"Think I'm drunk enough to drive you home now"

I can't find the straight line to face your eyes sometimes.
Even when I want you to take off your shoes.
I just make this funny sound. Or some gesture. Like I'm irritated. Or indifferent. And I don't care for a second.
I pretend you're unkind.

Then I sew my mouth shut just to make you twitch. Maybe stutter. Or just blink. And you find a way to win that game. Because you said I'm scary.
Then one night I felt how scary I was.

I become monstrosity with hair.
Kind of like a mess of my hair; a disarray of fried intimidation and exasperation. With claws. Or nails dug deep down your arm. And the bite marks bluing.
When I make my way for the front door, I decide what's my kind.
And in the best of our entanglement, I roll my eyes. I shut my door. I cross my legs and wait till I splatter across the four walls and the ceiling above the floor.
I wait. "We're beautiful," I say to the darkness once you're home.
Cowardice, I whisper.
And I'm so still.
Still disconnected from a straight line...

ARCHIVE, FUCKERS (for Ace-like purposes)