i was busy writing stories in my palms; i was busy and the word distraction was unknown to me. "one for stories, stories for one."

he was one of those boys who refused to remain within his skin. he wanted to cover the whole of existence; reality had to be covered in him. he couldn't have known what he was doing when he came to me and dipped my hands in his belly; -my palms need to be kept clean for stories, and to write is the only thing i truly like- he never asked.

the stories are having a hard time sticking to my palms now,and i do not like the stench of bile and blood beneath my nails. "my jaguar will lick me clean."

confessions full of jack

i do not want my memory to be erased;
i simply want to be erased from the memories of others.

confessions full of jack

i'd rather struggle with the weight of reality than be comforted by temporary illusions.

confessions full of jack

i have forgotten how it is to keep a truthful journal. my honesty flares up and burns out between the letters of a single word. i am ever consistent in my reluctance to any kind of commitment; no story is totally mine, some are always borrowed. i got so used to hiding my truth from prying eyes that i became hidden from myself during the process. 

it was like a cry for help; last night deep in dreams i heard a woman say "i know you, i feel you; i don't understand why i can't see you."

confessions full of jack

i want to take a nap in a freshly dug grave.

confessions full of jack

i might let you convince me but i won't be fooled.

this has nothing to do with love

hood up-head down
(it was years ago.)

and here i am
refusing to grow up
and memories will not go cold.

so this was it,
it was your birthday that shook the very grounds we walked on.
(it gets harder for me every year and i do some crazy shit.)

so this was it,
your lover in me will not die.
she drinks herself to sleep;
she drinks herself to love.

grab my arms and shake me like you used to!
grab my heart and pull on it!
(i never wanted anyone else to hurt me...)
my veins look blue
but i am telling you
since that day
i have nothing running through.

it is that groan.
it is that single tear.
and the bruises one-two-three.

i need you to come back and kill me properly.

i.
need.
you.

(i am still drunk;
why else would i want your beard tickles?
why else would i want your sigh to pin me down?

pin me down...
my blood,
my maker,
i can't stand missing you.)

confessions full of jack

immortality does not sound appealing to me. on the contrary, i like the finite nature of life. most things are precious only because they'll eventually perish. 

only if my sisters became immortal and they demanded my company i would accept immortality. even then i would use all my powers to convince them to spare me from the burden of a neverending existence. but i doubt it would work, we three are used to share both the burden and the relief.

(i wish i had the courage to accept immortality in the name of romantic love, i do like the idea of spending eternity with your soulmate. i just do not think my soul can mate for that long.)

i like it. i like forgetting my details. it leaves room for new encounters in mirrors.

there was a kiss on my shoulder five minutes ago, and i met sarcasm in my hair late last night. a new hidden joke winks at me every time i catch a glimpse of the tip of my nose, and my sleepy cleavage presents me indifference.

i run out of coffee and milk and cereal. i run out of fruit and vegetables. i run out of doom and gloom.

she catches me from behind and kisses my neck the way only sisters can kiss. my skin is used to her lips, and my body falls back into her embrace. my body doesn't know a life where her body doesn't exist.

"i love you" she says, forceful and meaningful is her voice. so many more words are wrapped into that simple sentence.

i used to worry she only loved me because she didn't know how not to. i used to worry she only loved my past; my cuddly, smiley, playful years spent at her skirt. i used to worry our connection was out of habit. i am a creature of habit, and sometimes i think the whole world is of my stock. but she has a pagan heart, her actions are ritualistic never merely habitual. her being accepts time in a way i can never comprehend. so when she touches me, and tells me that i am loved by her, i can feel the now in her breath.

i am lovely now. i am wise now. i am strong now. i am kind now.

and i can finally see that the darkness and the distance of my existence were never ignored for they just couldn't be.

i am enough now.
-i don't have to wait for anything.-