glistening streets from the snow
like exploding stars when I am high
or pending meteorites spinning
when I am drunk
like that one time
on half a line of ketamine
and I thought the world wore a halo of colours
or my eyes became rainbow,
walking down the quiet streets
the wind crinkling my skin
water seeping through and crackling in the soil
life bubbling with remorse
life longing to be lived right
but knowing that I'll grow up to be a bitter old woman
born pessimistic, I will turn into that eventually
no matter how much I wish not to
I am preconditioned
and fate is dragging my feet round the corner
wanting so much for him to be standing there
in front of the door
that I actually expect to see him
and form him there
even when I see he's not
am I in trouble
when my core is lying a 5 hours plane ride away
passed out on dry dirty tarmac
with cat piss
and the smell of night
and the taste of killer ouzo
and some honking pervert passer by
so I must be happy here
if only I would write my essays on time,
go to the gym,
and love my boyfriend
like I should
instead of thinking of myself so much,
I could be happy here.
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 19, 2012
I thought I had gotten over the emo teenage phase for good when I left here 5 years ago, but it seems like this place brings out the grunge in everything. I can feel it calling from behind the concrete. I hadn't actually properly listened to grunge in years, yet it's all I've been listening to for the past few days.
Maybe this is why I have been malfunctioning lately. If I were new age I'd say I feel like my aura is polluted or I got a blocked chi or something.
This is one of my favourite albums of all time. It's just so beautiful.
Anyway, I wrote this poem once when I unwillingly fell out of love and suffered the consequences.
Things are finally starting to fall back into place.
I am becoming healthy enough to go out and
doing the things that make me unhealthy,
important decisions are being made,
projects are embarked upon,
things are ticked off lists
and lists are getting smaller.
My manic friends are calm for now
and waking up to see the shattered glasses
of their madness and
and the underwear is finally washed
and hung to dry;
there's even coffee in the house,
begging to be brewed.
There's only one thing:
the Sahara is back.
It blew its grainy doubts this way,
it crept in the sheets
and bit my ankles and my thighs
as I lay under the dark blue sky
of the shesh,
each fabric fold holding a threat
I have left my love to die.
Thirsty, dehydrated, hallucinating,
longing for rosewater
To the sound of the lonely flute
wailing through the hollow wood,
I must walk the desert alone
and listen to my gods.