The first time you told me you loved me
it was a clear midnight in July.
You were having an anxiety attack.
I can't tell if I should be flattered
For ev'ry trembl'd rock and stone
of brooke and vale and buri'd bone
where ev'ry springly blossom blow'n
tumbl'd freely wi'dth 'ere road
new dawn, new day, new drug
new way of living
at least for the grace period
with no therapeutic threshold
if I take the
ass I want
air that's forced to fly
while air has been known
to fall, ache out - snow
on a summer's day
1. I come into this world screaming like a missile as it cuts the air in two.
2. Shapes, colors, time, movement, love, hate, developing from small fragments, pieced together into a quietly growing mosaic of a being.
3. I shit my pants.
4. The grape juice spills and I wail, wanting to put the sweet ambrosia liquid into my mouth but knowing that I cannot.
5. I start to daydream about a wider world, filled with mystery, filled with terror, ready to be indulged.
Several times I've tried writing you letters,
but the point never seemed to get through to anyone but the mailman.
I guess I used to think nothing was wrong,
but for the past few years I've been dealing with ghosts in my blood
and aliens in my head.
When I was four years old,
he told me I was his stars in the sky
and his favorite of the pale lilacs my mother grew in her garden.
I believed him and told him I'd kiss the hour he came home safe.
When I was nine,
I watch raindrops on my windowpane as they race each other to the sill,
colliding halfway there.
I watch raindrops as they become part of the meaningless puddles on the ground,
lost in apathy.
I watch and think about how I used to love the rain,