Daydream
12/19/2003 05:15 p.m.
She is holding her breath and counting to 1001. She is drinking her poison from a red tin can and thinking about what it's worth, and how long it'll be till it kills her. She is floating falling and soaring at once. She is carving abstract art with her body into thick air before it turns solid and catches her wings in the amber. She is daydreaming while the night swoops in on a butterfly's wing and engulfs her so that she's swimming again, when she's never tasted black before. The stars are flickering on and off, on and off, bright and cold, bright and cold but she burns when she touches them. It spreads through her fingers and up through her shoulders and down through her legs until scar tissue mars that girlish form she had and she can't be loved. Not like this. not like anything less than this. In one sense she's here and she's writing and in another she's gone and blasting herself through dimensions that hold little secret of herself inside their fabric and she longs to rip them open and spill their insides. This ugly ugly form is flying again and the clouds have shunned away from her ad she curses her scarry skin until her hands are pure again, but the clouds won't listen or look again. She descends through planets and past spacships and the man made elements darting through the sky arounf a sapphire planet they lost to a group of collectively greed ridden minds. she was that too before she ejected and thrusted herself into nature and forgot about the complexities except for what is and what isn't, dissolved in a dream world she can't comprehend, exploring the energies she can't even touch or see or smell. But all she can do is feel the colours. Sipping from a red tin can she descends and forgets it.
I am currently Calm
I am listening to nothing.