pythia_dreaming

You, the other, my contrast. Believe these sometime trecherous lips when they tell you you'll never sink as low as second best. I crave hatred, but you're simply too perfect. Love and hate don't seem that distant, and at least I knew that pain.

Irritation floods my veins, annoyance pulsing through my body with every heartbeat. I'm running hot and cold. Nothing feels right - even my skin doesn't seem to fit properly. I want to scratch pale skin with sharp nails until I bleed.
Too tired to stay awake, too alert to sleep, everything grates on my strung out senses.
Strands of hair cry to be sliced off, to fall to the floor, but following that path, regrets will abound.
Tears well behind reddened eyes, teeth grind together in the not-quiet-enough silence. Scalding water cascading over scrubbed raw skin is half heaven, half hell.
Slash the bonds of feeling. Numbness is a coveted commodity in this haze of jittery agitation.
A walking contradiction, I crave sensory deprivation.

It's gonna be marijuana
wishes
and
opium dreams
from here on out.

Gazing out the window into the night, searching desperately for something more, something special, something magic...
but all I find is fragility and darkness,
just beyond the glass.

My fingers brush over rain wet stone of these ancient buildings. Memory wells up in me, overpowering,
overwhelming...

An almost full moon, walking these old paths, footsteps echoing in empty courtyards. Hand in hand, fingers twined, power flowing through both of us, between us. Gargoyles gaze down - sitting in a stone arch doorway, my head in your lap, fingers running through my hair. No rain, then. Just us, old powerful stone buildings and the moon.
You told me about writing something powerful, so powerful you destroyed it, and I admired you. You told me about your dreams and I smiled. You kissed me, and I cried, my tears wet on your cheek.

It's raining outside, and with each raindrop that night fades, no longer painfully poignant.
Only a memory, once again.