Thursday, June 2, 2011

The Inappropriateness of this Politeness

Dreams engulfing other times of my day. The inappropriateness of this politeness is causing me pain. Eyelids trying to slap away moments while ghostly arms push from your soul and cling to them for dear life. Caring too much. Not caring enough. Library card, checking you out like a systematic tragedy, you are a causality, and I cant help but want more of you. Say my name with Coca-Cola freshness, brand me like a product, advertise and praise me. Limited edition? Don’t you dare share or save me. Crave me, like a seductive point of view, let me seduce you. Seduce me while seducing you. I want more. Throw away the TV, put it on the window sill, for the world to see. Allow the sun to penetrate us like the glass of a snow globe, twisting the sparkles that lay at my feet, I am feeling so heavy, but no where close to defeat. Charging a fee, and getting a free pass, waiting for other things to add up, equal and subtract. A night on the town, cashing in on the clouds that are dancing across our eyelashes, forcing ideas into minds, people into sheets, and drinks down throats. Ballerina figures twisting in cages in places you've never been before, an affair films your tongue, tastes like fear, but excites you. Waiting for strangers to say hello, waiting to fall in love with people you don't know.

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