April 28, 2015 - sidbranca / thisbedisaship
(I like that I got the songs mixed up
so that he had the chance to correct me
with the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard…)
scrap thoughts:
I lift my head up for a breathing look, here, above the ocean of my living:
how strange, how lonely and afraid I feel, when so much of my days are filled with the pressing hopes and loves of others.
how constantly ravenous for love (the distant flutter of wings, suddenly up close), despite just how much of it I have somehow stumbled into receiving.
I remember that it is human to be afraid. I look at the snow.
I remember that it is human to long for that which you already have.
I am, as we all are, a creature of longing. I am snapping with the jaws of time.
I sit at my kitchen table and I imagine, briefly, a row of plants on a sunlit porch and the sight stabs me in the chest.
I think: I just want to be the kind of slut I want to be forever, and I want that to be yours and yours and yours, to hitch our circus wagons up and take in tightrope walkers as they come.
I think: these boys all mean a lot to me, and I need to find someone I could ever trust to read this compare and contrast essay I’ve been writing in my head, this painting of the different locks they pick in me.
I think: I’ve gotten in over my head and I probably like it.
My skin breaks out in red because I like sleeping in your cum.
I tattoo your name on the inside of my mouth while I’m dreaming.
I’m in love all the time, I’m in love all the time, but time is always running out on me, collapsing in on itself.
I am lulled by a chorus of voices, but yours is the one that speaks my name the most.
I want all my one night stands to know how fucking cute you are.
Red lipstick, and your hair done coy, and a dress that shows the place between your shoulder blades that I am always wanting to touch and I think:
by god if we lived in a world without restraint you’d be up against the pinball machine, knocking bottles to the floor, cheap beer swilling on our shoes. I imagine every word as moaned around my fingers. You say something clever and I want to fuck you ‘til you sob. Up against the wall by your neck, in the front seat of your car, perched on the edge of my couch. Everyone else in this room will burst into flame. We eat slices of pizza, steaming hot, and I think about your cunt like a hunter. Fuck everyone, just get on top of me. Please, please, please forget the world and take off your clothes. I want to push all of me in. I want to fucking ruin you. I want to hold you after, your sweat streaking the floor of a hallway. Please. Please. Your lip in my teeth. I think I know exactly how your voice sounds. Come here. Come here. Come here.
“Being fluent in a language is like being good at sex.”
- Malynne Sternstein
(can you tell I’m going through my notebooks again?)