how the nerve endings die
we dont talk about this.
start the day in a clean shade of green; a shade of comfortable indifference because it becomes you, baby.
dont think Im stupid just because I say nothing. dont think I dont see it; Im an observationist, honey. you dont have to say anything at all, the cigarettes are on my floor.
and we dont tell anyone about this:
how fast we were going and that yes, I do remember it: my hand dead-set against the door, determined, flying, hauling ass and the crunch of my skull onto the pavement. she said it sounded like a watermelon: smashed into the ground, so sure shed see pulp and pieces of rind. how I got up: FUCK YOU. i walked away, walked the block, blood and black rock across my stomach, face, arms, engrained into the peeled skin on my elbows: FUCK YOU, laughed and fell again. how in the hospital I begged for morphine and they blamed it on the alcohol poisoning, but it wasnt, we all knew it wasnt and we all wonder why but we dont talk about it.
and I dont talk about this:
how I listened to her every word hanging on like the sweat dripping down my back in the heat of the Arizona room where we sat because she was always cold then suddenly so hot never comfortable because of how the nerve endings die. how somehow the waiting for it was worse than hearing about it. how we all secretly wanted her to go, just die already, so we could just break down, fall apart and just not do this anymore. how today, the world lost a little light. how I got home, stripped my dresser with sand paper: how each peeling of varnish and wood grain was blood and black rock, pulp and rind, skin peeling back, bone cracking, nerve ending, cigarette, ash green and indifference.
Im not stupid and I dont want to talk about this, but I have to talk about this, maybe we should talk about this, please dont say anything because
the days are getting shorter but the planet is taking longer to spin; the world is just a bit darker.
we dont talk about this.
start the day in a clean shade of green; a shade of comfortable indifference because it becomes you, baby.
dont think Im stupid just because I say nothing. dont think I dont see it; Im an observationist, honey. you dont have to say anything at all, the cigarettes are on my floor.
and we dont tell anyone about this:
how fast we were going and that yes, I do remember it: my hand dead-set against the door, determined, flying, hauling ass and the crunch of my skull onto the pavement. she said it sounded like a watermelon: smashed into the ground, so sure shed see pulp and pieces of rind. how I got up: FUCK YOU. i walked away, walked the block, blood and black rock across my stomach, face, arms, engrained into the peeled skin on my elbows: FUCK YOU, laughed and fell again. how in the hospital I begged for morphine and they blamed it on the alcohol poisoning, but it wasnt, we all knew it wasnt and we all wonder why but we dont talk about it.
and I dont talk about this:
how I listened to her every word hanging on like the sweat dripping down my back in the heat of the Arizona room where we sat because she was always cold then suddenly so hot never comfortable because of how the nerve endings die. how somehow the waiting for it was worse than hearing about it. how we all secretly wanted her to go, just die already, so we could just break down, fall apart and just not do this anymore. how today, the world lost a little light. how I got home, stripped my dresser with sand paper: how each peeling of varnish and wood grain was blood and black rock, pulp and rind, skin peeling back, bone cracking, nerve ending, cigarette, ash green and indifference.
Im not stupid and I dont want to talk about this, but I have to talk about this, maybe we should talk about this, please dont say anything because
the days are getting shorter but the planet is taking longer to spin; the world is just a bit darker.
VIEW 6 of 6 COMMENTS
[Edited on Oct 05, 2005 10:41AM]
Cool! Didn't realise you could get that online as well! You really can buy anything with paypal????