msjessica's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- your voice across the line gives me a strange sensation i smell. ripe. hot. salty (my pseudonym). sweat. detoxing, cleansing, pure shit working it's way out through my pores, the stench of hard work, the stench of getting better, the stench of moving on. my arms are all battle wounds, larger than they should be, not just the cream of my skin but the hot pink of keyloid scarring, the dark blue/purple of deep vein bruises, the will-never-tan white of years, years, years old cuts and burns; my story, on display. i weave it in other ways. often words, here, these pages. spilt sometimes late nights, sometimes early mornings along with wine and beer and cigarette ash that dries, dusts, gets forgotten about, gets wiped up - i start over, all collateral damage, all temporary sometimes it's collections of things, bower bird tendencies, blue thing, blue songs, blue skies, your so-so-pretty, so not-as-i-once-thought blue eyes. my heart is on fire. by my heart, i mean my mind. i mean my other self. i mean my not arms, not legs, not face self. i mean my not self self. i mean my otherness. i mean my future, my next, my seeing time as a straight line and my becoming giant and being able to see to my left and right further further further than just that so small self. my eyes are burning. hot steamy tears that are not of this world, not of this time. fire weighs less than air but it's heaviness can still be felt, the way air sometimes seems to push down, grow heavy, so strong the air, space, time between us. if you are 3 hours behind and 4,400km away - if i crossed that would i get back the last 2 years? like high school math textbook questions from a dreamscape. - i feel like this should have been two separate pieces of writing.
7:11 p.m. - 2015-02-04 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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