Cause Intro # 2
You’re stepping through the door, it’s unusually quiet. You sneak in slowly, shutting the door quietly behind you. You listen; you watch closely all areas of the hall, alert, prepared for attack. You hear a little noise, a pitter patter, a clickety click: little claws on the hardwood floors, tap tap tapping, coming closer and closer. Then you hear the low growls, and then a full bark, those deep-throated, protective howls. You stand completely still, waiting for him. He’s closer, in the hall, and he sees you! You turn to run, but there’s nowhere to go! He’s bounding towards you, tail wagging viciously as he leaps at your chest, and attacks you with his razor-sharp tongue! I know what you’re thinking… ‘Razor-sharp tongue?? What?!’ Yes, his tongue. You are being smothered and loved by none other than man’s best friend. There are a lot of people in this world who have a pet. I love animals, and I’m sure you do too. A pet is a comfort, a companion, a friend. A pet is a relief; a calm from the storm. Your pet could even be your favourite person! I happen to like animals more than people for an abundance of reasons.
Cause Intro # 1
Cause Essay IntroductionIt's been a long, gruesome day at work. You spilt your coffee on your lap, got cut off on the interstate, you got a parking ticket, and it seems that everything that could have gone wrong, definately went wrong. Your whole day has been down in the dirt, and all you can think about is when you can get back into your car and head home. Why? Your life isn't that exciting, there's no one there to greet you when you get home, no lover, no children... No one you can call your direct kin. I know what you're looking forward to: A wagging tail and floppy ears, yips of excitement of your arrival? A soft purr of affection, the figure-8 round the feet? You have a pet. Maybe it's a cat, maybe a dog, maybe a ferret or parrot, or fish, but nonethe less, he or she is your family. I know that's what I look forward to when I step through that front door. Having a pet is a calm; a relief from the storm. They are companionship, comfort, and a friend. I love animals more than I love people, and I know there are a lot of people out there who are just like me.
Prompt Reaction # 4 - photo
Take a look at a photo of a person. What do you see?Looking at this photograph I hold in my hands, I see my fiance and I, together. Here, I see a beginning; Two empty souls found eachother, were shy and quiet and secretive. Soon they joined together and became complete. I see faith, hope, and fear. I see curiousity, playfulness, and lust. I see two hands clasped, walking together in the park. Eyes peeking from behind a tree, and the golden flicker of candlelight at dinner. I see the evening stars and the warmth in my lover's arms as we gazed. I see two smiles, joy and laughter. I see late nights on the telephone, sharing secrets and one's deepest thoughts. I see two broken hearts, slowly healing. I see a haven, a safe place for one to turn to. In this photograph, I see my love and my honor, I see pride. I see compromise and security, trust and patience, and walls slowly breaking down. I see a family, a home, a happy marriage. In this photograph, I see my future.
Graf # 9
Cause Essay ReactionsI really enjoyed the essay about love, because I can really relate to it. The first time I really fell in love, or rather, out of love (actually, I didn't fall out of it, I was pushed of the plane with no parachute and landed smack on the pavement, face first) I was destroyed by it. My whole life was turned upside down and it did end in mega-doses of pain. I was put into a serious depression for 3 years, and I've almost come out of it, but I don't agree that love always ends that way. I'm in love again, and I've learned from my past mistakes and relationships to know how to keep this one alive. The relationship I am in now is like a match made in heaven. We are more in love with one another than happily ever after. The key to every relationship is communication. Honesty is always the best policy, and when both people are willing to accept that and nurture it, than the relationship is bound for the positive.I also enjoyed the essay about the little girl who wanted to be a ballerina, but she was a chicken. It reminds me of a lot of childhood memories of being picked last.
I-Search Brainstorm
Bi-polar disorder, do I have it, is it causing all of the stress that's strangely piling up? I find I'm feeling things without a reason to feel them, spontaneous anger, sadness, then a sudden outburst of energy, joy, can't contain myself. Problems with love, confused emotions, causing arguments going nowhere, blacking out, anxiety, chest pains, among other things. I went to psychiatrist, he got arrested for child molestation and is now out of practice, leaving me out in the dust with no answers. Went to doctors, they told me I was fine when I was having chest pains and hyperventilating, I don't believe I am fine, I have panic attacks. There's something wrong when I'm in emotional confusion all of the time, so I'm investigating this on my own. What is bi-polar disorder/manic depression? is it treatable? what can I do to treat it? How can I find out if I have it or not? Doctor's appointment, drugs? Is it purely psychological? Is there really something wrong with me or is it all in my head, and I'm just leading myself into a hole? I-Search to go in depth on the disorder and then apply it to my own personal experiences, symptoms, explanations, possible encounter with a doctor, and then ...?
Freestyle # 2
I wake up, the alarm goes off - 7:10. I hit the snooze button, 7 more minutes of slumber. In seven minutes time, I am sliding out of my bed, onto the floor, into a puddling mass of subconsciousness. I can't hear, I can't feel anything, but I can see all of these half-greyscale and half-technicolor visions, photographs of memories overlapping one another, in a slideshow in the back of my head. I feel weightless yet extremely tied down, almost as if I've sunken into the floor, yes! I've sunken through the cold tiles in the floor, through the cement, through the plaster, through the paint, through the steel onto a carpet. I'm staring at the threads of this carpet, facedown, every microscopic fiber harasses my corneas, upside down and flipped back up to present themselves in kaleidoscopic spirals in my view pane. All of a sudden There's something slithering across my fingertips, something warm and soft, not slithering, no, but cradling, yes cradling my fingers, my hands. This solid warmth engulfs my whole body, and I'm encased in this heat, this feeling of love. I'm rocking back and forth and back and forth and I sway under a canopy of colour, I look up into this sky and there are eyes, blue and hazel and green and all other shades, watching me, watching me breath and sleep and they watch me with this warmth, this heat. Their eyes are prying, staring too far past a boundary, my boundaries, judging, picking, poking, at this warmth. This warmth placed it's cool metal band on my left hand and they stare and they stare, is it real? Does she know what that means? They ask these questions with their unfaltering gazes and judge, and so I hide. I hide my warmth and my silver band in my pocket, and they stop staring. Slowly it feels as though I'm lifted up, up, up, into a darkened cavern, there's a light at the end of this tunnel and I'm floating towards it, and the warmth engulfs me again as the light comes closer, brighter, and then overtakes all of my senses. I smell vanilla and salt, apple blossoms and sweat, and I feel soft, tendrils on my face. All of a sudden there's a blaring, pulsating sound, a raging, booming sound in my ears, in my body, in my mind. It throbs in my brain, it chases me out of my own subconscious and my eyes fly open... and I hit the alarm clock: off. I look up and feel the warmth again, only this time he's there, my warmth, my sunshine, and slowly I slide, slide back down, and take the journey again.
Graf # 8
Describe A Person."One love, One heart, Let's get together and feel alright" - Bob Marley, One LoveMost people spend their entire lives looking for that one person, the key that fits their locks. I believe that a soul is put on to this earth into two people, and both are incomplete until they come together. I am lucky enough to say that I have found that person, that I am complete.
When he smiles, his eyes crinkle. Some call that "crow's feet", and that smile is the most contagious smile you'll ever see. You could be out in the streets with a shopping cart begging for change and if you saw that smile, a grin would inch its merry way across your face. His eyes light up everytime, and that's what gets you. His hair is soft, dark, and curling. It's long and snakes it's way down his back, in a beautiful yet primitive way. It's always fragrant of flowers or fruit, because he likes to use scented shampoos. His skin is a pale gold, darkened from the warm summer sun, and smells sweet, like salt and vanilla. His physical being is every ounce of perfection that I could ever want, and his mind and heart are more. He is passionate and kind, curious and playful. He is intuitive and quite amusing. He is honest and he is secretive, outspoken, yet shy. He takes the time to smell the flowers, and to sit under an apple tree, but he is also beautifully impatient. He lives his life without limitation... whenever possible. I love him because of these things and many, uncountable more. He loves me and treats me with respect, but he knows the right way to piss me off at the perfect moment, and I love him all the more for it. He knows every knook and cranny of my being, and I, his. Once a day in the summertime, he will pick me wildflowers, and in the winter, pinecones and clusters of evergreen needles. Each little keepsake I hold in a box, all dried or pressed, with the countless letters he's written to me. Words put down on paper, definate, infinate, truthful, and all in fluid cursive across the pages.
I remember times where we sat by the water at a pond near my home, memory after memory laid down in the soil. Our first kiss, terribly embarrassing as it was, because we happened to smack our teeth together, almost chipping my front tooth, was wonderful. I remember the very first day we had spent alone together, we had run off for hours and hours down the dirt roads, away from people and through the woods, sitting under pine trees, and throwing our watches out of sight because we wanted to erase the concept of time, so the day would never end.
One moment strikes in my mind, a peculiar memory which still amazes me to this day, is when we walked under a maple tree on a crisp, autumn afternoon, and as our hands clasped and we walked together, a shower of leaves came tumbling to the ground in a great, flood of gold and red and brown. There was no breeze, no wind blowing, they just littered the ground, bunches of them. I still believe it meant something.
There were dark, clear nights under the stars, where the moon illuminated his face, and one night it caught a glint in his eye I'd never seen. A cold, winter night, and we were home alone, sitting on the side porch, a small balcony of sorts, and he was quiet. It was January 15th, and he had been acting strangely all day, because he knew something I did not, and right there, in those quiet hours, he got down on one knee and asked me to be his wife.
We are still as madly in love as we were when it all began, if not more. He is my sanctuary, my love, my trust, and my faith. I don't know where I would be, or who I would be today if he was not in my life. He is my angel and my deviant, my sun and my moon. I love him more than life
itself. He is innocent and he is mine. He is "the key to fit my locks and the locks to fit my keys" (Richard Bach).
Graf # 7
Personal Object Description - My favorite pair of jeans.Hmm... Ripped at the ends? Check. Hole in the crotch? Check. Faded knees? Check. Patches? Nope. Why? No patches to fix 'em with. I have two pairs of jeans, both identical, both worn to the threads. They are the softest, most nicely broken in, fitted, faded, squishiest, most flexible, and utterly the most rediculous pairs of jeans I own. They are Gap "long and lean" flares, size 13, in the classic pale indigo. No hole in the butt, no holes at the knees, but holes everywhere else you look. They're shredded to bits at the ends, stained with droplets of blood, bleach spots, grass stains, paint and permanent marker, and god only knows what else. They've been to the movies, to work, to school, home, and everywhere in between. Whenever I go away, they come with me. They've been a resting place for kittens, and a rest for Puppy's snout. A seat for Baby's bum, and a pillow for Lover's head. They've been a table and a chair, and storage too. Pockets are great... until they get holes in them. They're being held together with safety pins, and flimsy hand-sewn red stitches. The threads don't hold up very well and the safety pins get all caught up when I walk, because they are on the inside of the legs. These jeans I will never part with, no matter how bad they get. I can always look forward to the soft denim on my fingers. They are a welcoming embrace, a haven from stiff, thick, boot-cut devils.
Prompt Reaction # 3
Writers have to listen to themselves; writers ought to always be talking to themselves. Try a conversation between you and yourself. Sometimes arguments are fun."When you woke up this morning, why did you hit the snooze button 7 times? You know very well that's what made you rush around!"
"I was tired, damnit. I couldn't help it, I was just too damn tired!"
"Too tired? Too tired?! You are a college student. You need to focus on going to class on time and getting your work done, and stop grabbing for some extra shut eye. You have too many things that need to get done! Lazt ass..."
"I am NOT lazy. I get up early in the morning, and I go to bed late at night, I can't help but be that tired! I have to go to work at 5 and come back to my dorm at 11:00, and then get up at 7:00 AM to get breakfast and shower before class!"
"That's 8 hours! You only need 8 hours of sleep."
"Hello! It takes the average human being 15-45 minutes to fall asleep, and I, the compulsive thinker that I am, don't get to sleep until 2 hours after I'm laying in bed. Plus, when I get back at 11, I get in the shower and clean up, brush my teeth, and it takes me a while to get settled in. That leaves me about 5 hours of proper rest."
"Ok... well, then, drink some Red Bull. Red Bull gives you wings!"
"Yeah? Those wings fall off after about an hour or so, and I feel even worse after the effect wears off."
"I've run out of complaints. You, dear, have every right to be pressing the snooze button 7 times."
Prompt Reaction #2
If my piano could talkThese keys of mine were once shining and new, polished ebony and ivory coating solid oak. I'm a little rusted in my bolts and strings now, but once I was tuned to perfection, every pedal performed beautifully. I remember the times my girl used to sit down and let her fingers dance through my sound. She never learned how to really play well, but with what she taught herself, she was brilliant. She was no Mozart, but she still tickled my fancy. With her I was old and I sounded as I do now, like a sunken battleship. I'm so old and tired now. I remember times before my girl, when I was young. I was born in 1912, a fresh new music box for the farmer's wife to play on. Her melodies were simple, religious tunes as most songs of her time were. She played frequently for her children, who danced upon the wooden floors in their stockings.Over the years I've had many fingerprints placed on my black and whites, and many times the farmer would replace my parts. For a while I thought I could live forever, because these keys of mine never failed. Now they're brown and stained and cracked. Some of them don't even make a sound. I'm covered with dust and a little mouse lives in me now. He may not be able to make music, but he knows that he is safe with me.
Prompt Reaction # 1
Alone in a quiet room. What do you see?As I open my eyes, I see these walls are white; bleakly tainted with light and shadow. Where am I? On the cold, tiled floor, there is a stain-something dark and old, faded with time, a water stain, perhaps. To the right of me lies a window with a view. Outside, the sky is blue as a robin's egg, spotted with pillows and blankets, white and glowing. The sun breaks through and shades them with brilliant silver and gold. The ground is wet, grass littered with droplets of fresh morning dew. Metal towers shred the sky, and automobiles litter their noise over the sounds of nature, calm, and peace. Metropolis killing the green. The view doesn't get any better. To the left of me lies a bed. It's bleak, white sheets carry no comfort. Clean and unwrinkled, they seem cold beneath a plastic pillow. A white linen blanket is no more inviting. How can one rest in a bed like that?
The ceiling is high, high with rafters and beams and cobwebs. Cheaply painted steel beams bolted to a frame, peeling and chipping their way to age, hold no appeal. The spiders are no better to look upon, but at least they are moving colours. Rust peeks through the window frame, adding a touch of industry to this blank pen.
In this quiet room, I see light reflected everywhere, yet so much darkness under the bleach.
Graf # 6
Unique : Like No OtherUnique... How am I unique? How am I different from everyone else? Am I unique because I like to eat ice cream with Ruffles potato chips? Am I unique because I can play the drums? Maybe. I'm unique because I am a human being. All people feel, and all people think, but not everyone thinks the same way. My biggest fear, aside from my strangely acquired phobia of the "little green men", aliens, is that I'll destroy every possible love I share. I am unique because I am afraid of myself. I am unique because I think aloud, and because I have a fetish for men with long hair. I'm melancholy and I am joyous; I am angry on purpose. Happy, sad, angry, and mad. My feelings are unique.I used to have a rattail, on the side, not the back of my head. I had a mohawk at one point also, and I've had short, spiked, pink hair, and plain, long, layered, brown hair. I have a piercing in my nose, and a tattoo of a stone mermaid on my back, When the tattoo artist asked if I wanted any alterations on the design, I told him that I preferred that the mermaid look like a real woman, and have nipples, which the mermaid originally did not have. I have a smaller tattoo on my inner right ankle, of a 5-point star, representing my religion. I tattooed this myself. It's a bit jagged; Free-form and mechanical. My style is unique.I am unique because I have scars. I have a scar 11 inches long. I have a birthmark on my belly and one on my shoulder. I have a mole on my chin, and a scar on my left foot. Scars to the left of me, scars to the right. My body is unique.I am unique because I have an open mind. I accept almost any taboo. I'll tell you my opinion, I don't care if it's true. I'll lie to get a reaction, and I'll also brutally tell you the truth. Both for the same reason. I'll dance to no music, and I'll paint on no medium. I'll wear my heart on my sleeve. I say what I think and I feel what I hear. I taste what I see, and I drink colours with my eyes. I am here when I am gone, and I'm somewhere else when I'm here. I am unique because I am everything and nothing at all.
Graf # 5
Hmm... Judging from all of the things on the top of her desk, I believe this person may be pretty busy. Usually when there isn't much on a person's desk, they're either really organized, or they are too busy to really make it their own space. I see she made an effort to personalize her desk, with her picture and her things here and there, but either than that, It seems like an ordinary, blase computer desk. Perhaps the space is too small to fit multitudes of things, with such a large computer taking up most of it. I notice that she likes music, because she has a stereo, and a Bull Moose mouse pad, which means she probably goes there frequently. She works at wal-mart, and of course, is a college student, which brings me back to the busy factor. She works after school, and doesn't leave much time for personal things. I feel sorry for her.
Graf # 4
Personal Inventory – Atop My Computer Desk1 Picture Frame, Containing Picture of My fiancé and I
1 Durabrand CD/Cassette player, orange and silver
1 Simply Basic massaging hair brush, flat, black and magenta
1 pair of socks, inside out and somewhat dirty, only worn for an hour or so
1 TradeMark Computer Monitor
1 TradeMark Computer Keyboard
1 Bull Moose Music 15th Anniversary Mouse pad
1 Microsoft Basic Mouse
1 Notice for Maine vs. University of Richmond Game
1 Remote Control for Symphnic DVD player
1 Black Tin Case for a Timex Watch, purchased for fiance
Set of Spare Car Keys, Hanging on Stereo Antenna
1 Owner’s Manual for Symphonic DVD Player
1 Middlesex Community College Pencil
1 Post-it Note, Containing Cell Phone Numbers for College Roommate and Friend
Pocket Change – One quarter, one dime, two pennies
1 stick of EMCC chapstick, seal broken, used.
1 purchase receipt for soda and a pack of gum, wal-mart
1 Wal-mart Sales Associate name tag
Graf # 3
Some interesting Blogs I came across...http://duault.blogspot.com/This is a french-speaking person. I took about 4.5 years of french, and I forget it all. This person has some pretty amusing pictures, though. There is one picture of three guys wearing some crazy sparkling costumes, and sunglasses, sitting atop one another in a chair, holding eachother's butts. It's rather amusing. There's another picture I found interesting, which was of a guy wearing a fur coat and sunglasses, in a disco pose. There are a bunch more of them, I think they are from some sort of themed party. Those kind of pictures make me laugh. They remind me of times I had wioth my friends before I moved here to maine. Good times.
http://kchrpm.blogspot.com/This person I found particularly interesting. He is from Flint, michigan, where Michael Moore grew up. Michael moore is one of my idols I guess. He makes film documentaries, like
Bowling for Columbine and
Farenheit 9/11. This person is majoring in automotive engineering, he is a college student. It reminds me of someone else I know and love, who loves cars and anything with a motor in it.
http://hypnocrites.blogspot.com/This one was really interesting. I think this blog is used for this person to post their artwork on, particularly comics, or for them to post comics or drawings he found amusing. The comics look mostly political, and the very first one I saw on the page was one about looters, probably involving the whole Katrina looting crisis, where there is a picture of a white man looting and a black mad looting, and the black one is inside a set of crosshairs, or shooting range, and the white is completely safe. It's interesting. There are about 7 or 8 more cartoons like this, which are really some eye-openers.
Graf # 2
My Worst TeacherI always liked English, but there was this one year... this one year... The year I had Mrs. Murphy. Mrs. Murphy. That big, black, curly hair to her knees. She was a thin, gaunt woman in her 30s, and pregnant... She was clearly the most arrogant person I think I'd ever met. It was the 8th grade. I remember it quite vividly:Tick...Tick...Tick... 2 minutes, and 37 seconds left! Tick... 36... Tick... 35... Eugh... This is going to take forever. I cannot believe I am sitting here because of a stupid unsigned test. It's not like I didn't want my mother to see it, I just lost track of where I threw the paper away... I mean, I told her what my grade was. I, am not ashamed. Tick...Tick...Tick... What kind of a teacher makes you sit and stare at a clock for an hour and a half, anyway? I thought punishment was supposed to be a little more productive. I'm supposed to be writing the same sentence over and over on the chalkboard, or maybe banging erasers, or, or organizing the bookshelves! Yeah! Something useful; but no, I'm stuck here... sitting with my hands folded neatly on the desk, head up, staring. I realized that if I stare at the numbers long enough, that they start to look like nothing. They look like nonsense blurbs! I must look away. It's driving me crazy. I'll stare at something else, something with more definition, something slightly more colourful or interesting... I know! I'll stare at the globe! It's colourful, and I can see the names of cities and countries I've never known to exist. There's Nicaragua. Where in the hell is Nicaragua? "KASEY!" she yells. I jolt from my trance, heart racing, palms sweating. What did I do now? "Yes, Mrs. Murphy?" I try not to sound overly innocent, they hate that, teachers. It makes them suspicious. "I didn't tell you to stare at the globe, I told you to watch the clock. So peel your eyes away from the globe, and watch the time, or you'll be in here again tomorrow!" Sheesh. Pull that pole out of your ass, will you? Or maybe get a better clock. Get one of those "black cat" clocks with the swinging tails and needle-like eyes. Those are pretty neat... GOD! I have 10 seconds left to go, and she's still yelling at me. Stare at the clock! Stare at the clock! Neh neh neh, blah blah blah! Stupid. Tick...Tick... Tick... finally!"Mrs. Murphy, It's 4:00."
This time, I try not to sound too eager to leave. She'll make me stay even later. She cocks her eyebrow at me, and sets down her pen. Glancing up at the clock, she sighs, as if she was regretting not making me stay until 4:30. "OK, you may leave. Next time I want you to get a test signed, you
better get it signed."
Yes, your highness. I hold my breath to keep from muttering obscenities, throw my bag over my shoulders, sigh, and proceed to walk out of the room. It's going to be a long, long year.
Graf # 1
My Hands
My hands are small and underdeveloped, yet they are great. These hands can paint, draw and play drums, piano, and guitar. My hands can create almost anything. My fingers are short-- I was born pre-maturely, and my fingertips are pointy, also not completely developed. My hands are scarred- covered with tiny battlewounds (I have had many encounters with the razor-like edges of paper and cardboard). They are marred from kittens' dagger-like claws, the kitten being playfully rough and completely forgiven. Many falls on my palms, calluses from monkey bars and rakes... All have made their own contribution. On the palm of my right hand, there is a small scar, between my ring finger and pinky knuckles, which was obtained after being attacked by a black and white canine who goes by the name of "Peanut". He was no peanut, but every scar does have its own memory.
My fingers each contain their own moments. For example: my left pinky finger. This finger has a faintly-coloured freckle, which is hard to see. At one point it was darker, perhaps when I had been in the sun for 3 hours and fried it. The finger to its right wears a ring. This ring is not of real diamonds or precious metal, but it is of real feeling. I love this ring because it was bestowed upon this finger with love and devotion.
My right hand is bigger than my left, and each fingernail has small white speckles on it. My hands frequently run into paint and warm, soft places on my lover's skin. They dance in his hair and catch his tears, tickle his ribs and tangle in his fingertips. My hands, on occasion, have a mind of their own, and at times, refuse to move they way I would like them to. They hide and become slightly paralyzed. That is where I start to dislike them, but no matter what they do, they are mine; my artists, my dancers, my keys. My hands are the empresses of my soul, and through creation, they are me.
Freestyle # 1
It's simple. I look at you, you look at me, our eyes meet and, voila! Everything is magic. Yeah, I wish it could all be like that fairytale, but it’s not, and you’re getting blood on my shirt. I'm a bitch? No, I'm not a bitch, I just see life for what it really is: Fake. Everything in this world is a fantasy of some fucked up adolescent or middle-aged spectacle. “Cut yourself! Make believe!” They say it like a movie director tells us to memorize lines. It’s all about entertainment. Whatever you'd like to see, I’ll do it for you. "Hey honey! Get some popcorn, Something's happening! I think she's feeling violent!" Yeah, I'm feeling violent. My delirium is waning like the full moon in July. "Where are my pills? I need my pills!" Happy Happy. It's funny how chemicals make it all feel better. Chemicals! Chemicals! The dependence feels so sweet. Mmm, white tablets under my tongue. They melt like ice on my back. Ice you placed so carefully and deliberately on my spine. It's tightening, yes, pulling. It makes my brain swell, this ice. It takes away from the burns, though. The sun loves the taste of white flesh. Pink and brown, Pink and decaying. A great life force brings death to the smallest things.
I went under waves and the salt faltered on my lips. It tasted like you; flavor of sweet masculinity, sweat. Your essence danced upon my tongue and made me kiss the sea.
I'm falling into a hole, you say? I think perhaps you are correct in your assumptions. It does seem to be getting darker.
Line, Line, Line.
White and stealing they sway behind me along the black dunes.
I see a faint red glow.
I think it's my sanity, but I'm not sure.
I lost it some time ago so
I don't quite know how to recognize it anymore.
It seems as though it may be just a light. Yes, it's a light. Two of them blinking simultaneously, Rhythmic invasions in my pupils, out, in, open, closed, big, small. They dilate and disappear like your hands upon me. I can feel them now, your fingers. They are long and spider-like, crawling over my breasts and throughout my hair. I'm sure they are warm and slithering over me. There is a heated breeze in my ear that smells sweet and I think it's the air you are breathing beside me. My skin rises with every pass of your fingertips and my eyes flutter open with the sensations placed below my waist. It's awakening yet it drowns me in oblivion, you. Your lips are flower petals falling gracefully to my mouth, to my teeth and tongue. I can feel them falling and caressing me with warmth and wetness. These petals upon me feel like razorblades when comes the remembrance of your betrayal. Razorblades on my heart and my body, my wrists. They're bleeding; I cut them for you, only for you, my love. I cut out my damage; I cut out my faults for you.
"It's all in your head" they say to me, like I'm deranged, insane. My pain is all unreal; it's a figment of my twisted imagination. I don't know how to feel correctly. It's as if my heart reads a miswritten mechanical code, unrecognized by any humane figure. I’m unknown, I’m unknown to me.
Red and glittering. your words are pear-shaped and send me a cylindrical sensation under my eyes. It’s rolling and turns inward towards my brain, withered and wilting underneath the weight of your gaze upon this left tree iris. Your looks are desirable yet they penetrate through this silver chord blocking entrance to my deepening caverns of wakefulness.
Under this blanket of crystalline and indigo it seems as though there is only one warmth, one tide overtaking. Your back to mine is warm and comforting, though this silence is carrying the chills to the base of my spine. Your golden flesh against my pale cream is a contrast yet there is no difference. I can feel your life beating, your blood heating even though the tears flow with indifference. The cold slowly disappears as I am cradled suddenly in your welcoming embrace, and warm oblivion surrounds my fetal form. Deliciously licking at my soul, your warmth extends into my fingertips, touching your bare shoulders, encased with a skin melting slowly underneath me. Wake up and face me, wake up and be warm inside my eyes. Those lashes surrounding dance when you cry; they dance with a cloak of salted tears under my lips. Your pain arouses me, my inner core will cover you, love, protect you from me.
