nothing's ever happened

And so the insensitive prospect of truth comes out
as you roll to the other side of the bed
and sink in your dreams of distance

I suffer.

The minute I decided to believe, to trust
that's the exact time of my death:
I failed at existing and sticking to what I am
In essence.

You betrayed me.

Not the romantic way. No love bullshit. I'm talking about using words to get what you want
I'm talking about misleading the hopeful folk who seek comfort when life's shit.
You just took advantage of my weakness.
my only moment of humanism, of bareness.

I still shiver when you are near and I can't touch.

I feel defeated when I think I opened my heart instead of my eyes.
I wish we had never happened.

the rant. (extract from a letter to a stranger)

So it seems the world out there just proves me right. more and more.
I do resent the fact I carry this feminine influence on my moods. It controls my stupidity.

i just want a cock to suck. a cock to fuck. me. yeah.
i do like it. i do love it. in fact, i might even adore it. but at the end, I know I don't need it.

But men... sometimes, well, they really let me down.
you know what I hate? I hate the ones who can't see pass the surface, the cordiality, the pure and simple manners, the myths, the stereotypes. this way of one-way-only-perspective on the gender. on me.

I hate the ones who assume things, just because you are a hole, it doesn't mean you have to be nice, or sweet, or dumb or whatever is the stigma attatched to being a woman.

I'm no feminist, no, no sir. I'm independent.

and every now and again you meet the strange types, the lonely ones, the ones... you know, society rejects. the ones who "don't fit". you can relate to them and then the inevitable: you judge them...

yeah, you do fucking so. you try a cheap trick or two you've learned studying psychology and then the psychoanalisys results turn into a passport to their minds. Just to find out later, well, give the weirdos a home, comfort, and they also turn into the rest of them. the rest of society you so resent. well, well, well, after all that, he/she looks fine/healthy/re-born. and you... you still "don't fit". living by your own rules just makes you more dead.

how does that work?

and why, from all the people i know, it's you I choose to send these words?
I've got an urge to be fucked really hard. i also have an urge to ride really hard, as if i could break a cock in two.
angry sex is good. but contagious. therefore dangerous?

this is not an essay. it was just meant to give vent to my thoughts over the past days.

this is an extract, but probably my most honest post to date.

ballad of a coward

I've let you go this morning, not because I wanted you to leave. It was because I didn't want to be the one abandoning this.

I'm not sure where my mind is at the moment. A rollercoaster of interferences and abundance of you. I took a trip back in time in my memory. I found loads of entries about the bad timing and state of mind I've put myself all these years. I found you being mentioned every now and again, putting me somewhere safe, where ghosts wouldn't haunt me, where nights were as long as we needed them to be. You'd bring me down to reality, but not the dull reality I knew it. I was your little bit of promise that things could be real too.

This morning I didn't say what I wanted to say, I didn't kiss you the way I wanted to kiss you. This morning I've let myself down for not telling you I care. For letting you go, not meaning it at all.

I'm scared. There're a dozen chances and only one big picture. There's only one heart to break.

Standing here alone, waiting for the worst part yet, it's going back in time in my memory, but not having you there to rescue me. Stuck in past and ruins of mistakes and loveless, careless truth.

I will miss you more than you think.

fear

I actually like you.

you know... the way I shouldn't.

Its got out of proportion. I got sucked into this impossible reality, where you would actually care.

So much time has passed by. I feel just so mute. as in: ive got loads to say, but no sound comes out of my mouth.


I've been thinking about the lies you hold. the real reason for trying to be nice to me.
I guess I'm just waiting to be completely heartbroken.

It's happening so fast.

Conditions

Terms and conditions apply.

to my... condition.

It's not as simple as you might think. The autumn happening outside, and inside... well, inside I fear the danger of forgetting what winters are made of.

I feel rebellious when we engage in emotional attatchment. Like the pre moments of a storm, I feel the greyness and weight of being sober after so much warmth, so much so much. I often struggle with the idea of letting myself like you as much as I do now. It's a dead end.

Worse than having to put on your favorite shoes and forgetting how to dance.

worse than enjoying you in bed so bad and having to leave in the mornings.

I despise the fact I'm sober, that I can't control all the illusion and all reality that fades like fog.

I fear attatchment that gets stronger with time.

with the same intensity I know the only thing keeping me going is having you so close.

the unsaid, the unknow

the day...my guard will be down, my voice will be heard and all i will do is to throw away all ive been keeping. the day my hands will stop seeking the texture of your skin or the coldness of the keyboard on nights i had thought would turn out to be better.

not bitter, not meaningful either, just quite simply, better than what they are just now.

ive been giving up on trying to understand you and to be honest, i completely forget about every conversation we start. i try to ignore the situation but the scream, the frustration, the innevitable, the unknown... its all there.

right on your face.

Every now and again, I feel this need of writing about you.I find it hard though. It's almost as things work between us.. predictable, almost inevitable, but above all, innapropriate. we are wrongs of the same truth. we find comfort on each other's oddness. I secretly miss when you're not around. i panic when i realise that. i give silence a reason to exist.

...

the revolution outside...

I´ve started it from my bed.