dkafj;dfeworupqer
Apr. 30th, 2007 02:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
spiderpigI feel like shit.
Clogged, stuffed, there's a bear twirling above my head;
I heave, I hurl into wads of tis
sue paper for the sceptic feelings I have.
What's more than a phelgmy concoction of black and
brown, sweet to the tongue but wreaks ha
voc on your mi
nd I wish I could kill this
with a hatchet.
I wish I could kill me with
a bow. And arrow.
(We cannot forget that arrow.)
For 10 minutes is all you have, and all I have to
fall into a unicorn horn and to play with its
strands of golden dust light
to caress the knobs of old bones (old dreams)
to make believe that everything is okay
and that the hatchet is blunt
and will make me live a nother day.
It doesn't help that I feel taken for granted. Note how I don't say I "think" I'm taken for granted. I know so. Friendship is a two-way thing and if you're reading this somewhere in your comfortable nook and cranny of Singapore or at the End of the World, just remember this - I am tolerant. I have swam just underneath the surface for fear of making waves. But I am not abhorrent to creating a tsunami that will sweep away everything that we once held dear. I'm at the end of my tether, holding the last straw, and all those lovely cliches that we love to use on ourselves and on others.
Yet for all these barbs I put up on my fence, I only know that I will take them down when you come to me again, because I'm like that. I'm easily satisfied but not so. I demand a lot, but not so.
What I want, my dear friend, is to treated like a person - and not some old teddy bear that is only pulled up when your shiny new toy isn't around to entertain you.
God, the cough syrup is making me talk crazy talk.
Clogged, stuffed, there's a bear twirling above my head;
I heave, I hurl into wads of tis
sue paper for the sceptic feelings I have.
What's more than a phelgmy concoction of black and
brown, sweet to the tongue but wreaks ha
voc on your mi
nd I wish I could kill this
with a hatchet.
I wish I could kill me with
a bow. And arrow.
(We cannot forget that arrow.)
For 10 minutes is all you have, and all I have to
fall into a unicorn horn and to play with its
strands of golden dust light
to caress the knobs of old bones (old dreams)
to make believe that everything is okay
and that the hatchet is blunt
and will make me live a nother day.
It doesn't help that I feel taken for granted. Note how I don't say I "think" I'm taken for granted. I know so. Friendship is a two-way thing and if you're reading this somewhere in your comfortable nook and cranny of Singapore or at the End of the World, just remember this - I am tolerant. I have swam just underneath the surface for fear of making waves. But I am not abhorrent to creating a tsunami that will sweep away everything that we once held dear. I'm at the end of my tether, holding the last straw, and all those lovely cliches that we love to use on ourselves and on others.
Yet for all these barbs I put up on my fence, I only know that I will take them down when you come to me again, because I'm like that. I'm easily satisfied but not so. I demand a lot, but not so.
What I want, my dear friend, is to treated like a person - and not some old teddy bear that is only pulled up when your shiny new toy isn't around to entertain you.
God, the cough syrup is making me talk crazy talk.
