Les tocks de coutil sur une horloge qui a mon nom ont gribouillé là-dessus
Temps s'épuise
Plus rapidement
Rapidement
Curieusement
Débranchez l'horloge vous ?
Balm smeared on broken glass wings.
Hands grasp the sand
But sand under the tide isn't something you can hold onto.
She's Always In My Hair by Prince
Whenever I feel like givin' up
Whenever my sunshine turns 2 rain
Whenever my hopes and dreams are aimed in the wrong direction
She's always there tellin' me how much she cares
She's always in my hair
She's always in my hair, my hair
Whenever I feel like not 2 great at all
Whenever I'm all alone
Even if I hit the wrong notes
She's always in my boat
She's always there tellin' me how much she cares
She's always in my hair
She's always in my hair, my hair
(Maybe I'll marry her)
Maybe I'll marry her, maybe I won't
Maybe I will not
Let me tell U, baby (Even if I was a gigolo all my life)
If I was a gigolo all my life
She'd still be there tellin' me just how much she really cares
(She cares)
She's always in my hair
She's always in my hair, my hair
Yeah
Listen...
Whenever I feel like givin' up
Whenever my sunshine turns 2 rain
Whenever my hopes and dreams are aimed in the wrong direction
She's always there tellin' me just how much she cares
(Tellin' me how much she cares)
Tell me, baby
Always in my hair
She's always in my hair, my hair
I'm a broken-down writer and my cross is this pen
He's an actor, guitar player
He kisses skin, I kiss paper
And we're both the victims of intelligent design.
Born into madness but a master of deceit
This situation seems to be stuck in repeat
I'm leaving (I won't)
I'm leaving (I don't)
I'm leaving, I'm running, not looking back but you're calling?
I can't stop myself from being a victim of intelligent design.
Do I need to be famous? Have people chasing me down the lanes?
You can't handle it at THIS level but you want more of the same?
Nothing is good enough for an actor
Go chase fame and disaster
I'm a writer not a runner
And I can't fucking go any faster
Smash guitars and burn books, we'll still end up like this
An actor and a writer chasing something that doesn't even exist.
This isn't love
Love doesn't ache
Love doesn't wound
Love isn't a mistake
That we made in a series of contracts we signed
Limbs left entangled and words left entwined
Examples of madness in your fingerprints down my spine
Further proof in the theory of intelligent design.
Born into it, he said...you were made for it.
"That's funny. You keep reading it."
I know you love being the muse to my songs. Let your pride choke you as you swallow.
But the you I knew
Is not the you you are
And the you you are
Isn't the one I want
So...
You walked away from me; then tried to tell me I deserved it.
I don't think I deserve to be hurt, do you?
But I saw something behind those eyes that night
Cruelty
Behind eyes I once thought were the color of the ocean
(they're not blue, you said, my eyes are green)
Yes, green. They are green.
The color of jealousy. The color of sickness.
The color of things I don't want
And didn't sign up for
And the color of the scab that is on my heart and my lungs as I cry, and run out of breath and try to stop the throbbing and aching
Infected
Green means infected
And you keep picking and poking and I keep drowning and choking
Because whether I talk to you or not; it hurts
Life is the color of bruises, and it smells like blood on concrete.
We can't make cement out of cotton candy
And I can't make a foundation of quicksand.
Tired of feeling this way
Captured, held undertow
Drowning in simulated waves
You take everything good,
And you throw it away
Take the words that I say
Don't give them the time of day
I am losing myself in the current of "you"
And I need to grow up, and I need to remove
This cancerous growth that is choking me dead
Get your hands off my skin; forget the words you have said
I am tired; so tired
Tired of being told to be quiet
Being tied to a ship
On a sea of fools and liars
Keep sailing your sea, I'm cutting the ropes of my bonds
I'll fall back into the sea, as it's where I belong
Forget the feel of your skin and your heart inside me
Forget how tired I was; and finally breathe...
Rain dripping off the icicles of your hair and the purse of your lips.
Drawn together like magnets but never able to fuse together like other lovers.
I want my heartbeat to be yours; reach my hand inside your chest and nest warm and deep inside of you. I want your lips to become mine and for you to collapse upon and inside of me.
Melting;
My spotted skin to become yours like milk. Instead of clashing hips; a subtle dip and sigh. Eyelashes strewn with the stars of raindrops like a thousand diamond stars in the sky. I inhale, you exhale.
Two sides of mirror, lace on velvet and clashing needle and thread. Milk thistle is what you taste like after the rain has washed you clean.
Dissolution;
Lungs expand and collapse with the breath of ourselves and one another. Why can't you reach out and touch my heart? Judge me upon its twitches and palpitations instead of my betraying fingers and lips whispering words intent on slicing innocent skin. Honey dripping down my lips and collarbone pools between us where our skin meets.
Let me run my fingers across your shoulders and over your lips like cherries and through hair like midnight and and and...
Elbows and insides of thighs and behind the backs of knees and kisses down my calves and backs of wrists and where my neck meets my shoulders and the edge of my chin and and and
Long fingers melt inside of me
Tongues turn into extensions of your heart
When they're so close
So close
to...
Don't let my whispered words fool you. Read what I write.
You want to mix brown and white, put your cinnamon in my milk
And I remember the days when my skin ached for you
And I put handprints on your wall late at night.
You keep bruising my thighs, purple flowers that bloom
You want us to get back together, pretty bride and her groom
But I remember the way that your fists ball in anger
And I put balm on my split skin at dawn.
Your words used to cut me, now they fall on deaf ears
You see missed opportunity, but it's been too many years
You want to touch me and take me, but those times have passed
And we're trying to be friends...we'll see how long this will last.
Love letter and tokens
Affection, bespoken
You twine my hair round your fingers and sigh
"I used to save all your strands, but now you have another man,"
And I nod and move a few inches over.
Oh, it is tempting you see; you know all of my secrets
You know dates, places, names; you know every sequence
I can smell me on your face, it seems you've kept my silk
More brown mixed with white; cinnamon mixed with milk.
You’re driving, and it’s silent between us. There is no need to engage in useless chit chat; we are far beyond that stage. However, today’s encounter is permeated with a vague sense of anger and discomfort. I have retreated into my shell, which is my way, and you have tensed your muscles in such a way that reminds me of a coiled spring ready to pop. I inch back further into my seat and bite my bottom lip.
We are traveling to our vacation home in the mountains, but it hasn’t been much of a vacation thus far.
Sometimes I say things that anger you, but they are always unintentional. I peer at you again and you notice. You shake your head and move your eyes back to the road.
“Eventually you’ll have to tell me what’s upsetting you,” I ventured.
“Actually, no. I don’t have to do or tell you anything.”
I retreated back again and crossed my arms in a protective barrier against my chest…where my heart was. It ached, swollen with blood and the familiar sense of adrenaline I get when I am upset.
We continued to drive in silence.
When we reached the house, you began lugging things in, tossing bags and telling me to go inside when I tried to help. “I’m the man here, remember?” you hissed. I stepped back and pouted. I slipped my feet into boots, and grabbed a sweater. I began to walk down the slope where the road split off into a path.
Soon I forgot about your bad mood and your company all together. I walked the shady path until it split, then split again. I noticed an unfamiliar trail at the third split and decided to take it. It was beginning to get chilly, but I had never noticed this trail before. I wanted to see something new.
The setting sun between the leaves of the trees laid a pattern of lace over the ground of the forest. I soon fell into a rhythm of walking, my legs long and tensed perfectly, balancing over the dips and hikes in terrain. I smelled nothing but earth, the scent of cleanliness and perfection mixed with the musk of my own violet perfume. My mind steadied itself, drinking in every step as I took them. Soon the sun set, and I turned around. This trail was not well worn, and I had not thought to bring a flashlight.
My heart began to beat faster as I walked down. Where was the split in the road?
It was getting colder. My skin broke into goose bumps as I continued walking. Hadn’t I see that rock before? I was going in circles.
I sat down to ponder this predicament. I tried to strategize, should I place markers? What if I exhausted myself before someone found me? I couldn’t be that far from home…eventually I would find my way back. My confidence wavered as I began to walk and realized I was now on another, even more unfamiliar path. I was treading deeper into the forest.
The moon shone on me as I sat, head in my hands, and the tears came. Being lost was a discomfort I would never grow used to. But in the forest…the noises and lack of light which usually comforted me now frightened me. I wrapped my sweater around me tightly and let my tears drip down my face.
I heard twigs cracking and the familiar sound of footsteps padded by leaves over dirt. I looked up and saw you walking towards me.
“I’ve been looking for you for hours,” you breathed. You wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and kissed away my tears. I wrapped my arms around you and laid my tear strewn face in the crook of your neck. Your smell comforted me. “I was getting so tired,” I said, as you tilted my face upwards to kiss the top of my nose. “I’m sure,” you said. “You’ve been walking for quite some time. Let’s go back. I marked my way, we won’t get lost again.”
You picked me up, wrapped snugly in the blanket you had brought, and began walking. All the way you carried me home.
Once inside, warm and sleepy, you laid me down on the couch in the living room, and left. I feel into a light sleep until the feeling of my fingertips being kissed awoke me.
“Come now, I’ve drawn you a bath.”
I stood, sleepy, and followed you into our bathroom suite. I climbed the steps to the tub and stood. “You’re coming, too.” You nodded and watched me undress.
Still on the steps, you slithered out of your clothes and stared at me. Your face was level to my breasts. Cupping them, you stepped upwards and directed us into the water.
Enveloped in the liquid silk of the bathwater, I enveloped you in my embrace, wrapping my legs around you and pressing my lips to yours. You responded and kissed me back, dropping your hands from my shoulder blades to the swell of my hips. I shivered, and kissed you more fervently.
With your hands in my hair, I could feel you pressed against me. My pinkness was swollen and clenched, ready. The water swirled around us as we moved, slowly, molasses kisses and taffy moans. “You still smell like violets,” you whispered, and I grasped your back as your kisses moved down my jaw to the space between my breasts. I exhaled your name and wove my fingers through your hair. You moved back up and kissed my ear. “I’m sorry for being rough with you earlier. I didn’t mean to upset you. Never run away again.”
I moved my kisses to the corner of your mouth. “I’m sorry I angered you in the first place. You know I never mean to.”
Much like only hours earlier, you picked me up and carried me to our bed. Dripping wet, we moved against each other, the slippery softness of our movements making me blush and shiver with heat. We slipped into the blankets, and you slipped into me.
I wanted to hold you like you held me; rescue you as you always came to mine. I wrapped my legs around you and pushed you in, harder, deeper, in a rhythm that kept pace with our breaths and moans, inhale, exhale. I murmured your name over and over again…
Turning over, you made me pinker and wetter. Our skin was dry now, but other parts were certainly not. I breathed faster as you pushed in and nipped at my shoulder. I peered back at you, my hair wet and draped over my shoulder. This made you groan and lean in, as I spread my legs wider and gripped you tighter.
“Inside of me,” I whispered, my muscles tensing. “Come inside of me.”
You whimpered, and together we throbbed and moaned, shuddering. The feel of your mouth whispering my name against my skin made me quiver.
As I laid my head against your chest and began to slip into sleep, I peered at you. I looked back.
“Thank you for rescuing me,” I said.
You curled your arm around me and pulled the blankets tighter. “I’m your man, remember?”
My eyelashes fluttered over your skin as I nodded and fell asleep. This was true.
He held my hands so delicately, afraid of breaking me. He was never quite as shy when he would take me from behind, however, spurred on by my hands against the wall and my mumbling lips imploring "not so deep...".
I invariably saw him as the moon to my sun; necessary for balance and cooling my temper on summer nights when I scorched flesh with lips and tongue. Hands on my shoulders, pressing me down; my fingers entwined in hair the color of midnight. My suitors soon tired of feigning friendship when all I did was talk about him, and the rhythm his hips made when he walked and how his cheeks flushed pink when it was warm over milky skin. I didn't care when they left. The orbiting planets need the sun, not the other way around.
Soon my lips formed four letter words and I prayed to him every night in the form of bruised knees and copper strands left in bedsheets. He watched me sleep and bought me things that made me laugh. I was so silly those days; so drunk on emotion. My words were flippant and often cruel, childlike sense of superiority clouding my vision like whiskey mixed with milk. "Don't," he would warn, and I ignored his words, foolishly believing my worship of him could burn the fog off of any insult. Such is not the case with all men.
xxx
Inside of a darkened room where secrets slept, I watched my previous lovers eyes dart from window to door. He held his hands in his lap, fragile butterflies I could tell he was afraid would shake should he let them free. I stared at him, his eyes the color of obsidian and his skin like sunsets. Traits that held no magic for me now that I had a lover the color of milk.
"Take me?" he asked, voice like syrup running over my bones. I shook my head.
"Too late for that now, daffodil."
His hands shook as I kissed him goodbye. He tried to part my lips with his tongue and I stepped backwards and out of his door for the last time.
"He doesn't love you," he said to my back, walking fast. "There's a reason you were here tonight."
I stopped and turned. "I came to say goodbye."
His flowers littered my home for weeks thereafter. Petals don't buy love.
xxx
To be continued.
I could crush you with these thighs, you know.
Put your lips on it, part petals with your tongue and put your palm under my back when it arches. I do it for you, you know...I do it for you.
That moan in your chest you get; gutteral. Shrieks and sighs are fine but I want reverberation; I want to watch your eyelids flutter and flicker under the weight and obligation of a thousand heartbeats and one Single Kiss.
I rather miss you.
There is nothing I see except old, tired words
And words to a woman mean little at night
With your hands on her throat begging her not to fight.
Who's the love of your life, little satin skinned lover?
You're too young to be talking, too ignorant to discover
He put his lips on my skin, and I remembered your own
And the way that you'd giggle, mixed in with your moans.
Go, let your goals lead the way, chase your Hollywood dreams
While you sit uncontented, let your pride burst the seams
When you see things for what they have been the whole time
I expect you'll have slightly more respect for my sighs.
But no! Take your time
Go after what you've always wanted
Attention soothes pain
Or so say the broken and stunted
Let the whispered words in your ear
Help you heal inside
Although in my lowly opinion
That kind of life means you've died.
Then you'll want something different, but that time will have passed
And you'll want someone to love you, someone who will last
But the cycle will continue, and your lover will leave
To chase her golden goals, and sleep her golden dreams.
It's no bother, my satin; I'll keep you in my mind
While he kisses my ribcage, lines his lips down my spine
I'll be seeing you again; skin like satin and cream
I just hope you'll be holding up, with all of those busted seams...
Choking truth out of me
In the form of your hands
Trying to make me bleed
I'll keep laughing in spite because I like when you work
And to tell you the truth...it doesn't even hurt.
(breaths in water)
Lips on my skin
Trying to get me wet
Your fingertips dance
But have nowhere to set
I'll keep writhing away because you don't do it for me
But I like when you try, as the whole room can see.
Oh, he's so amazing, be with him, not the other
I perfectly capable of choosing my own fucking lover
This man broke my heart, and now he's going through the paces
Trying to find his way out of my broken down mazes.
There is someone I want, and that someone is you
With your sloping blue eyes and the way you misconstrue
Everything that I say; you're the perfect enemy
Because we're the same type of lover, as it's obvious to see.
Lips on my skin
Trying to get me to stray
From the person I love
Endless nights, endless days
I'll keep watching your eyes as they tear up to cry
Because I know those lips and the way that they sigh.
(breaths in water...)
Hospital corridors are cold, lonely places. It doesn't matter what type of shoes you wear; they always squeak when you walk. The smell of death and old flowers littered the air.
My mother breathed artificially; tubes and wires and electrodes hooked up everywhere. Paper thin skin and blue veins like deep water. I kissed her hand as ritual and left her to the nurses.
Death is a funny thing; the more you fear it the faster it comes. I can tell when I crush someone's trachea whether or not they've been waiting for the moment. They exhale with defeat instead of defiance.
Three things appeared at every scene I walked into: black stockings, designer wallets, and feathers. Bird feathers. I don't know where they come from; certainly fancy hotel rooms and mansions don't have birds nesting in their attics and anterooms. Perhaps I bring them with me, like an angel.
Or a harbinger.
Crushing skulls is messy.
The waitress wasn't there the next day when I came in for my coffee. It made me sad, just a little. I swam around in the feeling, trying to build it up enough to where I could actually flinch in pain, but it never came. I hadn't felt in so long.
The hospital smelled the same.
Different people liked different things. Some wanted things to look natural or accidental, to collect insurance or inheritance money. Many wanted things as gruesome as possible and asked me to stretch the pain out. "Torture them," they'd say, especially the women. "And the partner?" I would ask, and shoulders would shrug. "Do whatever you see fit."
The rain has a way of cloaking you; it seems to confuse people and you can slip in and out of places much easier. The only unfortunate side effect is footprints; but I wear a shoe much larger than my foot.
Seems to throw them off when they suspect something.
I try to do it in their sleep. There is always a moment of realization, but I try to be respectful when their eyes light up and lips part in the beginnings of a scream. "This is on behalf of Mary," I would say, or "Steven" or "Alice" or "Bob". Whoever had the money to pay me to even things out was the name I would say. Scorned hearts know no boundaries when it comes to exacting revenge.
Black stockings are the trademark of a whore. I always asked for them when the dancers came calling.
Once, I took a trip to the ocean. I hadn't seen it in so long I forgot what the salty air smelled like and how it felt to walk in sand. I wore shoes that fit. The sun shined on me and I didn't dart for the shadows. There were ducks in the ocean. I had never seen that before.
I brought a picture back and put it in my mother's room. She hadn't opened her eyes in months. "I'm going to take you away from here," I said, and I swear I saw her eyelids flutter.
At peace.
There was once a woman I tried to save. Her name was Tracy. Her boyfriend left her for her best friend and she wanted him dead, like they all did. "I don't care what you do, just kill them," she said, eyes puffed up and red. Her hair was the color of chocolate and her lips were plump. I had trouble imaging who would leave her.
I shook my head. "I don't think you've had enough time to think about this," I said, leaning forward. She wiped her nose with a tissue and looked at me. "What?" she asked, her eyelashes rimmed with tears that glistened in the afternoon sun. She blinked and a tiny star fell onto her cheek. It distracted me.
"You're too young; naive. You'll regret this. He wasn't your husband. No life-long bond was broken. He's a wretched, dirty thing. Inhuman. But deserving of death? Is that the burden you want to carry for the rest of your life?"
She looked at me and twisted her face into a grimace. "He has to pay," she said, pointing at her heart. "He has to pay for this."
I broke his legs and put his new girlfriend in a coma. That seemed to appease her.
The waitress at the diner looked a little like Tracy. But Tracy smelled like expensive French perfume, not lilies. A gift from her father, I'm sure.
Sometimes I wondered where she was. Married in Connecticut, perhaps. Or somewhere on the French Riviera spending her father's money.
That was the last time I tried to talk someone out of what they wanted. It left me with a metallic taste in my mouth. I'm no ones savior. Let their decisions be their burden to bear.
My money piled up under my mattress. Almost, I breathed. Almost.
I liked to observe the situation before acting. Walk around darkened homes and glittering hotels to get a feel for the people involved. Who were these deserters, these breakers of tender, bruised hearts? Cheaters and adulterers. My crucifix was tucked under my shirt and jacket at all times. Preacher man.
The stockings were almost always in a pile next to the bed; few women wore them to sleep. The thigh-high type pinched when you tossed in your sleep. Designer wallets where always either on the dresser or still in the gentleman's pants pocket. Hermes seemed to be a favorite.
I would run my taped fingerprints over the items, look at the photographs and art upon the walls, and sometimes gaze out of the windows to the outside world before judgment began. My lips never parted until the eyes realized what was happening. My tools where those of rope, tape, blades, and bullets. Feathers followed me like a calling card.
But this night was not the same. I let myself into a large estate; larger than what I was accustomed to. My senses where on overload; I was expecting security but saw none. Cameras were easy to avoid; no dogs were on the property. I tensed the wire between my hands; ready to pounce and choke. I eased into the bedroom. A light was on.
"Hello," he said, gun aimed at my head. "I see she sent the best."
I stopped but didn't drop my wire. "Expecting me?"
He nodded. "It's only fair. But you won't be conducting any work here. Get out."
I nodded and left. It never occured to me he could have shot me in the back. I simply left, drove to the client's home, left her money in the mailbox, and drove to the hospital.
I took my mother to France. She died, eyes open, looking at the ocean. I never worked again.
Swimming through the sea of emotion I now stumbled through, my eyes blinked with memories blurred into reality. There you were...then you were gone. The corridor became darker as a light behind me burned out.
I ran my hands down the walls, slow motion, my tiny toes continuing their rhythmed dance down the corridor. Flickering lights and the cold floor; gelatinous steps through quicksand only I could see.
It was a hallway with no windows, no doors, and no beginning or end. My only purpose was to walk this corridor, and I could not stop or speed up. I was destined to continue, endlessly, down a corridor while I chased my shadow and remembered you.
Sleeplessly I walked, passing doors I could not stop to open. I heard your voice whispering to me and tried to chase it, but my exhales were too long to hold onto any other form of breath.
I missed sunshine and rain; the sound of children laughing and most of all...you. Lights continued to drop out until I was almost in complete darkness. Footsteps only my own echoed behind me and I left love notes as oily fingerprints on the wall.
Some stories have no end.
Love is torture.
You walked out as I flipped a page.
Once I was done with the chapter, I looked up. "Don't go," I said.
The clock struck one.
I had been content when I found you, but your ocean eyes and tousled hair drew me in. I watched you as you told stories that hurt me to hear and drew hearts on the glass of your car windows. You never remembered those moments, but I did.
I remembered the curve of your lips when I hurt your feelings and how your eyes would darken when I looked at other men. Funny how I delighted in both while thinking myself such an adult. "Stop hurting me," you said, and I would promise and lie. Old habits die hard.
I moved to our bedroom, now littered and empty. I sat on the edge of the bed and wept without tears.
The clock struck one.
Ghosts of you haunted my sleep, whispering sonnets in my ear and leaving bruises on my wrists. I ached for you in the mornings and prayed to you in the night; worship in the form of spread thighs and swollen tissue.
Come back, won't you?
I stayed away from the phone and wine, lest I do something irrational, like tell you I love you. Silly girl, trip and fall and lick your scars. No one can soothe the wounds you inflict yourself.
You don't know what you have until it's gone?
The clock struck one.
They say it takes 21 days to beat an addiction; but when each hour feels like a year, how can I keep track of time?...
The chimes of the clock sound like your voice in my ear.
Muscles tightening, contractions making my walls rub together.
The color of conch shells, the inside of my lips
When I eat ice cream I remember your skin...
I can feel my heartbeat throbbing for you
Quickened breath, the rise and fall of my cage.
Beads of sweat on my skin my lips parted in verse
Your hands should be blueprinting my veins.
In a myriad of ways I think you're meant for me
Like the dawn in the morning or the sunset through the trees
Fingertips on my lips, as you crush them to silence
The words I aim to kill, another theory of violence.
I can feel my insides aching for you
Moisture dripping down thighs when I play back weeks ago.
I tuck my hair behind my ears when I bow down to you
I remember bite marks on your lips.
I can feel my heartbeat throbbing for you
Raise my arms, let your hands circle my ribs.
I am tall but I'm tiny, you can throw me around
Follow the exhales when you kiss down my skin.
Why must you hurt me so? We should just stay indoors
Under sheets, tied in satin, as I keep whispering "more"
You still taste like salt and I still smell like violets
Another tale untold, in this theory of violence.
The one that breeds lust
Covered in shiny star dew
And your mutinous dust
Sediment covers my skin in a veil of despair
The same way that your kisses twine themselves in my hair
Let them dance in these dewdrops
Take us far from this war
Let those crystalline twinkles be the key to this door
Watch the beads of salt form on your forehead in heat
Watch the lids of your eyes close when we finally meet
Ooh, je sens ce frisson
Celui qui multiplie la convoitise
Couvert dans brillant tenez le premier rôle la rosée
Et votre poussière révoltée
Le sédiment couvre ma peau dans un voile de désespoir
La même manière cette vos baisers se tortillent dans mes cheveux
Laissez-les danser dans ces gouttes de rosée
Prenez-nous loin de cette guerre
Laissez ces scintillements cristallins être la clef à cette porte
Observez les perles de la forme de sel sur votre front dans la chaleur
Observez les couvercles de vos yeux étroitement quand nous nous réunissons finalement
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