Dedicated to the intricate webs we make from words
A giant melting pot of emotion, style, and ambiguity. This blog is my daily work, consisting of photo diary entries, poetic language, and short random thoughts that mostly cover feelings regarding a varitey of relationsips in my life. Hope you like it...
Turning To Nothing
Irony was your bittersweet reality that always contained much more bitter than it did sweet. You talked about Death so much your tongue bled hungry and with each self constructed loss of breath, you turned Death into a dramatic monologue that defined one’s final character. Monologue by story, you gradually removed all repercussions, heartaches, and sufferings structured in the bones that lie in the aftermath of Death. And when Death swallowed you whole, its reality must have turned clear, but you were already kneeling in its stomach, a slave to Death’s selfish desires to take and retain.
And I want to know if you’re surprised by Death’s reality or even partially in existence to recognize that it’s me, Erin, writing to you. Because from here I have to tell you, Death doesn’t seem heroic or bold, not at all a final definition of you. Because Death turned you into a grenade filled with ignorance, blasting everyone who loved you with a muted pressure of debilitating shock.
And I sit here, breathing. Trying to grasp onto this insane concept that taunts me with the demoralizing fact that I could have intervened. Because I was your home made bullet catcher and you were mine as long as we were here, together.
I care.
I don’t know if it’s because you don’t care or if it’s because you forget to care. I suppose it doesn’t matter too much anyway because they’re both pretty embarrassing explanations as to why you haven’t asked how I am.
“I was never fighting for him, I was fighting for each part of me he took and couldn’t give back.”
“All you are is human, nothing more or less. And there are so many others just like you who are much less painful. Ones who refuse to be soaked in pain or driven with manipulation.”
“And I never felt alone, until I met you.”
Long Distance
I grip onto our connection as it disintegrates into days spent without you,
My voice tightens and I want to hang up.
With too much to cover,
We discuss the change in weather.
I realize we feel empty,
Voices distant, certain in the nothingness we’re becoming.
How do I look?
She cares about the way she holds her face not the way she holds her heart. She tracks the appearance of her thighs in tight jeans as opposed to the intellectual exchanges she’s having with the person sitting in front of her.
Those habits aren’t me at all anymore, but only come out when I’m with you.
It’s Late, I know.
Girl by girl I convince myself I hate you and all the different ways you could hurt me.
New things to come.