These are a little different than normal journel entries. These peoms and what not were written by me around 1991/92 or so. They speak of a darker time but shed light on feelings I’ve not had in ten odd years.
Deadly within touch, the feel of the leather. Feel it in your blood, corrupting, destroying. Feel it in your soul, fighting to get out. Every man fighting to get some. Some of what men have died for. The flow of the hair down the nap of the neck. The heels as they click off steel. The warmth of the fire that burns at the touch. The desire of men’s dreams. ‚ It reaches for the sky. Funny how it never just reaches. Its crisscrossing effect giving perch to the small still green rose bush. The vines reaching for the sky, the ladder of the garden just can’t reach. Funny how it never just reaches…
“Why do we never know when love begins, but always when it ends?”
Sometimes I dream of things I don’t understand, and why some things are like they are. And wish I could understand more of what everyone says I miss. There is a rose in my heart, and now it withers and drys. When I first looked in your eyes I saw new things; bright things. Now all I see there are dead things, old memories and lies. Betrayed by the one thing I never saw in your eyes..true love For some reason I don’t dream anymore. I just lay awake and stare at nothing. Feel as though my soul has been washed away. Feel as if it were behind a wall of razor and steel. Blind and dying it reaches for me to move on and forget. Deep down I hope I can..Broken dreams, are but broken reality. A silent, fragile scream. Could that sound be from inside me?
Time creeps by; the seconds pass like hours. And I ask myself why, and how long will the pain last? I feel the rain wash over me. Feel the sky’s tiny tears on my face slow and thin in their dance to earth. I see the grey clouds turn clear and a heavenly glow take its place. Why do the stars fill the sky? And how do they blind me even in all this darkness? We are all suckled fools if we believe we are unable to be hurt, unable to be crushed by mere words. How easily we are hurt; our skin so thin, our flesh so soft, our bones so brittle. We are all fools who fool ourselves into believing that we can not be hurt by mere words…We are all friends of convenience; all pawns in someone else’s game, never knowing the rules by which they play, only knowing what we are led to know.
In this imperfect world, the one perfect rose is our own love. So full of innocence like a child’s it remains. That it needs to be protected by a pure white fence. So that others may not mar it and cause it to wither and die. You left me standing, by the railway in the quiet New England town. Oblivious to your feelings, Devastated by the weight on my brow. With my defenses down, you took me by surprise. Now alone I wait for a new game to start, while shamelessly you start one with another unknowing guy.
Their motion stirring like waves on a pebble shore, limbs intertwined in passionate embraces. Slowly tightening their grip upon each others quivering bodies. Their musky sweet smells and slick bodies filling the room to a bursting climax. Groaning and slamming in dizzying animal like sounds and movements, trying desperately to explode into each other as they transcend deeper. Feeling every shuddering inch of one an others goose bumped skin, while tasting all to familiar flavors. Then unknowingly their spasms quicken in tingling thrusts, numbing their wet tangled flesh. Their motion stirring like a dying breeze off a warm beach line, limbs intertwined in a gold glowing welcome. Your soft curves, your unknown heart. The way you moved, your smile. Quietly I laid next to you unable to say a word, unable to move a single muscle. Slowly my eyes moved up and down the lines of your back. Almost unnoticeable I ran my fingers along you soft dark skin. Only to feel the heat of your sleeping body, only to feel the secrets that lay under your skin. Only to smell your sweet scent one last time before dawn… Quietly.
I see myself in a mirror of distrust. Counting on the love in my heart. Cool concrete, smooth and hard like stone from the earth. But man made just like everything else. Small spirits of memory poison my mind. Cool dreams, smooth dreams, fake dreams. The icy feel of the drug corrupts me.
Our lives are simple mirrors, reflecting all. The cracks form when we hate, the smudges when we lie. Simple lives in concave realities; unknowingly we splinter and break, when we have cracked to much or no longer reflect our image back to us. Procrastinate, blaming it on our hate. Giving us leave to forget our dreams, to no longer wanting to survive. Unwillingly, they see through me. Telling us it’s alright to never love again, to allow our lives to be left behind.
Sly little devil; creature of the night, making deals never seen. Corruption of our goals; deadly if you speak, turning our trust to jealous green. Prefer hell and all its seven then to live like you do now. Purging your soul to heaven, but no one will ever answer. You know these city streets..