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Estás perdiendo el tiempo pensando, pensando

May 21, 2012

“He had green eyes,
                                        so I wanted to sleep with him—
        green eyes flecked with yellow, dried leaves on the surface of a pool-
You could drown in those eyes, I said.
                                                                                          The fact of his pulse,
the way he pulled his body in, out of shyness or shame or a desire
        not to disturb the air around him.
Everyone could see the way his muscles worked,
                                            the way we look like animals,
                                                              his skin barely keeping him inside.
                I wanted to take him home
and rough him up and get my hands inside him, drive my body into his
        like a crash test car.
                                                 I wanted to be wanted and he was
very beautiful, kissed with his eyes closed, and only felt good while moving.
        You could drown in those eyes, I said,
                                                                      so it’s summer, so it’s suicide,
so we’re helpless in sleep and struggling at the bottom of the pool.” – Richard Silken

 

There is enough of New York inside of me that weakness can be arousing. I catch the scent of blood and I am on it in seconds. I don’t mean to be like this, but I am. Destructive by nature. I pick at scabs, pull my eyelashes out, slap myself in the face when I am angry. Pick fights. Carry them through to their (il)logical conclusions.

I’m trying to fight my destiny, maybe. The universe has something in store for me and I’m afraid. I don’t know what it wants, but I know it’s too much.

You can’t outrun your shadow.

I pull my punches. Usually. I know how hard I can hit and I don’t want to damage anything too much. I just want to bruise you, not break you.

I’m hoping to find something to keep me still for awhile.

I spent all night drinking and dancing and trying to remember that I’m young, that I live in a city with meaning and possibility, that everything will be okay. I held hands with a beautiful girl, we jumped up and down in time to the music, told each other we were amazing, made plans to escape.

It was nice. It was what I needed.

But I still keep hoping I’ll stumble into someone, one or another. There are so many people I keep hoping to pass by, but it won’t happen.

I keep thinking about you. About pushing you into some dark corner, pinning your shoulders to the wall and leaning close. What’s your fucking problem? I’ll say. Make a move. Be a man. You know what I’m doing, stop me.

But what would be the point? I’m infatuated, it’s true. But I had to let you go. “I had to let you go, you were too heavy/All that ink on your body and trouble on your brow”.

These words are the death throes.

 

 

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One Comment leave one →
  1. May 21, 2012 12:58 am

    If you keep writing about me like this, I might get the wrong idea. 😉

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