I called myself by your name the other day. And I answered.
It's been long, time stretched like intertwined souls and gum wanting to snap in two because the flavor's worn out and God wants a whole new piece. I wish we were Stride everlasting
to stride along pass times and memories and the beautiful tress that meant and mean so much but in two completely different ways. I want water to be ice to preserve and melt when I want. I want room temperature with a fridge. I want love and lust and freedom and falcons.
I want to paint smiles on your face and wrap you in Christmas gift wrap and offer you to yourself. I want to be able to ring the bell that rings your laughter over and over, have doves fly under the strings of your pitches and love will bloom under it as well.
Oh God, let me be happy and sad and lonely and scared and vulnerable all at once and let me not be afraid to be afraid anymore. When is it right to give in to your density and sink slowly under sweet possession of one that allows themself to be so free, their soul oozes straight from their skin.
Release yourself, I knew who you were and stop hiding. You can't help it anymore because fear makes you sweat and the sweat is your soul. It smells so beautiful.
I wanna give in to the crazies of my mind and touch reality all at once and admit to myself that endings exist and so does death and maybe I should paint smiles on my face as well. I don't have a bell, though.
Or doves, but maybe I have pollen, and water, and I have a heart I can use as a bowl to make yellow and sunshine and maybe if I'm lucky I'll get sunflower seeds.
Maybe I can turn my back to you, trailing behind me, like a siamese twin that is stuck with themselves and another. Maybe I can finally admit I don't see you anymore, and maybe I never have and that paint washes off with rain but pollen can be used to reproduce. I don't believe in tattoos, but if you didn't care I could use a Sharpie.
And if you truly wouldn't mind too much, I could offer you some of my pollen. I'll mix it with rain and stir it in my heart and we can paint smiles all day and be productive.
Maybe I'm just crazy.
I called myself by your name the other day. And I answered.
|
Submission Name: Schizophrenia
