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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: blehdots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: crashley
    Elite Ratio:    0.43 - 3/26/100
    Words: 381
    Class/Type: Misc/Misc
    Total Views: 683
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 2043



    Description:
       


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsblehdots
    -------------------------------------------


    I like the space. The negative space of the body, the space between ribs, the porous bones that come with age.

    Its a comfort to me at night, a soft soothing sort of thing. With age we stoop and grow light and wither away just as I always wanted to in my youth. I clasp at my wrist in the dark and fumble for the sharp prominence of my hips, and only in the quiet of the night do I sob because I can't feel them like I used to.

    Like a perfumed breath, a soft whispering sigh, I smell her on the air. For as angelic as her face and as delicate as her structure, it always stings and surprises that she smells of such putrid decay. I clench my teeth and do not break my stride.

    I move with unflinching purpose throughout the day, and besides the quick stolen glances into the mirror I do not look in any direction but forward. I will not give her that courtesy. She's stolen something from me.

    Still, the night comes with no regards to who I can pretend to be in the sun. She steals into bed with me, slips between the sheets as if she were a welcomed lover. As I get older I can't help but wonder if maybe she is. It's a particular feeling, and I sigh out as I feel the shift. It's cold but still somehow smoky, and I feel a compression on my lungs and remember the campfires from when I was little.

    Its funny to me sometimes. How I stifle myself during the day, I mean. Not funny really but just.. I notice it. I didn't used to. I didn't notice anything before.

    I think about this as I drive, the rain at the windshield and my fingers twitching sadly. I don't smoke anymore. I chew gum instead. I chew gum, and I sing mechanically. And I think.

    Out on the country roads with my windshield wipers fighting a tireless battle, I think the cigarettes would be safer. Still, I do not soothe the nervous itch to retreat into the past. Not yet. Not quite. It's time to get better.





    Submitted on 2012-10-30 21:46:31     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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