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ADDICTED TO LOVE

August 1, 2009
by

nobody knows what you’re on
and you’re using me more now that i’m gone.
you’d use me when you wake, shot me through your veins.
i didn’t mean to be an addiction. how could you use me this way?
i only meant to fall in love…
i didn’t know i would end up your drug.

[date unknown]

How it felt to Kill an Artist:

these thoughts, these feelings i’ve hidden here in my book
afraid they will be taken from me again, with just one look.
my knowledge of love, of this life helped me to believe
knowing these things could help me to carry on; to live.
but my knowing just took away courage – my freedom.
at least when i was ignorant i could do what i wanted, had
no idea what had been achieved in the past. i was free, instead
of being chewed at by bleeding impotence, dissolved away like a
pearl in acid. drowning in the crowd now, bodies touching and moving
as one. this is why i come to hear the music, to stop being myself, to let
that thing i supposedly was go, and just be part of a mob, part of the world
synchronized by the heavy beat. he hated this, the worst thing he could imagine,
disappearing into the mass – he didn’t know how to submerge himself. he was
the puzzle piece that fit no where. but this was the right place for me to be.
to be no one. nothing. here, the woman is heard singing
“heard you laughing”, i wanted to meet her, knowing she was the one to find him,
in her dressing room after her show, with the needle still in his arm. i know she
would understand about him. i could tell her things i’ve told no one, like stupid
things you say you say in the rain, that can’t ever be washed away. and she would
not blame me, she would know just how bad it could get, even with someone you loved
more than life. “he kissed her picture in the tattered magazine” she sang – and its true
when she sings…
“lost boys love dead girls”. nobody ever really loved
a lover. because love is like a private party, and nobody gets on the guest list.
from the outside of ‘the castle’, the town looked like death, people could pound
the walls as much as they wanted, but they would never find our door. nobody could guess
at the gardens inside. missing him like fire until it’s all burnt into nothing but ash
that is taken from me with the wind. i’m finding it hard to breathe some days, like my
lungs are closing around the air hard, like fingers slammed in a car door. he’s thrown
everything away, as if his life was a drawing that didn’t turn out right. now i fear i’ve
forgotten the color of his eyes. were they green or were they blue? i’m unbelieving of the things
he has put me through. his kiss, sewn on my body, stitched into my skin. loving him could never
be enough – for it’s true when they say “each man kills the thing he loves”, and sad when he
replies “you kill it, before it kills you.” but he was wrong. sitting alone, i knew he kills it
by accident. thinking he was doing something else. it was a cherished vase that broke while
cleaning it. shattering, when all you wanted to do was keep it safe. i was tiring of hauling my
body around. the clocks had all stopped, except the clock in my body. i had killed the thing
i loved, and here i am, still needing to eat and sleep. still needing to go on. comfortably numb
and not knowing what i am now, if i am real – or just someone he had dreamt up.

she asked about him, but how to sum him up? i couldn’t begin, no words to be found.
how to describe him… it would sound like four different people. his genius, his beauty.
how maddening he was, how tender. how i never thought i would ever love someone so
much, hadn’t even known i had it in me. then how fucked up it got. the good taken away
with the lies. the end. but she of all people would understand. he believed in a true world.
a world behind this one, that shines through it like a lampshade. a true world. a beautiful,
horrible man. all the times i’ve seen it. it was like light glinting on the surface of the river,
that shimmering quality when you saw it. it wasn’t the thing itself, it was your own ability
to see it. like the nights we lay in bed listening to nothing. the feeling when time stopped,
and you could stay there forever. you see the beauty inside of everything. it doesn’t last
long – it’s either gone in a minute, you just caught it, or else maybe it’s something so big
that you normally can’t get your head around it. like the fog inside your head clears out.
the world stops being a puppet show and you see the real thing. it’s probably like that all
the time, but you just can’t see it, except for those little glimpses. but these days i’ve found
it hard to still believe in that world. i don’t have the energy to believe in very much. she asked
if i myself believe in a true world. i tell her i used to. she says ‘no. you must believe.” propping
herself on one elbow. surprising me with her seriousness, the way she said it, not playing
to the balcony, not talking to hear the grandeur of her voice. “don’t let them take it away.
promise me.” i could see the strip that held her false eyelashes on, her face so close to mine,
her breath smelled like vodka.

you come to treasure a moment of great beauty
when the world is more… than this.
it must still be there… it must be.

♥electrina

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8 Comments leave one →
  1. Franky permalink
    August 1, 2009 6:35 pm

    Wow Trina your mind is wide open glad to see you use it.

  2. justt ralph; permalink
    August 2, 2009 7:50 am

    sickk talent love;; love what you write<3

  3. August 2, 2009 3:03 pm

    OOo girl… UR DEEP with it!!… Lets blaze!… WOOOOO!!!

    we wo we wo we wo we wo

  4. Jessica permalink
    August 3, 2009 9:43 am

    Aww my beautiful friend. i love your mind, layers make you perfect.

  5. electrodeathdisko permalink
    August 3, 2009 6:37 pm

    love what your doing with this …your awesome and own it!

  6. August 3, 2009 7:24 pm

    i love having a talented cat like yaself to be part of the FP Family 🙂 we’re gonna make history bella!

  7. Kelly Brasco permalink
    August 3, 2009 9:29 pm

    love…..

  8. August 5, 2009 3:11 am

    man this shit goes hard!! stay focuzed shawty

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