You Bring Out The Whiskey In Me

I am so tired of being cold. So exquisitely cold. I just want to crawl into your lap and let you envelop me.
The winter is far too long and far too bleak without our little haven. I sometimes imagine that you're there on mornings when it is as though I cannot bear to be without you.

Some days it seems as though I will not be able to stay upright. That my knees will buckle and my feet will come out from under me. That perhaps my bones will give way and be consumed by my skin and blood until I am one boiling river of flesh growing ever hotter as you advance towards me.

How can I bear to think of another? The idea of giving up even the thought of you feels impossible. Like it is against the laws of nature. How can I give myself to another and stay faithful to you as I know I must in some twisted way? And how can I be faithful to another and still want to give myself only to you?

I know you are mine in spirit only now. But our artistic souls are soldered together and cannot manage to split themselves apart. You still call to me in the night and I know you feel me when I am still far from you. You always know when I becoming happy again, when I am trying to start over and forge a new chapter with someone else. You told me today that it was just a matter of time before we could be together, before we could have a night all to ourselves. But I do not want to be one of many.

I am so frightfully aware that I will lose my mind if it happens and will most assuredly wither away if it doesn't. My entire body has the compulsion to fling itself into your grasp, your strong callused hands claiming what has always been yours. But my mind. My mind rebels at the thought of giving in. I cannot succumb, it screams out.

But do you offer me the world, all freedom? Or do you offer me prison and most certain spiritual death?
I cannot conceive of the thought of never having you again. You are all consuming and a heady brew.

Goldilocks Complex

I am surprised sometimes at my capacity to feel nothing at all. I am not sure if it is out of a newly created defense mechanism or a hazard of my current trade.

I feel like I have a deep ability for empathy. In fact, I enjoy helping others... lending an ear.
But there are some days when I am appalled at how little something of importance can affect me.

It seems as though I have this On/Off switch. I either feel entirely too much or not enough to feel human.
I have even noticed that I actively avoid certain situations and triggers so that I don't have to be affected, whether negatively or positively.

Music has a strong sway over me and I have been either wholeheartedly avoiding certain songs and artists or I have sought out multiple of those that make me suffer in a row. Even though as I am doing it, I know that it makes me miserable.

Most days, it is as though I cannot connect with another human being on any level other than friend. And even then, at times, it is very difficult to do even that.

I am so sure that something is very wrong with me in the fact that I can be alone for so long and not feel lonely. All the people my age are going out and meeting new people and starting relationships. But there is nothing that makes me more uncomfortable than the idea of romantic vulnerability. Intimacy on any level is frightening to me. I know it is because the one and only time I allowed myself to embrace vulnerability, I was shattered. But it still astonishes me that a need or desire to couple up is low and easily overturned.

I keep meeting interesting people but my attention wanes so very quickly and the idea of letting them in, letting them see, having some sort of obligation or overly familiar routine is... too much.
I'm starting to panic just thinking about the vague notion of it.

And yet I expose my inner thoughts to you far too often and even though it is on a lesser scale than it used to be, my interest is still held, my mind is delicate and feeling in your hands. And with you, all of the above fears don't seem so bad. But I know it won't work. I know we want different things.

So what now? If I can think of you and no one else in that sense, but we are so very fractured, then should I just embrace my solitude?

I don't mind it, really. I'm not sad about it. I enjoy my freedom. I just don't see how to move beyond this crippling doubt of others...

Tap Your Vein, Shoot Up My Name

I am so hungry for beauty. I soak it in and drink it down as fast as I can. I should probably slow down and take my time to really, truly enjoy it.

Beautiful words. Beautiful colors. Beautiful people. Beautiful thoughts. Beautiful ideas. Beautiful sounds.

And no, not in a sentimental way. There is no beauty in that which is in abundance or has no "flaw" or point of unique interest. In continuing with one of my previous posts, it is the fragile and violent that strike us dumb.

Sometimes there are experiences that are so sublime, it is almost painful to enjoy them. It's an almost uncomfortable pleasure. Like it's so awe-inspiring, it makes one's body ache just gazing upon it.
Though it is a mystery as to whether it is a jealous fit or a deep appreciation that shakes one down to one's innate instincts.

It makes me want to act on my artistic tendencies, but I feel as though those will betray me beyond what I already allow.

You, my dear, are a beautiful experience. One of the most euphoric and shattering ones of my young life.

I have one part of me that says I would do whatever it took to have it again and another that is screaming caution like a piercing alarm.

I am of the persuasion that there are very few times in life when one's emotional, physical, spiritual and mental sides are all fed and flourishing simultaneously. And if one is lucky enough to have such an occurrence, then one may spend the rest of their life seeking to have it again.

What you do to my head... my sensually-charged mind. You stalk me down in my subconscious. And I wonder how much more I can handle seeing your face without it being a reality.

There is this terrifying connection that leads us to know what the other is thinking and doing even when we have so little contact anymore. I always know when you are thinking of me or needing me. You tell me aloud as though it would be some great revelation to me. But I always know. I get shivers down my spine.
Sometimes I think I must be communicating with a ghost through a spiritual world instead of a human at all.

I want to, love... but I can not let you destroy me again. I can not let our addiction for each other rule us.
I've been through withdrawals so many times already. Oh, but how my veins ache for you.

Will we resist each other? I fear that if we don't this time, I won't recover.
I refrain from reclaiming it not because I don't care enough, but because the severity of the wanting is so crushing.

The Sum and The Parts

I am so deeply moved by those with profound visions. And those who leave behind resonating effects.

It makes me want to be so many things all at once. It makes me want to be so many people at once, all my sides and influences.

I want to be infectious and inspiring like Edie.
I want to be elegant and sophisticated like Anais.
I want to tough and raw like Brody.
I want to be honest and forgiving like Patti.
I want to be fierce and feverish like Sylvia.
I want to be androgynous and grungy like Alison.
I want to be subtly deep and sneakily poetic like Emily.
I want to be revolutionary and risk-taking like Chanel.

I realize that I am none of these things and quite possibly all of these things, depending on how I feel about the day.

As I age, I know that there is no purpose or good that can come from direct imitation.
And all the best new things come from the best small aspects of each big thing to accumulate into something entirely its own.

This thought process today is mostly distracting me from what I'm really trying not to think about.

But it is nice to remind myself that I can constantly reinvent myself and I can take on any aspect as a new character or costume and acclimate it into what is true, what exists in reality and nature.
And that maybe through all of these things that draw me in, I'll have some good stories along the way.

January and June

Oh this body.
This lovely body.
This wretched, insatiable body.

I am everlastingly tired, but so achingly wired in a halt and lurch circle of cause and effect.
I am not sad, though. No, only disappointed. And cold.

The only way I can describe my state of being is a word used to communicate a lack of heat.
It is not an emotion, but it seems so invariably linked to my waves and beats.
No matter the season or occasion or weather, I just feel cold.
But it is a beautiful thing in it's on way. An icy, light-inducing melancholy. Like a cold, sunny winter's day.
Everything goes numb, but everything is clean and crisp. It is like a blank canvas to throw your new year's paint and oils on. Let's see what we can create in the coming months. I have a feeling it could be the change we have been waiting for.

I am constantly in a state of change. I wish to make myself better.
Not in an American "can-do" kind of way. But in the deepest ways.
Taking long, inhaled gulps of indulgence while exercising self control with a deft flick of the wrist. Appreciating beauty not only in luxury and fine strokes but in the common & base aspects as well.
This is something I must learn. To be violent and grotesque when is suited for the call and then to be delicate and graceful on the other side of it.
That is the ideal. Violent delicacy. Striking, but with the least offensive of objects.
Eyes that snag the soul. A voice that ensnares the heart. A saunter that kills as easily as it resurrects. A curve leading into a harsh line and back again into the swooping half circle.

I want the harmony between poetry and the dirt that creates it. So few are up to the task.