Rives

days and nights run togeather, fade and blue with hues of sleep fermenting long the edges. long naps in soft skin and warm nests. brething gently softly awoken. find your feet my love and step into the light to see what I created. two steps later infused with a kiss, the world is open, burning, warm. water flows candles flicker. peace has been restored here, resored by my love. step in and enjoy, the water is perfect. still sleepy i step. letting the watter emerse me. skin slipping past mine. gently she rubs, massages my mussles, reinses away every stress. then with loton and coton she rubs my skin dry. this is perfection. this is love.

hookah.

sit back relax. in hale. hold. watch the smoke drift. feel the music, a suttle jumping dancing in your blood. move your fingers to the music while it washes over your skin. closed eyes or open your vision remains the same. suttle smiles and relief. conversation. life, all that makes this balance perfect returns. a good night, a good party, not for the room, not for your fiends, simply for you. for us. this is perfection. bliss. sipping madness and rolling peace. our lives are flawless.

oh and I do know how to fly, I remeber now. take my hand, you can too.

push the trigger. hug it with your love, your self loathing, your dispare. this is what you are. all you are. slide the pill in. push it down. grind your teeth. spread your arms. feel the chill. pale as snow. cold as ice. frozen in your veins. watch your arms stiffen and snap. this is what you will be. cold broken blue. stand and sing.

salt and warm cheeks. moistor that seems to radiate instead of follow the stream of drops. all ofg this is known. unexpected untill the moment of release, but known. then the unrecallable emerges. the growing lump in the throat. the hardening that last explination or discription. that feeling that can only truely awakened by unimaginable fear and uncontrollable tears. in this moment one has lead to the other. the simple escape of liquid emotion has been building for days, maybe even weeks, but always managing to mask its orgin. for if it were not for that lump the knot being tightened just beyond the tounge, you may never know. you might even wish that were the case. with the forgotten felling you are transported, as a train rushing though time you memories hult in a place were you are all to suddenonly aware. a flash back. a triger. a gun? no gun. just you. sitting. stairing. to scared to speak, wishing you could scream, but when your mouth opens and you lungs push out there air, all that emerges is the product of the lump. near silent squeaks replace cries of help, awkard whezeing replaces words, too mortified to move, too aware to breath.
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standing over. just wathing. its not proper to intervien in such things although better judgement nags behind my more refined inpules that possible i should. he is merely a bow, yet i know he is far from a boy at all. although his mind is submerged in youth at the moment he is hardly a creature of it. he has with stood far worse before, and will again, for him, this moment will simply be anouther blink in his greater understanding, one he will pile with a thousand others and fall back on at some point in the distant future... or past.
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panic is an understatement. muscles tense, shivers climb up and down my arms, how old am I? i know i was here for this but why is it only here when i close my eyes, and move vivid when i clench them. if i could speak i would be ok. but there are no words... who would hear me. the material is corse, leaving lines in my skin like strips, long red stripes runing hip to hip, sholder to sholder, and along one cheek. this is better some how. face down. i want to curl. desperately, to pring my knees to my sholders and wrap, to run, to scream, to cry. all there is a lump. i move my body closer to where the cushins meet the back of the couch, and try to wiggle my way into it, if i cant run, i cant scream, and i cant hide, i can hide, there has alwaysbeen hidding. they wont come back. they wont come back. youll be fine. just move deeper into the couche and they will forget, and youll die, and you will be fine. some one watching looking, agian. theres no one, you know theres some one. the lump disapates, leaving a dull aching. warmth consumes you, your mussles ease, eyes get heaving and imposible, you drift into sleep.
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this is worse then before. he can't do this nomatter what he's done, or been through. you cant let him break or be broken. he is yours as you are his. honor your pourpose. glancing over you shoulder, theres no one coming, not for now, no one looking or watching, from this world or any other. a deep sight. and attention shifts it intentions. now seeing the child clinch as you approach. he is just child, and you shall be him. one hand out streached, not in anger, not violence, in true care. and he slips out of his skin. at peace. you are in it. and waiting. with a lump in you throat that can onle be discribed as personified terror. an eternal mind in with the mechanism of a child. dear god. panic with resolve. the door slams. they are back.

sitting ans staring gazing. colors and lisghts. surrounded by fire. there is a place where my mind restes. a small hole or dimple inversed in the ground. rolling around a little box. trying to find that little sopt. like a childrens game. one one marble falls into place you must make all the rest find there place as well, with out disturbing the first.
writing. writing at the moment like a monoloug, ment to read on stage [beat]

chaoric, simplt runs blank and emply this slaight is my own. insperation when saught is as easily touched as the person in the mirror.