untitled #...+3

lúc đấy mà ấy thì thế nào nhỉ?

“She didnt recall how it all started, how they ended up in each others arms. She only recalled that somehow, it did start and somehow, they did end up in each others arms...

He was standing behind her, so close she could feel her hair quietly obeying his soft, gentle breath, quietly rippling.

Twenty fingers woven. and gripped. His juvenile hands a newly painted wall. The skin as clean and smooth as the new coat of paint. The bones as concrete as bricks and mortar.

His fingers departed hers. their tips traveling up and down her sleeves. Such a touch of purity! Almost to a point of clumsiness. Boyish clumsiness vs. the i-know-how caresses that she was used to.

She turned back to face him.

The newly painted wall vs. the great wall.

The newly painted wall vs. the berlin wall.

The newly painted wall now slowly extending to infinity, along her spine. Just her spine. The thin layer of her blouse that separated them melting.

They didnt kiss. He was only a few inches taller than she was, which made his shoulder her perfect headrest, the side of his neck a safe haven for her weak wine-stained lips.

The world is spinning at tempo of 200. And here they were, one step at a time. One step forward, one step to the right.

Two in one.

…

Two in one.

They didnt kiss.

One day, she knows the once newly painted wall will become the great wall, the berlin wall to someone else who will treasure it the way she did her great wall or berlin wall.”

untitled #...+2

it was an unfulfilled cinderella story

meets goodbye lenin without the political climate

twisted by a tornado of guilt.

the mess was dormant

(or is it actually invisible)

i dug it up now

(or did i actually just sniff it in the airtight minds) but

either way,

its out there in the wind and sun.

why do i so wanna do something

to (mentally only) hurt myself right now?

"There are moments,

... when you regret being.

... when you have nothing but dread, hatred, and contempt. For yourself. For the world.

... when you look into the mirror, look at the devastatingly ugly face that is glaring back at you. and you just want to rake, to claw, to slash the face. The sickening sensation in your stomach burns, and burns, and burns, as you watch the face being torn apart. The blood drips, and drips, and drips, one drop at a time until the already red carpet is wholly absorbed into the color of perfectly even crimson. Great! The crime is for you to keep and for none to find out. Haha, as if somebody cares to find!

... when you know you are running deeper and deeper into the dark forest. You were born under a deadly curse that drains, and drains, and drains you of love and joy and trust, a deadly curse that penetrates you with menace and terror. You crawl on the leaves, grope the hard, rough trunks, and cry for help. Up high, the foliage is flirting with the wind. Down here, the nocturnal clock is chiming. Everything is minding its own business. Everything! Except you, the pathetic and injured brute. Everything! Except you. arent you so ashamed? Yes, you, the disgraced, worthless wretch.

... something has been begging to die for so long. Every piece of it has been dying for so long; yet it is still here. The breaths are erratic and heavy; yet they are not final. The eyes are absent and oppressed; yet they are never, for a second, are blessed to close...”

there are moments... - Saturday July 1, 2006 - 08:42pm (EDT)