'nuff said

i know, i know, it's shameless self-celebration. whatever.
but you know what? made me laugh.
and that, in and of itself, is quite an accomplishment.
(the fact that it was written on a semi-official document definitely adds to the hilarity)

1

you saved my life
i wasn't there to save yours

i'm sorry

i hope you can forgive me
because i know i can't forgive myself

buio

hardly more than a blind woman
sitting alone, silently, in a dark room
senses alert, looking for a black cat
searching for something which isn't there

vibrate

my phone's on vibrate for you

god knows what all these new drugs do

i guess to have no more fears

but still i always end up in tears

[r.w.]

the verge is a few frustrations to your left

it's in times like this that i wish i had the linguistic (and mental) ability to regurgitate all the anger and frustration and... and what? if i can't even put it into words. and why anger? against who? frustration, well, maybe. sit at a table, smile, be my better self, introduce myself with witty expressions that will make you smile and maybe even think i'm funny but i'm just trying to... to do what? the message is not in the words, read between the lines ~ why do you want to know who i am? what i do? it's inconsequential, i despise what i do, and what i really do, nobody knows, it's mine, do you really think i care about this? that your pretentious, empty words really make you important in my eyes? that i will look at you in awe? that what you do matters to me? that your pompous abstract lucubrations define who you are? i know that my priorities don't match yours, what you deem so lifesaving, your seemingly vital meetingspaperstheorybusinessbureaucracymoneyappearances and whathaveyou, hey, be my guest, i can gladly do without that, i'll trade all of it for a pair of eyes and a smile, the unmediated, raw, gut-wrenching, heartbreakingly painful, tear-jerkingly sad human side of life, the only (valuable?) trace i want to leave of me ~
leave a mark, sell an image. i'm not good at that. it's heartbreaking to be so fake at times. i swim in my green glass, anchored to the bright, plasticky red of a solitary cherry. no pit, we match. self-involved or self-pitying, the difference at times is so thin, see-through like an indian blouse that shines in an unforgiving sun. i want to be saved by tea. i know i was supposed to offer, but i didn't, and i feel guilty now
stop hinting at it, will ya? stop looking at me, will ya?
but at the same time, i can't let her in
please stop, dinner is turning into a nightmare, stop
i can't take it, it's overwhelmingly saccharine. i can drown in lemons, not in sugar. if only they were red. and my nose stopped bleeding. overflow?

sanity is relative.