Sunday, 14 December 2014

Doctor Who References

Your goofy spectacles and doofus smiles  follow me around, over the nation, over the rambles of routes in my messed up imagination. Honey I fall for you every time, no matter what shape your face, what shade your eyes, what flavour your breath, I’ll always recognize your music coloured hair no matter what skin you wear. ‘I am not your boyfriend Clara’ No you’re not Doctor, you’re the mate I have the most amazing adventures with, not that I’d mate with you any day soon. Argh Doctor Who references follow me around like an aura hardly anyone understands, but yeah you, fine I won’t bring him in, won’t call you the doctor, won’t call you a fantasy, won’t call you the one man I’ve fallen so in love with through the changing faces and personalities that it’s hard not to bring him up in every conversation I have. You’re the guy with writing on your hand that describes the words that sometimes fail to form through the tangles in my mind; the one who dances to music even when it's not really there; the one who expects so much from my person that I feel like falling through my insecurities and inhibitions into the challenges I hide from. 


The streetlights flicker like candles and I catch a glimpse of your smile. It's just not the usual kind, the kind I loved growing up to. It's dark and I don't want to know why, I don't want to know what pleases you now. It's getting harder and harder for me to think of you as the sister I've bled so much for. I don't want to think about what's going on in that head of yours, but the thing is I know you too well, always did. Know the signs, the shift in your voice, the movement of your  eyes. And right now I almost wish that you were a stranger. A stranger so it wouldn't hurt when I did it. It wouldn't hurt me so fucking much when I put that knife in your chest and watch you bleed, with all the disgust I  have for monsters who live. Yeah streetlights are better that white lights. I don't have to see too much.

Ranting Writing On Writing

Honey the way you write is a full on riot on my heart, that can barely stand your assault, on my senses and I am overwhelmed by the emotion I buried away on those lonely nights of long ago, I spiral out of control on a wave of sorrow, no, I am not sure I want to be so helplessly lost every time you write about those stubborn wounds that don't seem to heal, I'd rather not remember what I worked so hard to forget that I don't remember it until you say those horrible words telling me about the fire that burnt you out leaving you broken, again, and I am amazed every time I realize that honey you still want to fly, you still haven't learnt the lesson we think life tries to teach us by shattering us apart in ways it's hard to get back together into the shape of a person, no you go right on, marchin' on your beautiful song, in power that refuses to back down, and it makes me smile to think of your crooked light shining on.