Kurrs' Digital Tapestry of Words

There were times when you reached out; fragile electric fingers reaching with words balanced and run along wire. A familiar rhetoric of emptiness and self-loathing. In those moments, I remember fanciful notions of dispelling them, running my fingers along your long neck and watching your face implode into a smile at the feeling. Some mixture of ticklish sexual reverie and recklessly abandoned uncertainty. But it was a fancy, little more.

I'm undone by a collision of chronology and situation. Maybe you do look at me the way I think you do. Maybe you don't only think about what I say and that the quiver I detect is there: that I sing your note and you begin to shake ever so slightly that maybe you don't even know you are. But the truth, in this instance, doesn't matter as much. More, I am undone by its result, by the whats instead of the becauses or the whys.

I want you. I'm not even sure I do, and perhaps you are, on some level, a statement of hubris on my part, but I resonate for you. You cut me to the quick, my darling, even if you might not cut deeply. I can feel myself giving up, not because of you, but because of her and her and it. I hope I'm not, because that means I'm worse off that I like to be. Broken, and not even able to enjoy the liminality that dysfunction brings.




Written On: Home Computer