Seven Ounces



Pick up the phone. Put it down again. Sat perched on the edge of the bed; the heavens fall with you. Grass stains on your knees, the way it used to be when to be a kid was all there ever was. Before the great fall, there was a place we called our own. Ain’t no science behind it, just that things become plainer the older you get. The innocence of youth, it’s what drives us to write. Trying so hard to get back to that state of being where everything was pure, it’s what compels us to do what we do. Out there, in the mess of the adult world, there’s a plateau where all our fears dissolve. One day, things will be better, but only if we keep searching. Relationships come and go. Lovers slipping through fingers like grains of salt ready to be rubbed into open wounds. What a fucked up dance we get caught in, but in the end, there’s no other way. Lacerations against the spirit, and a heavy heart that struggles to deal with the dulling days that tie you down. So many reasons to give up, yet the pleasure is in being stubborn. You’re expected to call it quits; it’s just the way it is. Yet you keep on going. It comes as no surprise, although it still leaves you breathless every time you let your mind wander. Such a bewildering game, and yet it has to be played. I’ll give you my fire, for that’s all that I can give. When the air in my lungs ceases, and the seven ounces of what I am evaporates, you will know that I was yours. Take these pages. Be as you want to be, and never settle for less. Flirt with danger, and place your mouth on mine. Take your hands, and wrap them around this mess of what others call less than a living. All we have to do is believe. To let go of all those chains.

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