The Killing Jar

collector-butterfly

 

Distant ships and your fingers on the lid of the killing jar. The taste of alcohol speaks to me of frozen landscapes while lost love lurks somewhere nearby. It’s in a handful of your hair as we do our thing. It’s in the silence that comes when you can’t think of any other reason to keep on speaking. Everything serves a purpose, but these sensations are only temporary, and before you know it, everything has faded like the not-so-whites of your eyes. Slipping out of sight, and falling through thin ice. Your body is my body, and those thoughts you keep hidden are no more or less than what I deem fit. The colour of your panties, and the shape of your toes. Things that circle my mind as 2 am cigarette smoke drifts up to the moon. Those distant seas of gray, how they reflect these thoughts of mine. This need to bend you into positions that make your eyes water. It’s a waste of energy, but there’s nothing else that seems to lift these heavy moods. Open up your heart, and let me crawl inside until it’s okay to come out again. Words to paper over the cracks, and words to reclaim faith in romance that grows thinner every day. Numb to the ways of others, and selfish for secrets to take me out of this limbo. The way you open your mouth and the way you kick your feet against my lower back. Take it like a good girl should. Take my pain and make me feel better even though I can never be sure of what I want. Trains in the distance as your picture hangs on the wall above my bed. So many dreams that need to be captured on these pages, yet it’s so hard when no one else believes but me. Everything takes time, and time is the only thing I have left. Tigers always roaming. Tigers always snapping at my feet. Shine a light, and guide me back to safety before morning pulls me under yet again.

6 replies »

  1. It’s like you combined my favorite darkness and made a meal of it. This is exquisite. I relate intensely and moreover your writing is so intense you can taste it. Wonderful! Really wonderful! ♡

    • I’m very excited you enjoy my writing so much, as I do yours too, of course. Personally, my writing is at odds with who I am. When I write, it’s all about the darker side of life, but when I’m not writing, I’m quite chilled out and lazy. Not that that’s a bad thing I guess, but the conflict is always there, forever getting under my skin. Thank you for your kindness, I appreciate it immensely 🙂 x

      • It’s not a bad thing. Ideally none of us would in real life be sadder than any dark work we write. Many times people are sadder than their work and it only touches the tip of the iceberg, but if we are fortunate to find our non written lives, happier and brighter, more the good for being spared a unity of darkness in artistic endeavor and personal life. ♡♡ I’d say I was at times sadder than my writing (yikes!!). But wouldn’t encourage that or wish it if ever it could be avoided! ♡♡☆☆

      • I guess everyone is different, and everyone has a way that works best for them. Ultimately, the proof is in the pudding. It doesn’t really matter how we spend our time, for the most important thing is that we give a voice to the way we really real. The language of our hearts, or maybe even the soul. If we can translate them into words, then everything else is meaningless x

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