Frantic Beauty

You feel it in the fingertips of the heart. Blind. Reaching out through the central nervous system. Carving into you like clay, working through you like putty.  For a moment it rests behind the eyes, and you stop, paralyzed. Because before you know what it is, you see it in its entirety. And its too much.  The world is too rigid and time is too steady and it will never fit, there's no place. Its hopeless and you haven't even begun. Oceans of peach pits fill your chest and the window panes in your retina start to frost over.

Then, against the internal pressure a crack forms at the top of the head. If you're lucky, a whisp pours out, like mist rolling off the mountain. And it is nothing like what you saw.  In fact it's barely even visible.  But if you're smart enough to throw away the image behind your eyes, you'll notice that it's breathing, if not yet alive.

Can you keep it? Can you give it form without strangling it? Or will it dissipate as soon as you reach for it?

Can you love it enough to try?

Beat Your Heart out

Stop me if I’ve gone too far. I’ll find the heart of what you mean to me. And I’ll spit it out. I’m so hungry I could grind my teeth against your bones.  I’m only growing by the trail I leave behind. Down the line. Down the line. Sex is a beautiful thing to waste. Down the line. Not enough to pass them by. Have to make them feel. Have to make them need me. Maybe I never will. 

Is that what makes you perfect? Begging me to pin you down. To not hold back. I’ll only take the things that matter most. Banging on my chest. Turn me into something else. Turn me into what you need. So I don’t have to choose. I can make it everything. I can make it more than us. I can give and give and drill into you beyond what you know. I’ll leave my mark. Then cut you off. Carcass of desire. Chewing on your arteries. Down the line. Not strong enough to last.