When she jumped, she probably thought she could fly.
The Virgin Suicides, 1999
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
The Hole
I am tired. I need sleep, but it won't come to me.
The Hole
The dark is deep; it is silent. It is there.
It wraps its forked tongue around my neck until I can no longer breathe.
They are the ones, the indifferent. They carry on, trudging, plodding, ranting.
Their eyes look right through me. My screams are silent to them.
I plead with them, but they do not feel me. They do not feel me.
The ground opens up and I fall. Down, down, down.
The pain courses through my veins, cold, icy. It belongs to every minute particle that defines what is me. It belongs to me, it is me.
The parts make the hole.
The Hole
The dark is deep; it is silent. It is there.
It wraps its forked tongue around my neck until I can no longer breathe.
They are the ones, the indifferent. They carry on, trudging, plodding, ranting.
Their eyes look right through me. My screams are silent to them.
I plead with them, but they do not feel me. They do not feel me.
The ground opens up and I fall. Down, down, down.
The pain courses through my veins, cold, icy. It belongs to every minute particle that defines what is me. It belongs to me, it is me.
The parts make the hole.
Monday, September 1, 2008
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