Let me decimate this crap with romantic gestures and infantile dreams...
They all speak of Fuck that Matrix bullshit, I'm talking about real-life pain and strain; the penultimate desire to absorb that other half of yourself that seems to be able to walk this plane without you.
At this point she is far from a distant memory yet memory she remains. A million cliches dance in my head, angels they are not, as I try to pin down exactly what it was she held me with. Power, surely, but I am impelled to identify exactly how and why she was able to consume every attention I paid her greedily and still leave me hanging out to dry. Goddamnd you, bitch, for creating this monster and only the sweetest blessing drops of blossom can I lay at your feet. I worship you still and you will never know. Does it seem illogical to hate and love at the same time? Only if you don't know. Only if you don't... adhere to common misconception. If you walk your own path you've undoubtedly uncovered a myriad of skeletons and made them dance to your song, crooning regret and dispelling any swell of guilt.
Fuck poetry.
The One, she still walks the veins of my mind and I could not care less if I didn't care so much. How ironic that you who taught me to truly love taught me to hold back, never tell, and keep this one man an impenetrable island. You were always the best teacher. I now make iron seem jello. I spit these words now only with an alcoholic fume to follow them. This is this. This isn't something else; this is this.
Conclusion, yes? Isn't it just. Nah, forgive me if I lead you down another path for the moment. Reality begs to be acknowledged, and yet I find that my study of the Japanese language leaves my command of the English language faltering... dead in a ditch, as it were. Fuckit, let's consult the now. Resident of Japan I am, outsider by nature, and I tend to characterize the entire country as a woman that hasn't accepted me yet. She will eventually if I play the right game, and games are my forte, but I remain tiptoe-cautious.
My god you are beautiful. My Japan, my love, my girl... my self-imposed disillusionment. When I finally call my own bluff I will be riding the rails of my own soul, replete with awareness, love, and knowledge of your goals and heartaches. Such knowledge of the future with so little ability demands Buddha-like satisfaction in the sensual pressures of the here and now. No problem.
Let me mish-mash words and sing-song melodies to pass the time.
And so it goes.