For a Woman Impossible to Love

I do nothing in halves.

When I love, I love with every sinew of my body. I consume like a fire; burn up the room, the house and the trees around it. Intensity settles in on me. I do not fear the all or nothing. I love like a storm. A disaster. I see everything in your eyes and feel every little twitch of emotion that fills your face.

I love like this because I have lacked love in my life. I have been tortured to the point of near death. Hated. Reviled. Feared. And I struck out. I built walls so high that no one could scale them. I grew the thorniest vines up the sides. I stretched out badlands all around. And I drew away. I protected myself. I still do.

I do not love easily. To let someone in the glass fortress that is my heart is the biggest risk. It could shatter with the slightest prick. I am scabrous on my exterior; thorny, sharp but delicate as fading rose petals on the inside. I feel too much and to be broken desends on me like torture. To be left at the roadside staring at those tail lights as they fade into the distance relives that torment; that abandonment that brought me here in the first place.

If I love you, it is with everything. Very few can live under the weight of it and none have succeeded so far. I am a woman impossible to love so I retreat further into my caves. Block the light out. Shut the world off. I crawl further away and wrap my heart in layers of spit and tinfoil. Hide it in the back of my ribs; bury it under rock hoping no one will ever find it again.

Because when the light of minor pinpoints starts to pry it open and pain ultimately consumes it in the end, I become the monster I always thought I was and set to devouring the world one little death at a time. 

Lumpish

I wish I was dead.

...
Wait...

I'm probably just being overly dramatic.

My muscles aren't fitting right. The government is taking all my money. My lover doesn't love me. I don't have no booze in the kitchen and I can't even get drunk. I smoked all my drugs up. These pills the doctor gave me to pull it off don't do nothing fun. The phone refuses to ring. My teeth are clenching and won't stop. There's a dead horse in the ditch outside. A hooker stole my shoes. The junky down the street keeps singing off key and I forgot the words to those hangman hymns. The dentist called me all angry that I hadn't paid my bills. I'll owe student loans still in my grave. They will be taxing my headstone. I've got my soul on the lay-away plan so I'm having trouble feeling anything clearly. That tree I planted last year in the yard sprouted up a thorny bush. The fucking condos are creeping up the street and blocking out the sun. My love letters get returned unopened and with postage due. I've been hanging out with the ghosts downstairs too much but they have better cookies than I do.  I have a gun but it only shoots water. I can't afford the bullets.

...
Wait...

Maybe I do wish I was dead.

Terminal and Main

Unrequited love is my favourite disease.

To Be Unreal

No one will know what it's like to be out of phase with this plain of existence. To have stepped slightly to the left of reality and thus to feel unreal. It feels like an electrical cable driven into your guts constantly zapping you; rippling buzzy zip and zaps of nervous enegry through you. It's like having bees under your skin all the time. Like rivers of electrofied water in your veins. Nothing feels right. You're just not sure you are here. You feel like you might disappear any minute. Tune out like a fuzzy picture on an old TV.

I wake up like this.
I walk through life like this.
I pretend I'm fine.

But I'm just that little bit out of focus. Slipping between the slats in reality and something.... else.  Buzzing on the edge of electric waves trying to pull me to pieces. I feel unsteady. Unstable. Not quite here. Not sure I'm actually alive. Like I need an anchor. Like I need you to hold me down and tell me I'm really real. Make sure that I don't slip down those cracks to somewhere else. Make sure I don't just fade away.

Please hold me down before they pull me out of here.

Foolish

I try. I really do. But I'm kind of an idiot when it comes to these things.

Queen of Wrong

I am wrong. I live upon a mountain of wrongness. Exist clinging to cliffs of wrongness. In a state of constant wrong. I am buried in wrong.

I was born wrong to the wrong sorts of people on the wrong side of the tracks. I talk wrong. I dress wrong. I walk wrong. I think wrong. I lust wrong and I hate wrong. I am wrong in the eyes of lovers and enemies. I taste all wrong. I do only wrong. I read the wrong books. I walk the wrong path. I worry wrong. I suffer wrongly. I come from the wrong town. I do the wrong things. I take the wrong corners and I cling to wrongness in your eyes. I am never right.

I am in a kingdom of wrongness. I am a Queen of wrong. I impale my self on my own spikes of wrongness on tall walls built of the wrong bricks. My eyes are wrong. My skin is wrong. I have the wrong bones in the wrong body. I am screaming wrong at the top of my lungs and slip from those wrong spires. I am wrong in the face of the wrong gods and I love only in wrongness.

And when its all over I will close my eyes the wrong way and cry the wrong tears.