27 July, 2012

24 July, 2012

Unspooling


"I write, I write to be heard," he said.

"I need a witness to my life as it gently unfurls. Can you be a Lover to my feverish engorged words? A misplaced muse to my molten moods? Stroke your flesh of its revulsion; despair makes me rude. Embrace my trembling lines - a mother to my wounds; a windbreaker to my angst, if I speak out too soon. My laughter will fire a cratered Moon in your skies. The stealth of my secrets shall lie forbidden in your eyes. Go on girl, romance my mundane, lick, oh lick at the profane. Will your ears err to hear me here? A magician needs his audience, a murderer his perfect mistake. Dance to my wretched tunes, darling, I'm a music-maker on a break."

"My life demands its witness - all I ask is to be heard."

[The inspiration for this was, of all things, an SMS. So it goes.]

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