I said it boldly, my hand clasping a bottle I would soon break
And as the words left me, they formed in me as well - although they had long ago, now they crystallized, now they stuck. I swallow nothing but burns. It was odd to see them echo around the room, the hollow thuds, the meaninglessness, the power. You froze, I'd like to think. For a second.
And there you were, suddenly, all-encompassing, your darkened virtue a spewing stream of neglectful wishes. Is this that, that desperation? From you, and from you, and from me, and then - click, click, goes the door. Fear has entered the chat.
Is the speech stronger, or weaker, now? Do the words pierce you like arrows like they do me, do you wonder what I said, why I said it? Do you feel guilty, as guilty, as aware, as quiet, as loud, as immovable, as restlessly murderous, as violent, as uncomfortably ecstatic. I want to hear these words, I want my peace, I want you to rot and your words to be the first thing picked clean by the crows.
The joke, as always, is the lack of punchline. Where do we go from here, from that moment of vacuous disconnect, from a word said and a word replied? We go nowhere - we crawl back inside and wait for daylight to make us forget, until the moon comes forth again and, without a faded thought, we will continue.
©another
A