eclipse

you are my moon.
waxing:
first glances, first touches. you were my first.
i couldn't have been more head over heels if i'd tried. pulled towards you like waves.
1st quarter:
i blossomed (a night flower-lily you said)
and your eyes shone from behind your hair, like nothing could ever dim them again.
full:
peak time we couldn't go any further (reached the end of your tether?)
the beginning of the end (oh so cliché)
oh how she pulled you away, Lady Diana and dirty Diana.
and she stole you away, with her chariot. hunted you.
I loved Diana until then, until she shot me in the heart, an arrow piercing my chest.
last quarter:
we might as well skip this.
it was too quick for me to take notes.
waning:
Athena was born fully formed, grown up too fast.
Jealous Athena, jealous of Arachne
Athena, always protected by her armour.
enslaved by her shield.
Athena was left with her city, crumbling and useless-turned to dust by time.
And Diana isn't such a fucking virgin anymore.

progress is progress

as long as the tears came there was no need for the razor.
as long as there was anger and sadness and rage there was no need for anything more.
it's when the tears stop that you know you're in trouble.
it's almost grown up, in a way. let your feelings go and try and tell yourself there's still a heart beating under there.
press two fingers to your neck to feel that beat. remind me it's still going.

pretty soon after it loses its sting, it's just another pointless exercise, just another routine.
fade it out like music from the speakers.
if the blood isn't pounding then Pete certainly is.
take time out, regain your thoughts, experiment.
snort, smoke, drink, inject, swallow.
whatever takes the pain away and whatever makes you feel it (and/or)

someone once asked when i know i'd hit rock bottom, when i knew life wasn't worth it anymore.
and i thought and i realised.
it was when i wasn't scared of the dark.

you are a ticking clock, a bomb ready to blow up at the slightest nudge, i'm not tiptoeing round you anymore. i'm scared to get close in case i set you off, to explode and cry and pour out your hot, scalding hatred onto me.

it's not my fault you're so temperamental

the rain came down so hard that night

It's been a tough year for all it's worth
Still keep my phone number at the bottom of your purse
Between your sticks of gum and all the
Reasons why you don't call me anymore.

being tired is now a valid excuse, tired of the world, tired of humans in general and people in particular. this is weak ankles and heartbreak. this is bad tempers and rain. i think people are getting fed up with my excuses but it's all they'll get until it stops being true. sometimes, i just get tired. it happens.

just for the record the weather today is bitter with occasional spots of jealous rage

last night i found it is possible for a boy and a girl to sleep in the same bed, completely innocently and just sleep. it's strangely comforting to know that not every guy wants some whenever they can. it's a re-enforcement of the occasional honest nature of humans. yet sometimes it gets hard to believe that there's a point to putting up with it. feminism will never work because the problem goes far deeper than wage packets and job descrimination. it's the difference between players and sluts. pimps and whores. sex doesn't mean the point automatically goes to the guy, like he's entitled to show off later and give a blow by blow account of every blow. the girl got some action and maybe that's all she's looking for. what makes you think you're special enough to want a relationship with? maybe you're being used, ever thought about that?
girls can have notched bedposts too.

she's looking at stars

the french word for orgasm is 'le petit mort' - 'little death'. it makes sense that love is so painful. what doesn't make sense is why we put ourselves through it. is there honestly some reward, some emotional pat on the pack to congratulate yourself for getting through life as unscathed as possible? somehow it doesn't seem like much of a pursuasion (you are such pretty pursuasion). this isn't the best possible life but it's a start. this is...second place, average life. this is getting by, 9 to 5, average joe's weekday morning.

i'm the night and he's L.A.

if i'm your star, will you be my city? i'll trace the path up your chest, mapping the way to the hollows of your collar bone. take in every detail of your ink and every freckle on your back. perfection was never coveted, i wanted to memorise the rise and fall of your breath as you slept - to bask in those moments and wish you were conscious enough to love me for doing so. i wanted imperfections; beauty spots and bruises and bite marks. i wanted the raw musk of your skin, the sweet smell of you. i wanted the glow of you when you loved me and the sparkle in your eye that i ignited. i wanted fire and natural, animal passion. i needed that in you. i needed you wrapped in my sheets, arm flung over me - keeping me right there next to you where i was born to be. i needed to wake up before you and steal those precious moments when you couldn't stop me from staring. i needed early mornings and late nights and disjointed time all to myself. i needed those clichéd moments of sunrises and stargazing and flowers, to share those secret actions with you and only you. i needed our hands to match, a plaster cast of adoration to bind us together. i needed you to mould yourself to curl around me, yin and yang in one continuous circle. i needed that with you.

keep pulling at thread and soon the whole thing will unravel.

So wait up, I'm not sleeping alone again tonight,

There's so much to dream about, there must be more to my life. (So wait up)

So wait up I'm not sleeping alone again tonight

Between the light and shallow waves is where I'm going to die.

the whole point of getting away is tto find a corner of time and space in which to reassert yourself.

she was always a risk i'm not willing to take

we hope and pray for something just to throw it away after one too many swigs of vodka. we bargain for a chance at love only to gamble it all on a fumble behind a tent. but more importantly, we don't hide the evidence.
we are so fragile and breakable so why throw ourselves from such great heights?
my mouth was kept shut under lock and key and i couldn't warn you about how much trouble i was and whether i was worth it.
i'm very much aware than i am alive but the question is if i'm living. it's the difference in the shades. it's the difference between illegality and felony. it's the sublety that matters. this is mediocrity and nonchalance at it's most beautiful.
people never wrote songs about the love that worked out.