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Array
(
[sid] => 113059
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => blue writing
[time] => 2006-01-12 19:11:58
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => I can’t, but for you my eyelids droop. And fingers tap, a dance of exhausted dedication. Nevermind Red when you’re around. (Why at two thirty in the morning?) Shoosh. I kill people until they splat with red fleshchunks. (In computerhead and fourpseakers surround, A booming behind me is in front and inside my head.) It’s all a matter of fact. A flower dripping from shining blood drops to be stepped upon but not crushed; it’s in my fingers now. Switch sides. (It’s very Hard.) I’m looking for a place for you. Did you know, and so, for these floors or whatever whenever, To lay with you or on or in you whatever way whenever? It’s all to hold and touch you with soft fingertips. Green eyes of jade or jaded will never gaze upon you like I do. A child at a concrete construction site stares like I do every day passing by in boots I can’t help but think of how their soles are wearing out with every step; I still look up every once in a while. You know, I know It doesn’t matter how much I’ve had or how I’m wrecked or destroyed, like Zero Hour, it affected me more then I knew to be gaping years later, it was The thought of a cold cold nuclear winter Identical but Dead. I still love you longer then you may believe possible. So don’t worry and Don’t say sorry. It’s blue writing and I can’t get any sleep because of you you insufferable ghostly disease hurt me with your love An aching that I can not bear to be without. [2006-01-12 03:05:01] [comments] => 1 [counter] => 167 [topic] => 30 [informant] => SensitiveSoAbused [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => PoemsonBeauty )
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