Untitled
Posted: Mon Mar 24, 2003 4:11 am
Untitled
I can remember each echo of love I have
been a part of, and remember
their hearts and places.
I remember you when you were desperate for
everything,
continuously intoxicated,
looking to be everywhere at once,
and all things to all people.
You took one I brought home to bed
within a hour after meeting him,
and I knew you would.
Your whole life was ran on a fuel
of ignorance and alcohol,
and now I know
that mine did as well.
I loved all these women
in the only way I knew,
but it seems
I always loved myself more.
And I can see you like you were then,
bleeding in both soul and heart
as you lied on the floor,
your legs spread for him just
for the hell of it.
You were a beautiful woman, I
never
understood it.
You were the mother of everything
worth seeing, and
the waste was profound.
And we wasted away together,
like mad, chaotic fools,
or contrary little children.
There are more, for sure;
I often quietly wonder to myself
where they all are today.
We were the children of an age of ambition,
and we victimized ourselves
in innumerable ways.
Surviving the changes of a restless world
was difficult enough,
but surviving myself was much harder.
I loved all these women
in the only way I knew,
but it seems
I always loved myself more.
I can remember each echo of love I have
been a part of, and remember
their hearts and places.
I remember you when you were desperate for
everything,
continuously intoxicated,
looking to be everywhere at once,
and all things to all people.
You took one I brought home to bed
within a hour after meeting him,
and I knew you would.
Your whole life was ran on a fuel
of ignorance and alcohol,
and now I know
that mine did as well.
I loved all these women
in the only way I knew,
but it seems
I always loved myself more.
And I can see you like you were then,
bleeding in both soul and heart
as you lied on the floor,
your legs spread for him just
for the hell of it.
You were a beautiful woman, I
never
understood it.
You were the mother of everything
worth seeing, and
the waste was profound.
And we wasted away together,
like mad, chaotic fools,
or contrary little children.
There are more, for sure;
I often quietly wonder to myself
where they all are today.
We were the children of an age of ambition,
and we victimized ourselves
in innumerable ways.
Surviving the changes of a restless world
was difficult enough,
but surviving myself was much harder.
I loved all these women
in the only way I knew,
but it seems
I always loved myself more.