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No one's posted in here in entirely too long, so I figured what the hell? - Wonderless Words [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]
I'm a poet and I didn't even know that I am one.

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No one's posted in here in entirely too long, so I figured what the hell? [Aug. 23rd, 2004|05:33 am]
I'm a poet and I didn't even know that I am one.
wonderlesswords
[fishnetaubrey]
[this mood swings toward |rejectedrejected]

"Today is the last day of the world," he said.

But he was crazy, so no one heard him.

Oh, they heard the words, though he said it through a mouthful of his own flesh, so it was muffled a bit. They heard the words, but since he was taking a bite of his own arm, they chose not to heed them. And those who really were listening were a bit put off by the school-girl giggle directly following the statement, so in effect, they might as well not have heard him at all.

And afterall, it wasn't the first time he'd heralded the apocalypse. In fact, it was maybe the tenth or seventeenth. The records were unclear. Sometimes, the words were so muffled, the nurse heard them as, "Jesus drinks cheap wine and munches on babies," and marked it as such on the file. And regardless, paid no attention, knowing it could not be true; Jesus wasn't French.

So don't read them as the antagonist of this fairy tale. They aren't the wicked witch any more than he is the beset upon princess. They would laugh at you for suggesting it, and would not be beyond strapping you to a cot in a room with white walls and pumping you fill of Thorazine. They do not, in fact, believe in witches. But they do believe that fairy tales are the leading cause of schizophrenia in people with brown eyes.

Consequently, as a result of their feelings about persons with brown eyes and fairy tales in general, your narrarator would be in dire trouble had he occasion to meet with them. Thankfully, your narrarator knows from whom to keep his distance.

It is not for the reader to know if he was really insane, although intelligence might suggest that he was not, in fact, quite insane until after they had gotten hold of him. Their definition of lunacy is a bit skewed. They have a tendency to make people truly insane only after they've already locked them up, to prove themselves right. This doesn't make them bad; they are human. Their actions merely reenforce this idea.

Nor is it for the reader to know whether he really had prior knowledge of the coming apocalypse. He had been proclaiming it for some time; logic suggests that sooner or later he would get it right. The implication, then, is that it was merely a rare case of right place/right time.






I guess fate is the reason my hands shake.
And fate is the reason I can't sleep at night.
And fate is why I can't stop thinking of you.

I guess fate is the reason time won't heal my wounds.
And fate is the reason I feel phantom needles in my veins.
And fate is why I can't stop thinking of you.

I guess fate is the reason loving hurts too much.
And fate is the reason not loving hurts too much.
And fate is why I can't stop thinking of you.

I guess fate is the reason.
I can't stop thinking of you.


:::


Forgotten Confession


I neglected to mention that I love you.

We were sitting on the sidewalk. Leaning against that brick building down on 6th. The sun was shining at some point... but that was earlier, somewhere between the top of the flame and the tip of the cigarette. Thunderclouds, then. Heavy and dark. Hanging. I'd've said pendulous, but you always had a habit of laughing at me. So we sat together in the shadows of thunderclouds, waiting for the downpour.

I watched the sky.
You watched me.

We never talked much. Our language together mostly consisted of gestures and eye-contact, smiles and raised eyebrows. Our uncomfortable silence was an art form. We always knew eachothers' answers before our lips even formed the questions. It was beautiful. Strangers and aquaintances always mentioned it. It was wonderful.

And you hated it.
And I hated you.

Sometimes.

So we sat together. In silence. Thunderclouds hanging over us. And neither of us were surprised at the first clap of thunder. It rattled windows in their frames, but we didn't flinch. The lightning flashed and we didn't even blink.

We knew it was coming.
We were prepared.

When the rain finally started falling, we got soaked. From the way we were sitting, I knew it would happen. Lightning flashed, thunder crashed, rain fell hard on the bare skin of our arms and legs, necks and faces. You leaned over and kissed me. Hard. Like it was the last thing you'd ever do. Then you stood up and walked away.

And I forgot to say goodbye.
And I neglected to mention that I love you.
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