Winter gets so cold.

I want to cut myself in half and let all of my contents pour our onto the table for you to see. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it. As we're lying naked in bed face to face and you look at me, what do you see? I want to get high with you and never come down. I want acoustic melodies to play through the air as we float over the bed in infinite space. Melodies stuck in my head that make your intestines feel warm. The same intestines that are going to fall out on the table whenever someone decides they're ready to listen, really listen. Maybe I'm making up for when I was so numb, so oblivious that I couldn't speak. I couldn't think. I couldn't type. I couldn't breathe. It was melancholy and periodically joyful but what I came to realize is I'm not me unless I'm chasing something. And now, even when I'm focused on what's at stake, my mind still flutters to the dreams I cannot have. That's who I am. My jaw is clenched my face is smiling and you think I'm happy but as soon as that sun comes up, we both know its over. It doesn't have to be, but it is. The rivers in my mind dry up and I forget it. But there is still this well in the back of my brain that overflows with ideas of a superb utopia. That's the thing, though. You don't exist. At least not in my world, my time. Of all the people who have lived, died, been made up, thought of, created, in all the world...one of them is bound to capture the same disastrous orgasmic ideals. We're all so caught up in making our lives materialistic, spiritual, and social, we forget about the centuries before us. We're devolving and we're too dumb and low spirited to see it. We enjoy our fantasies played out on screens or written in books but we never strive to be in the movie or book. We're all broken creatures. Everyone of us. Broken enough to be humble. We all have bad habits. Mine is chasing things that don't want to be chased. Maybe I'll grow out of it. Maybe I'll bury it somewhere in the depths of the ocean. Between the devil and the deep blue sea. I strive to be as enlightened as many do. But there comes a time when push comes to shove that our floating naked bodies hovering on top of glorious measures and bars of music, just isn't enough for this world. We live in a world where being naked, our own bare selfs, is hidden. Our self is taboo. But violence is advertised. And why shouldn't it be? Haven't we succumbed to being just like the rest of the mammals in the animal world? Except we're given greater opportunities that we pull our pants down, squat, and shit on. We close our eyes really tight, and we pretend the monsters will go away. But they never go away. They just hide under our beds for us to forget about and stumble upon later. Count backwards from one hundred to keep yourself from crying. Do not be vulnerable. Society says so. I want to force myself into your arms so I can steal your warmth and make it my own. I want to jump on your back while you are not looking and knock you down and make you giggle. We are just living these fake lives with fake identities because we don't really know our own. And while we seem so intertwined within each others bodies and minds, its all just a fraud. Close your eyes and pretend. Maybe the monsters will go away. Maybe this one will stick around. Maybe, just maybe the rivers in your mind can run with fresh water again. Who are we kidding? We're too young to know any better. So, excuse me while I sew myself back up shut. Because no one is ever actually going to listen, really listen. That's my story. And I'm sticking to it.