beggar & insane maiden,
by rewired,
8/30/03.
World’s grown dark again,
then you come strolling in to add more than
a touch of torture.
When will I get over this? That
could be a long time coming, and maybe
you’re just a fixation that’ll pass, but
It’d be such a relief if could get you off my mind.
I’d be incomprehensibly ecstatic if I could do something
with this feeling I’ve got inside,
but my rib cage is smothering an anorexic heart that
wants to open wide as, by mind, I look and listen for the answer
that will end this persistent omnipresent dilemma of self-damnation, but it’s
not easy when I’m so hopelessly dumb and deaf and blind.
You know I want you, but
what do you expect from me?
You know I want, you, do you
come here just to kill me?
I’m so embarrassed seeing you
here after so long, so
embarrassed that I’m still
such a fucking moron.
I’m incapacitated,
annihilated from the inside out.
Can’t help but keep on
looking your way,
faith in my will is blind –
no doubt –
I need something to relieve this.
Need some way to release this
tragedy of internal incongruence:
if I could only let go and drive this will, but I’m
under the influence and I can’t
switch off autopilot, I’m
bound to my rounds, but you could step inside my cycles
or I could do the unspeakable,
break my orbit, risk a new path in a world where
I am but an infant, naked and ignorant and vulnerable –
but this costume’s so calloused and
I’m addicted to control, and so you are
a threat to all my most cherished delusions –
but I’m raped to the base when
you stroll on through the door;
slice on through my mind, opening
another wound, exposing the
swamp I try and hide.
Just like a feat
before confused me,
unable to connect it with the
suffering pangs within me,
lost in the droning rhythm of
fretting about how I shouldn’t be hungry,
fretting about why, how, who –
fretting about everything, traveling
– light years – from – Now’s pangs
and the solution to this
senseless suffering.
Seems I’m too
Weak to reach out –
perhaps to feed me, or
the little left here to save –
but it’s probably sour
and poisoned anyway, so
fuck it, I tell myself.
How I wish the food would just
leap up off the table and ram itself down my throat,
but perhaps it lies here still today –
outdated, in a glass case, on someone else’s plate –
to torture me with the choice I once had to partake
but thoughtlessly threw away.
Never know what you
could’ve had until the
opportunity’s gone like a
dried leaf in a bitter
autumn wind.
I’m so numb, so tense, so paralyzed by this.
Need a look, a word, a fuck, a kiss, so I
take a moment to take you in; I sink into
this gap between desire and action, the
electric storm of elastic tension
(expanding, stretching --
damn it’s strength) –
Wet hair, dead face,
wild, alive and deep and
spacey, vibrant eyes:
the look of torture that turns and twists
my already-aching soul.
Can’t you realize why I can do nothing but run and hide,
Miss Horribly Wicked, Tragic, and Maddeningly Beautiful?
Dear, it’s so clear that I would die once again,
I’d die twice, if it was the price to pay to
feel the life I find in you and your
addicting gaze forever, but the condition I’m in?
I could never.
I’m dead broke,
a beggar low on hope.
I hold up my empty
eyes to you, begging for change,
something exciting, new,
gaze in, look in, deep in, break through –
fill me up, my insane maiden,
would you?
by rewired,
8/30/03.
World’s grown dark again,
then you come strolling in to add more than
a touch of torture.
When will I get over this? That
could be a long time coming, and maybe
you’re just a fixation that’ll pass, but
It’d be such a relief if could get you off my mind.
I’d be incomprehensibly ecstatic if I could do something
with this feeling I’ve got inside,
but my rib cage is smothering an anorexic heart that
wants to open wide as, by mind, I look and listen for the answer
that will end this persistent omnipresent dilemma of self-damnation, but it’s
not easy when I’m so hopelessly dumb and deaf and blind.
You know I want you, but
what do you expect from me?
You know I want, you, do you
come here just to kill me?
I’m so embarrassed seeing you
here after so long, so
embarrassed that I’m still
such a fucking moron.
I’m incapacitated,
annihilated from the inside out.
Can’t help but keep on
looking your way,
faith in my will is blind –
no doubt –
I need something to relieve this.
Need some way to release this
tragedy of internal incongruence:
if I could only let go and drive this will, but I’m
under the influence and I can’t
switch off autopilot, I’m
bound to my rounds, but you could step inside my cycles
or I could do the unspeakable,
break my orbit, risk a new path in a world where
I am but an infant, naked and ignorant and vulnerable –
but this costume’s so calloused and
I’m addicted to control, and so you are
a threat to all my most cherished delusions –
but I’m raped to the base when
you stroll on through the door;
slice on through my mind, opening
another wound, exposing the
swamp I try and hide.
Just like a feat
before confused me,
unable to connect it with the
suffering pangs within me,
lost in the droning rhythm of
fretting about how I shouldn’t be hungry,
fretting about why, how, who –
fretting about everything, traveling
– light years – from – Now’s pangs
and the solution to this
senseless suffering.
Seems I’m too
Weak to reach out –
perhaps to feed me, or
the little left here to save –
but it’s probably sour
and poisoned anyway, so
fuck it, I tell myself.
How I wish the food would just
leap up off the table and ram itself down my throat,
but perhaps it lies here still today –
outdated, in a glass case, on someone else’s plate –
to torture me with the choice I once had to partake
but thoughtlessly threw away.
Never know what you
could’ve had until the
opportunity’s gone like a
dried leaf in a bitter
autumn wind.
I’m so numb, so tense, so paralyzed by this.
Need a look, a word, a fuck, a kiss, so I
take a moment to take you in; I sink into
this gap between desire and action, the
electric storm of elastic tension
(expanding, stretching --
damn it’s strength) –
Wet hair, dead face,
wild, alive and deep and
spacey, vibrant eyes:
the look of torture that turns and twists
my already-aching soul.
Can’t you realize why I can do nothing but run and hide,
Miss Horribly Wicked, Tragic, and Maddeningly Beautiful?
Dear, it’s so clear that I would die once again,
I’d die twice, if it was the price to pay to
feel the life I find in you and your
addicting gaze forever, but the condition I’m in?
I could never.
I’m dead broke,
a beggar low on hope.
I hold up my empty
eyes to you, begging for change,
something exciting, new,
gaze in, look in, deep in, break through –
fill me up, my insane maiden,
would you?
