An Illusory State Of Mind

I swore I would let it all out. Here I lay on the leftovers of the celebration of my life. Have I not loved so honestly, so strongly? Then why it is all gone so fast so easily? The party is over, and I am passed out on the floor. Among all of those things lying around me on the ground, among footsteps, spilt drinks, food, I am no different...

I had no idea one voice could make me so helplessly lost. I had no idea my eyes could be shy enough to look away at the sight of a devilish imperfection. Her voice fed my veins their origin, their poison and their catharsis. No harsher looks have ever pierced me, and my fragile skin gave in to those sharp dark looks. My mind celebrated an explosion of sensorial meanings I hardly knew existed. I could not cry, there were eyes everywhere, yet oh how I wish I could. Had I a moment of solitude, I would have wept a hundred years.yet whoever condemns such feelings is not my friend, and carelessness is all I feel toward them. She brought pleasure to my mind, as no one has ever done before. I helplessly watched the shape of her nose and how it gently melts into the most beautiful lips, and violently they danced. What else to do in the presence of such a goddess, what else but stare and shiver. So I shivered, looked up and shivered, looked down and shivered. My bones have found home and to home all of me longed. What world could possibly carry this silly of a dream, she was a goddess, I was the dying rose growing on a random wall in a plain corner of an endless garden she walked in. How insolent is my blood  for boiling for her nearness, how cruel is my nose for fetching her scent everywhere I go. What is left of me but remains of a burning detail in her presence.

“Writing is like sex. First you do it for love, then you do it for your friends, and then you do it for money.” ― Virginia Woolf. I still do it for love.

I don't know you at all, I just want to strip you off your layers and cleanse your wounds. If I had a heart I would dare to dream of your touch. If I had a heart I would dare to want your scent painted on my walls, on my cheekbones, on my neck, on my shoulders, on my hair, on my chest on my fingers and all over my skin, inside of me and within my breath. If  had a heart I would ask for you sometimes, I would make you a most pleasant thought, a most appeasing voice. If I had a heart I would throw it to you and recklessly, so thoughtlessly ask for yours in return. I fear all that is you will never leave my head, I fear all that is you will always be unattainable. I'm too exhausted to play the game, but oh how I wish, how I wish I had a heart. I know not much but I have learnt that knowledge makes one so very miserable. What a fool I am to seek such misery! Oh allow me a heart, allow me a heart that my chest locks away, allow me one heart and I will throw it into the flames, into the hands of a beautiful stranger. Allow me, I beg of you, allow me one heart. But don't you hear my prayer, these are words of a fool, words that are drenched in wine, headless. I seek no company, only exploration. All the beauties and muses can drown themselves, melt into colours and play with my hair, I will eventually look away, go to sleep, get stolen by a thought, I will want a new adventure. Whether it is a Dionysian kind of greed or a nihilistic state of nirvana, I do not know. Perhaps it is the want to possess every music in the world.  Each holds eternity within them, yet no one can be infinite enough to kill me. Perhaps, I do have a heart, a greedy heart, so greedy that nothing can ever fill its void. If only I had a kinder heart, I could dare to spend an eternity inhaling your scent.