Rustling under the sheets
Like the restless rustle of leaves at night
My limbs move irritably
One against the other
Manifesting the state of my mind
As memories of you
From yesteryear
And from yesterday
Jarr noisily against each other
Bringing all other thoughts
To a screeching blood curdling halt.
And then,
It all stills.
Stills of you and me
Over and over.
In different places.
Different times.
Different minds.
Slide one after the other.
Like those cheesy shows
Those mundane events gather around.
Caustic as they are,
They seem to me
Such an utter relief
As I break down
Walls of rigmarole
And
Wails of longing
Are let out.
Like eruptions of those dormant magma monsters
Like the proverbial crappy truth that sets you free.
I long for you.
My proverbial crappy truth.
That just doesn't set me free.
I am inevitably chained down.
To conventions. The convenient ones.
Those that you seem to have broken off
In a struggle.
And hiding away, you are,
In your lair
In a universe created by you.
Get your head out
From the opaque clouds it lies in.
And create that galaxy
Down here in the world
Which we creatures struggle with daily
To grasp and live in.
But ignore conveniently.
As we long for bliss.
I long for you.
My bliss.
Shattered. Shredded. Bleeding.
Dried and scabbed permanently.
Come pull it away permanently.
Pull my cowardice away.
Pull my illusions away.
Pull the curtains down, not away.
On this once and for all.
I long for you. To end.
Of me. Of you.
For you. For me.
For us.
I long.
