Lachrymose

Any little thing is enough to set me off – I could be lost in the city or bawling over coffee and Bjork saying she loves me – any little thing undoes me like the string pulled through the knot can’t help but destroy what it ought to save – the thing that made it part of something slightly grander. Any little thing is large enough to make me stammer like a child, flustered while I lock down all the haywire vitals that have started to go wild – my pulse levels off gradually, my tongue begins to stir again. My sisters swear when I was younger all I did was cry and I remember lots of crying – lots of shrieking , wet denial of whatever sordid trial came before me – why should I always be stuck inside this boring world with its gravity and its traffic lights and its cheap key rings from china when my mind is so alive I can see so, so much sometimes and it is beautiful but whenever I try to write it down it comes out shoddy and off-kilter, I choose the wrong word or filter out the good parts and leave nothing – any little thing undoes me in a lonely little heap.

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~ by perfectionatrix on December 6, 2012.

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