Posted

Sep 13th 2008

Mood

Blank

The world's roof top never looked that apathetic. How we always get to the point after we took it all, threw it all, killed it all and stole it all. The world keeps on spinning the other side, and it's expected, because we both know on what side of the Earth we stand. Together or separately. Our hands have never held onto each other so your touch doesn't matter anymore. Or did it ever matter anyway. I'm standing in the crowd of strangers, people I've yet to meet, all busy with their own private life. Who has the time to look to my face? Who actually has time? Our sky begins to dim red but the end is never coming. The night never sinks on me. I always fall asleep before darkness and rise up with the first light of dawn. All because that someone doesn't let me sink, not even once.
You're thousands of miles away, and I still think of you while you have buried me in the back of your head. Hoping you're dreaming about me, waking up from nightmares. Dying everytime our lips touch. It could be the next most exciting thing since we were born. But what's the point of pulling on air? All is left of you is a memory. Your voice blurs with the others'.

I took a step back. Thinking, kissing, hurting, fucking, and I just want more. More of the 'me & you's that exist only in my imagination. So my words got messed up and you took me so heavily, like I threw my body mass on you only multiplied by a million. I'm all human, without importance nor crucial goal. The easiest meaning for you. I fucked, and sucked, and fucked some more, but I still find myself thinking of you. You, as if you're alive. As if you'll ever sleep with me at night. And there's the problem, it's all up to this. It's not you, niether it's me.
'You' is a way too wide word that doesn't define the reasons you should be standing for. You is an all inclusive and generalized word to an unrealistic character that's locked up within the bars of my skull. One without a concrete face. But it's a man, without a doubt. Not my prince charming, not the personallity that makes me complete, not a man who can fully in 100 percents can understand me. But it breathes and kicks from the inside. Like a baby which I carry way beyond expected. And you have a form and you have a body, it's only your name that keep on changing constantly. I take a real human being and mix it with the surrealistic character then get a name of a person that's yet to be born. Maybe never will be. I suck the identical data out of everyone into you so you'd have a face. So I could touch you. In a probability of 0.1, only with negetive trillionic power. But as long as there isn't a complete 0 I will keep on hoping, just like a little girl who believes momma's lies. Only this time momma didn't put them inside my head, though I wish she would've. It could have been easier to blame someone else. Or someone at all.

At little moments of weakness I wake up at nights on that roof top. I'm cold, but I stay silent and go back to sleep.

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