AS A MARTYR

I would not hold this against your brightly charged eyes; I would rest it besides your bed until you woke up. I never had a chance to whisper this into your dim, isolated, ears. Instead I would lean it against your transparent, abstract, tone and your body would slightly move forwards as if I was controlling it from my base. Lets see how fast you can run, lets see how fast you can run..

However, It was raining on the afternoon of your departure and I did not have anywhere else to go besides home, but that seemed too typical. So I walked as far as I could till I had no idea where I was anymore, a stranger walked up to me and told me to “put on the lights”. I thought I did a long time ago, but I forgot I switched roles and had to create energy in my new mind frame. I put my head down and listened to the melodies of the afterlife, the rain hit my face extremely hard, so hard it left bruises. I was the one that caused them though. Curiosity and disease. I continued to walk and my tears ended up dancing with the rain, I saw them hold hands and join as if they were married for 17 years but that seemed unlikely in this world of mine. Anything that was ever permanent was a dim light in the sky; she gave me a slight dose of optimism. How could she write me off like this, I couldn’t ask any more questions because that seemed to likely to end up in one of those love stories. It was very unnecessary to state the obvious in the spectrum of the rainbow and the exposure of the light given to one. The major cities were the ones you had to watch out for, the average man walking down the street with the same look on his face as the morning before yet whenever I would walk down one of those streets I could be pointed out. I would never look ahead but always to the sides, they seemed more interesting then what was ahead. I knew what was going to be ahead but I would always want to know what was besides me, what was waiting for me, what equation needed to be created. This is the only shelter I have and within this fake matrimony of art and feelings I chose to leave behind. Around this time tomorrow I will look at the contact sheet with 36 frames of different angles and positions of your body, I will go to bed blaming myself about this misfortune. I would sing at 5 am about how I never wanted you, how I never wanted you (i lied). I still want you so I sat down at the nearest corner, laid down, and stared in to the sky. I didn’t remember whether I was sleeping or if I was just day-dreaming but the ‘hello operators’, ‘natural disasters’, and the gases and matches were not enough to get over your brightly, charged, radiant, eyes.     (not-finished, but lets continue)

                Polaroid after Polaroid, I would fear having heart would be the most difficult thing in the world but yet my headphones would slip off every time I would assume something was waiting for me downstairs Everytime I would assume she was waiting for me downstairs. Oh, how I wish she were downstairs, waiting.

                       (home)

This was the way my hand would lay against my comforter, my fingernails slightly dirty with the signs of war overcrowding them. they would bend unevenly, but clear enough to show you that I was still awake. These 35mm lens, well, they would document like this was the last day of age. I knew from this moment on, I was drifting away. Lack of sleep. Short. Short sentences. This was not piecing together like I would hope it would but it was good enough to keep me through these nights.  I would close my windows and block out the clichés of every photographers view of autumn. Here they come

                      "Here they come.."

bursting like love, telling secrets like independence. My hands could not move or succeed in its job before the song was over, and I would have to sit there and repeat this. (repeat this) Hold my hand, sweetheart. You fall and I will run to find you the nearest help. My position is not steady enough for this competition. This is us, at our worst. Let us wake up five years later, heavily addicted to what is normal, and blinded to what made us. This was the worse version of the sky since everything protruded out of your lonely eyes, whatever I did with my time I continued. I don't remember whether I was sleeping or if I was just day-dreaming but the 'wise blood' and 'major cities' were not enough to get over the various tones of your body. I seemed to be back/tracking a lot, walking around the subject, pacing back and forth until I had the courage to lie through my teeth about the unfamiliar ancient ways of my thoughts. I stand here holding Lost Tapes, unwritten chapters, mathematics, inequalities, and foreign messages from you only to find out that angst is my main subjective, dripping blood, the last of the silent documents. I stand here, with the pythagorean theorem written on paper & waiting to dig somewhere Else & I am in love/I am in love/I am in love. I am in love. I am in love.  I am in love.  I am in love.   I am in love.  I am in love.   I am in love.  I am in love.   I am in love.  I am in love.   I am in love.  I am in love.   I am in love.  I am in love.   I am in love.  I am in love.   I am in love.  I am in love.   I am in love.  I am in love.

                      e = lim (1+1/n)  d/dx-ex=ex
                      n ---> 8