PLAY MY MIND

"She always had that about her, that look of otherness, of eyes that see things much too far, and of thoughts that wander off the edge of the world." — Joanne Harris

[playmymind]

[playmymind]

[iwantthistohurt]

[sanddollarpoems]

It seems so cheap

This life we work so hard to preserve

So cheap

Three drinks and my acing soul

Is just wanting arms wrapped around

I hate how life becomes one dimensional

When alcohol takes over my synapses

How human I become

How instinctual

My needs are a warm chest to soak up my tears

A good fuck to help ground me

And a night of close embrace and lips finding lips

And desire sparking all over again

I'd call in sick for that

And lazy morning pancakes

With so much more skin to skin

Alcohol makes me carnal

Basic need coming to the forefront

Of my consciousness

I hate sleeping alone

[playmymind]

[playmymind]

Love rising between the moon and the sun

Night is kissing daylight

I am at home

Waiting for guts

To tell you what I feel…

I crave your affection and run from it.

[playmymind]

[playmymind]

[playmymind]

[playmymind]

Thought I found a way

Thought I found a way out

But you never go away

So I guess I gotta stay now

Oh, I hope some day I'll make it out of here

Even if it takes all night or a hundred years

Need a place to hide, but I can't find one near

Wanna feel alive, outside I can't fight my fear

Isn't it lovely, all alone?

Heart made of glass, my mind of stone

Tear me to pieces, skin to bone

Hello, welcome home

[playmymind]

[playmymind]

[playmymind]

[playmymind]

Charles bukowski, Factotum

[playmymind]

She smiled at him. And felt a welling of love for him. And an uneasiness. Her two selves were firmly at war.

Mary Balogh, from Thief of Dreams

[playmymind]

[playmymind]

“For now she need not think of anybody. She could be herself, by herself. And that was what now she often felt the need of - to think; well not even to think. To be silent; to be alone. All the being and the doing, expansive, glittering, vocal, evaporated; and one shrunk, with a sense of solemnity, to being oneself, a wedge-shaped core of darkness, something invisible to others... and this self having shed its attachments was free for the strangest adventures.”

- Virginia Woolf