#as.phy.xi.ate.

[irawrrkat]

Relitto

'Love, is a two way street.' What they forgot to tell me was that this strada is not a street. It's a highway with oncoming traffic seperated by a thin yellow line that is supposed to protect me from 75 mile an hour head on collisions with mistakes. It doesn't warn me to keep my eyes on my lane, nor to avoid flashy sports cars that seat only two. It didn't tell me I was an older model. It never bothered to show rosso e blue blinding light until it was too late; polizia running plates for the broken-souled-fender and cracked glass in my rearview mirror. If I had known the rischio of falling into this high-speed game, I think I would have taken backroads to avoid these asphalt tests for the brave of heart; but instead of doing a happy nothing in a parked car, I turn on my hazzards and wait to be saved.

[irawrrkat]

when you're (not) sober

these moments laced thick with liquor far above the legal limit--- you seem so happy-- arm around my waist, hand in my hair; pressed smile to smile. wake me, please, so I don't reach across empty sheets, feeling as cheap as this lonely bottle you left by your bed- again.

[irawrrkat]

Wash-Away Rainbows

Chalked lines over aged asphalt collected colors so vivid I didn't really see the cracked concrete-- rainbows, inverted and missing stripes (because red didn't belong in blues' and violets'), litered the driveway and lead me onto a path paved with precision; though these double lines, solid white, so desperately craved character. Thunder began to play and as electricity took the stage,  striking, startling, still shaking - I ran for cover. Slamming the door behind me in a whirl of wet panic: rivers tore into innocent  intricacies, washing me away. I pretend not to notice when I wipe my hands down and across this dress (once finely pressed and pristine), the smudges look more like bile than beauty; wringing out every moment of my childhood- I leave nothing but a mess. Thinking, sinking-- I sank. Fingers slide down a porcelian finish, glazed in nuetral nuances feigning grace and I'll never notice, now, how I forget to see in color.

[irawrrkat]

Forgetting

There is sadness in your voice when we are alone; when you've forgotten how well I listen. Your breath crashes against my lips and  as a million whispering wings, it sings your sorrows.  Neither of us will ever be able to let her go.

[irawrrkat]

Bound

        i. delicately, I launder the wraps I'll wear months to come, knowing that this is what makes you proud.

what you don't know, mother, is that I envy you for being second born.       ii. flesh pushes wantingly, needingly, against cloth so soft it destroys me.   each year, wrapped tighter for honor and for grace, this petite frame is forced from me.       iii. each step quakes in bone and flesh molded for years into perfection.   lines start at my sole and strike up in violent rebellion, daily, for the sake of your 'beauty'.

[irawrrkat]

In this city

we are nothing but shadows. we stand behind doors sealed shut with the rust of a thousand lies and million smiles- ones we painted ourselves, ones we see straight through. we are fallen; ghosts of a ship set to sink in the port of a hundred wrecks. we stand on the burning shore of a once great city, and throw ourselves to the sea.

[irawrrkat]

Yesterday

Your name's written between indigo sheets. Just vague memories; zealous promises. Questions, keen on catastrophe, lit fires that raged across underbrush emotions; gradually dissension heightened.

[irawrrkat]

Nightlight

I march with reverence; a little girl eyes worn from reliving memories and pigtails tied back in blue ribbons. (Blue used to be my favorite color back before I fully understood it) It fit so nicely in our memorandum, though with all her eloquent script and pressed petals, it's as if I don't know her at all.. But then again, we share so many scars; from words and let downs and shaking trees. Bombshell nights in satin sheets and pillow-cased bunkers color us united; more so than all these others I've laid to rest; Shadowed faces which resemble me and that little blonde dreamer I used to be. This battle closes and I find we were defeated by the ourselves, by the dark, by that monster that haunts the closet - yet war wages and we have grown too brave for our nightlight. Come dusk, we fight again.