Post by Coquette on Dec 2, 2007 19:21:47 GMT -5
Thinking of my last love,
I can sit in the rain and ponder
What I would have told myself
If I had known then
The things I know now.
"Love.
Love is much like
Having a very large bomb
Placed in your stomach
Directly below your heart."
I can picture my face
As I would say this to myself.
My eyes would widen in shock
And my flushed lips would form a small
O.
"When it explodes,
It kills you. It destroys you.
Your pieces and parts go flying,"
I would say.
At this, I would probably wrinkle
My nose with disgust.
I'm a visual person.
I could picture
Bloody chunks
Soaring through the air.
Comically,
I can envision a big
Dripping
Chunk of my flesh
Hitting some poor old woman
In the eye.
I'd continue.
"Sure, you can look back
Down to Earth
And see the scorched
Starburst on the concrete
Where you once stood.
And you can ask yourself
Why you bothered
Taking your chances with a bomb.
You've read all the manuals.
You know which wires to cut."
I'd probably nod at myself
Emphatically,
The little know-it-all
That I am.
"But it makes no difference.
Because you didn't cut the wires.
And now you're dead.
You're nothing but bloody chunks
Smacking old ladies in the
Eyeball."
I'd probably roll my eyes at myself.
If there's one thing I know,
It's that, before, I was cocky.
I was never just bloody chunks.
"You couldn't hear the
Tick
Tick
Tick.
You were foolish.
You let the blood roaring
In your ears
And your heart pounding
In your throat
Block out the world."
Defiant, my former self would look at me
A sneer resting on my rosy lips,
But saying nothing.
"Nobody will want you.
No medic would put you
Back together.
You think you can sew up
Bloody chunks?
Parts of you will be
In the cracks in the sidewalks
In the eye sockets of old ladies
In the debris.
You really think anyone's
Going to waste their time
Trying to gather you up,
Bloody-chunk girl?"
Crestfallen, my past self
Would stare at my hands
With their short clipped fingernails
Constantly covered in paint, hair dye
Or Sharpie.
I shake my head,
Staring at myself.
"I didn't think so."
If I could have told myself then
The things I know now,
I guess I wouldn't have been so anxious
To start playing with bombs.
C. Sirena Zotz. Mine own, not yours.m
I can sit in the rain and ponder
What I would have told myself
If I had known then
The things I know now.
"Love.
Love is much like
Having a very large bomb
Placed in your stomach
Directly below your heart."
I can picture my face
As I would say this to myself.
My eyes would widen in shock
And my flushed lips would form a small
O.
"When it explodes,
It kills you. It destroys you.
Your pieces and parts go flying,"
I would say.
At this, I would probably wrinkle
My nose with disgust.
I'm a visual person.
I could picture
Bloody chunks
Soaring through the air.
Comically,
I can envision a big
Dripping
Chunk of my flesh
Hitting some poor old woman
In the eye.
I'd continue.
"Sure, you can look back
Down to Earth
And see the scorched
Starburst on the concrete
Where you once stood.
And you can ask yourself
Why you bothered
Taking your chances with a bomb.
You've read all the manuals.
You know which wires to cut."
I'd probably nod at myself
Emphatically,
The little know-it-all
That I am.
"But it makes no difference.
Because you didn't cut the wires.
And now you're dead.
You're nothing but bloody chunks
Smacking old ladies in the
Eyeball."
I'd probably roll my eyes at myself.
If there's one thing I know,
It's that, before, I was cocky.
I was never just bloody chunks.
"You couldn't hear the
Tick
Tick
Tick.
You were foolish.
You let the blood roaring
In your ears
And your heart pounding
In your throat
Block out the world."
Defiant, my former self would look at me
A sneer resting on my rosy lips,
But saying nothing.
"Nobody will want you.
No medic would put you
Back together.
You think you can sew up
Bloody chunks?
Parts of you will be
In the cracks in the sidewalks
In the eye sockets of old ladies
In the debris.
You really think anyone's
Going to waste their time
Trying to gather you up,
Bloody-chunk girl?"
Crestfallen, my past self
Would stare at my hands
With their short clipped fingernails
Constantly covered in paint, hair dye
Or Sharpie.
I shake my head,
Staring at myself.
"I didn't think so."
If I could have told myself then
The things I know now,
I guess I wouldn't have been so anxious
To start playing with bombs.
C. Sirena Zotz. Mine own, not yours.m
