FREEWRITE 063009

Twisted around assumptions, crying out for some type of escape. Losing the meanings, the truth, characters are written but their definitions are never defined, refined to the bone, it’s a cold world, and the winters are dark. Summers are lonely, spring is empty, and autumn changes all the colors of the spectrum. The leaves fall, the branches break, and what is left of truth, is dried and festering in sand boxes. The night’s lights shine through bleak skin, loving myself enough but still the air is thin, conforming to the reality instead of the truth. Bent bridges and seeing everything upside down, I need elevator arms to up lift me now. Somehow the roads are being shaped into question marks, raising doubt, raising reason, where is truth? Not the city, but the state of being. The state of knowing whether the proof is reliable; it is the truth that’s undeniable. Familiar faces reaching with stranger’s hands. They too have begun to turn into question marks, bending with memories that are faint and I’m beginning to wonder if they ever took place. Struggling to find the truth in love’s recollection, I search through the archives, hoping to find a scent of summer’s taboo; I know that I loved you, but I can’t find where it ever ended or why. The truth is hiding in mounds, yesterday sounds lovely when played backwards, I keep the records on a shelf right next humility, one of my favorite tunes, and then June plays the laughter that has been stained into living room carpets, it’s so hard to forget what you heart loves to remember. I know I need to accept the fact that I can’t keep you forever, but selfishly I keep your memory in queue, and when they ask me for my name I attach it to your last, not because I miss you, but because time is moving too fast, and I’m just trying to capture history before it becomes the past.