Naiade

I am an ungrateful woman.

Dearly posessed by my own kind of wrath.

As one is only an adolescence, or that, a stubbornly hard-headed adolescence.

I feel that I am wasting my raw youth away, and with that my tonsils are infected.

I was lying just now, how am I wasting my 'raw' youth?

Of course, I deprive of knowledge and wisefulness,

But I want too much of that sensation. Curious, I was.

I am incapable of my own curiosity as I make bad choices along the way.

I didn't know how to be kind or even spiteful.

I dont even know who I am exactly, to choose my personality.

You might even know what I love most talking about.

Go ahead, guess.

It's a stupid question, an easy answer, myself.

Oh how I lie to every living person that stand before me.

How I open my mouth, sing my proses, fictional proses.

I talk so much nonesense I am ready to pull the trigger through my throat.

For instance, I heard mysel talk one time, a little piece of fruit jumped out of my throat and into my dry mouth. It means I am sick with my words.

I have met someone I truly thought mattered, well, to me anyways.

His hair was honey hued and his eyes golden as the light from the sky shines on it.

He wore only dark colors, he ate only things condensed, like his soul. His heart.

I thought I knew him well to be someone in his companion.

I thought wrong. Boy, did I thought wrong.

He had me heartbroken for months and months and up until now,

He was nowhere near history to me, he's just history waiting to be made in my life.

The day he left, I had engraved his name onto my brain.

Forever there, it hadn't left. He hadn't left.

His arms touch me whenever I'm unconscious. His skin touching mine. I feel alive.

But now, I almost have forgotten your voice, the way you say rude things in an otherwordly matter. Saying 'fuck' like saying 'love'. You were confusing.

The following days, months he left, I still puzzled you.

As if you were the most interesting person I've ever met. Only you weren't.

You were as normal as ever.

You were fairly ordinary looking, sometimes even ugly and awkward.

I hated your guts when I met you, but without it I'd be fairly uncomfortable around you.

I've kept you quiet for a long time, like you didnt matter.

But, boy, was I living a lie!

You scattered on my mind so strong like vodka tonic.

All I wanted was for you to be. To know. To touch. To feel. To love. To LOVE. To LOVE. or even to Lust, I know you long for lust. But from who? Apparantly not anyone I know.

Many of times I have wished for you to go, leave. But I knew I didnt want that.

I wanted something to stay astray from my reality.

You were my reality, but you really weren't there and you never were.

You are a flock of my imagination rolled into one burning joint, begging me to inhale.I just couldnt, because I knew if I did. I'd be insane, drowned in ecstacy, in pure ecstacy of the sensation of something that's purely fictional. You are unreal.

Whenever someone talked about you, my mind would lay short of thoughts and my mouth went dry, my teeth stuck to my inner lip and I was in peace, nothing among me.

I will soon try to forget you, but not right now, nor tommorrow.

I have not yet made up my mind. I need to. I know.

I sit cross legged, typing as I think.

I've been so full of shit for so long, I think I might be made of it.

Surely, I should've made myself do, because I could, because I would if I wanted.

But I shrinked, I drowned. I pinched myself and I felt numb.

And so I realize I am a shadow in the night. Fairly unrecognizable and invisible.

I loved being unnoticed. I am not ashamed and I do not regret.

I shatter, I break. I am frail on some occasions.

But I bounce back shouting 'fuck you' loud on your ear.

I was the first woman I ever loved.