insomnia

face up in inky nightmares of so darkened a life, i spend sweet hours weeping gingerly from the corners of my eyes. suffering here in a mad flame of the chaos around me, but we keep living. living past hope. past the thought of a promise. past phone calls, past lovers, past midnights of silence and souls as loud as the rocks around us. alone, slowly inviting the dripping cold of voices outside our minds. if only i were sharing such a bed with someone. if only something...

but we all know our places. those of us who sit and wait like some loyalty-sick dog at the heels of our owners begging for some sharp scrap of attention, or in the least, notice of being alive. we crave that pain of just being real to something. but i'm your imagination, far and away, and fading with every midnight that goes by without them caring. fuck it all because i'm only being selfish like you wanted me to be.

and it's still not home to me. but i don't know what that feels like anymore, and the only comfort i seemed to take was in the form of something beautiful that, as soon as i was out the door, dissapeared into the dirt.

clean my wounds and bury six feet deep. come like a flood to the never ending rescue. i used to be able to stand up alone, but it's knocking the crutches out from under me. so why dont you please pay me a little attention, baby. just a little attention baby.




or as a song would sing it


i'm starved for your attention...

baby?