Not the idea of it But the reality of it When somebody dies that isn't just a statistic A faceless body thrown to the wind
That person is just like you It's not someone whose skin was different Who wore their hair a different way
No
That person ate food like you do They worried about their future like you do They turned off the channel when they couldn't find anything entertaining to watch on t. v. like you do They rode their bike but not as often as they'd like just like you do
They worried if they weren't good enough
They questioned God's existence They dreamed They complained when their noses got stuffy Don't agree with death because you believe people are Different from you Revolt against it because They are the same
We don't talk to each other Even though everyone knows one another We all have phones Yet we act like we're all unknowns We ignore people, one after another We use our phones as a buffer Because we can't even talk to each other We act like drones We don't talk Taking pictures with the camera shutter All standing around in a clutter Wearing our headphones I wish we talked at least muttered *We don't talk
It's a curse of my generation, I think I'm better off talking to you in letters made of light Than in songs made of sounds Because at least then I can be proofread
What do people even say to each other in person? Even with friends, I can't remember a conversation I had today or yesterday, never mind far off in the past I must've talked about the weather, or my next test Or something else of equally little substance So my brain must have just catalogued it all as discard and thrown it out
I try to imagine the future Meeting you at a coffee shop in the city I'm home from college for a weekend And we'll have to talk about something
About the past, about the people I left there? About where we're going, what we've been up to? About politics, the weather, the news?
I can't ever think beyond that Because even in my head, no words make it past my parted lips But if I could, this is what I would tell you
The darkness is all around me right now I'm trying not to let anyone else see it But I know you've been here before And I think you'd understand If I told you that I'm doing my best to keep the candles lit *Please don't let me slip out of your life
The one who will be patient enough, The one who will understand me, With no talk at all, The one who will hear my silence, The one who will try Will see, It wasn't really hard, Just needed to do it, With no asking, That one, my love will get, Just stupid enough has to be, And deserve all I want to give...
talk.
Author: Ivo Stojanov
0
Date: 02/04/2020
№ 1205381
The sex talk
I.
When his fingers began to bleed, father stopped closing his eyes to pray.
The worst thing I heard as a child was how god made Not only Me.
It was either the suicide of my imaginary friends or the imagined Suicide of my real. mother's hands were that way
Because of the dye In dish gloves.
Ii.
On this that has become the story of my prematurity I'll say
The food we get has already been defeated.
Iii.
The boredom of today's children Has no depth.
Touch a throat in a totem's mouth.
Iv.
Your mother was a hologram of a voodoo doll.
When father Not father As the gay Madman First met Her the bump on her head
Was much Bigger.
V.
With a pocket knife or some other damn thing the word gargoyle has been scraped into every idle machine.
The drug addled uncles have a rare focus and take non-consecutive short naps.
You can shake your head about the babies
They remember Nothing.
Vi.
God is no more than a clipped moan Scrambles The angels.
