Looking in from out here:

I build cities on my wrists and raze them. 
[I write letters on my knees and erase them.]
22 Apr 2003

kanika, 

let me say this now, while we still trust our voices, while our voices are young and bluescarred and beautiful.

let me say this when the evening is liquid beauty and bottled up, everything glimmering and out of reach. it is spring, your words on my windowpane. let me say the light is different, I can finally see. it is violent, dreadful, I sleep with your words & never wake without fear, all chronic coughing and exhaustion. this light, your words, & I can see I will die young & hard in my bones; let me say lay me in the grave of our terminal girlhoods. 

all your text, let me say, it's remorseless. it's vaginal desolation. it's walking backwards to the temple it's ringing bells with tongues it's pissing in the holy water it's licking the lips of gods. let me say it's asking priests how to fuck. it's get your hands off my mouth and on my breasts, it's come on what the fuck are you waiting for, it's are you still pretending you're not moved. it's electric blue laughs and cellophane complexities and foxtrot elegies. 

let me say, it's gorgeous desperation. it's feline madness and saucers full of dreams. it's gingham dresses and bleeding wrists. it's fallow fields and a tiger lily. let me say I know you make promises so you can hear the sound of their splinters. let me tell you I know you by your scars. let me wonder myself sick and vomit your papercut stars. it's boyfuck shimmy. it's 'heartache' written in sparkle. it's 'love' written in spit. 

let me say this now: shut up, shut up, you are ruining me.

K.A.

*****

This post is documentation and evidence, of my attachment, her beauty, my growth, her message, my turbulence, her intensity, my explosions, her projection, my ego, her spirit and my death:

I paste this here as a reply and to remind myself that words, in this amendment, in this cycle and my reflection of the world are manipulative mirrors of everything that must not be spoken of. No more than photobooth effects on a mac and 0101s in a .txt. I cannot let words go because they're a volatile, consequential mode without which I would *feel* directionless, motionles, stagnent, scared and seperate.

A personal realization of mine is that my lust and trust for words at this stage is less credible in comparison to still/moving visuals, music, silence and touch.

Tools are Tools
Abuse is Abuse
That is This.

And I'm trying, K : )

*