a return to litkicks...
Blind Trust In A Similar Being
I have been leaving my doors unlocked.
I forget the night and the neighboorhood and
I undress in my small bathroom
(the air in here is too damp and the moisture
on my body refuses to evaporate,
like persistant hands).
The door is open for you
and my house is waiting for you to come in uninvited
and destroy it, scattering pictures and papers,
the small evidence of your exsitence
collecting under your feet,
cracking like dead leaves.
I am going to be a young bride,
and soon my house will be locked to you.
Today when you drove me home
and we were overpowered by the grey
of this dull and dirty day
I stared out the window and
saw a gash of orange light through the dense clouds;
it brought back the image of blood
coming out of my pale skin,
the image of a time of more passion and less hurt.
I left my door unlocked as he colapsed into me,
hoping, maybe, for someone to come in
and tear him away from me.
Obviously I'm too thin to defend myself.