Tout est question de sémiose, petit Arlequin.

Lundi 1er septembre 2014 à 15:34


Listen, you're your own puppet. It's too surrealistic for me. You're a sketch of yourself, lost in your own foggy mess. This puzzle of your life is unfinished. Balance missing: eternally inchoate. Coarse words uncouthly thrown to my ears. Crude overreactions launched by your low self esteem, cease those reproaches, cruelty isn't needed in your speeches. No need for passive aggression. Find another victim to care about your issues, maybe a therapist. You rape my joy, you raped my hopes. Us is a continuous joke and brevity is source of wit. Get it!

Don't you play the emotional manipulator! Don't you try to make me feel guilty about everything? Don't even try again, because I'm not that stupid, and the match isn't going in your favor. I can see through you being so limpid. I can even see it in the dark. This role is pathetic and doesn't suit you though. You're not definitely the one I used to know: your brain has been killed, assassinated by your insane depression. That swoons us and drain my emotions: too much drugs, too fool.I refuse to be a puppet or part of the game any more. I'm too rational for your thrills.

I used to run on my sufferings, they now disappeared: you took over. Inertia breaks, stopped on the roads of pretended liberty. Our presumed freedom fucked our security up, it teared us apart. Your blinding insecurities became mine destroying my own at the same time. That wasn't my choice and in a way, thanks for that: I do feel better about myself. Unfortunately, you're losing a game, and that takes me down as well. But I was used to myself so I'm used to worse. It doesn't mean I haven't had enough you saying I don't get them. Just try to loosen your strangling struggles. I understand.

You're severely navigating on the wrong seas, against the tide. I'm not you're mermaid not your maid, your man or your mother. Certainly not. Hire a new butler, get a strong one. You're allergic to folding my cloth but not to offering me premenstrual period pills. What is the actual fuck, you don't even know when I'm on my periods! Crossing the lines of respect brings chaos, don't you know? Collapse isn't that far. I might misfire. Don't let me go on the board, miscarried. Aborting, muddling our mornings won't wind up our night. I don't want to fail, foundering so I'm still grounding. On the top of your mind abuses, your dazzled selfishness, on top of us. Reason will triumph.

 There isn't prude happiness but faded and rough love, strengthening but true. Let's color it again. I believe I was right about you as much as I believe in us. You are amazing. Your eyes, your spirituality, your ease are shining. You smell love, sparkles in the night, illuminates rainy days. Can't you see how beautiful we are? Can you? Please do. If not for you, then for the relics of this love we still share. For those projects we'll never do that make our futur brighter. You'll always live in the deepest cells of my body. I'll find you in hell where we, us, have fun, where we drove our togetherness. Fighting others. Us against the rest of the world. I still love you and I'll always will. Don't break me. 

And please, don't push me away. Protect me from you to preserve us. We do deserve better than tempers and waste. I loved our sky, this soft, fragile and reinsuring haven. Hold me tight please. Disperse those gray clouds from our shelter, we'll learn to smile again, safe, if you want to. Please don't let my feelings crumble, we're too high to crash down. Fabricate us some wings, we'd fly again. You're the only one that can rescue this world. You may find an exit in this devilish cave where we're both prisoner of but I'm not asking for a fairy tale castle: they're too ugly for us. Just sort you out. We're almost there if you chose to. Otherwise, we'll overwhelm, shrink and sink. 

Par dirty le Lundi 1er septembre 2014 à 18:03
beau et fort

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