Dear Pasghetti, my inner doubt and protector monkey You saved my life and I betrayed you And even though you may not think so, I love you and I'm sorry I know you're sulking and still pointing out every way I might get hurt I know you flinch when he says he wants to kill you And pasghetti, sweetheart, I know he might be a liar I know he might be a cheat I know the thousand shapes of ugly the same way I know how to breathe I wish I could but I can't forget what's happened to my skin And I will always remember the one who said "your eyes have changed and I'm sorry" You think I've gone crazy and I've chosen ignorance But pasghetti, we are all ultimately alone And I am fucking crazy and proud of it And at least this, I haven't chosen Pasghetti, I am not this diary You know this is a fraction You know the real hurt had no words Pasghetti, I am not anything I say or do That's how "of the world" define themselves and they tie themselves to this temporary place I can not be possessed, not by you, not by him And he can not be possessed I think he knows that better than I do It doesn't matter anymore when you tell me I can't see in his head Because even though I desperately want him to, he can't see in mine And now I understand the loneliness is because of the latter (which is pretty selfish and makes me laugh) Sweet pasghetti I love him Not for anything he does or says (he says I don't know how much he loves me, but you understand pasghetti, when we were doomed and that the silly thing doesnt see what we gave him ... and that despite our best, our worst efforts, he has not yet seen me) And pasghetti, I love him, even if he is a cheat and even if he is a liar -- even if he's uglier than all of them combined Pasghetti, this time it really is magic and it could very well be black It's no illusion It's not the checklist of good boyfriend material It's not that he knows how to be an animal child with me better than any of them (he doesn't believe it, he's afraid, I know-- and we've only started to play. It's tragic and hilarious, because he really is and I know that in his history I haven't even achieved prettiest clit or dirtiest request. He hides that. He doesn't know that's his understanding of jealousy, not mine. It's funny pasghetti, that of all the things we are confident about, it is this cooch which has been so molested-- maybe because it made monsters show brief flashes of love) On sunny days it's what he believes and every night --it's everything dark, warm and familiar And slowly unfolding And this time my skin won't be calloused This time I won't even begin to heal I am condemned and sweet Pasghetti, so are you It's happened I love him, I'm alive and I have begun to die |