Seeking Comfort
remembering at 5:53 p.m. on 2003-10-14
It was in the way she described admiration.
Of how despite the on lookers, and sweet hand written notes, and men who pleasured themselves with thoughts of her. That she was still alone.
That, staring up at the water, as it cascaded down her uneven naked body, blinding her vision into nothing more than a burning sensation, was still, the only gratification she understood.
The words were never meant to be scrutinized. Her voice was never meant to be pulled apart from her throat. Her body, never meant to be the platform in which everything was desecrated, immortalized, and loved by those who never even cared to learn her name.
It is the same in any woman. In any artist. In any dreamer.
These images left here, pulled from my sedations, and through my fingertips, were only ever meant to find you. To speak slowly, and quietly into the darkness, with hands flat on the frigid window's face. To break apart the rotten flesh of the fruit, and emancipate the core of all which is good, and true, and belonging.
This was only ever meant, for ?
never was � never will be
