Lisa Lewis, excerpt from “February”
This is the second month
Of the year I turn thirty-seven. Already the little fists
Of leaves are forming inside the knotted ends of twigs
All over Houston. The cold weather is over. This winter
Again there was no freeze. And tonight it’s very late,
And it’s Sunday, and no cars pass on the big road
By the house, but out there in the night
Some kids about seventeen are doing terrible things
They’ll get by with, and grow out of, and remember
The way they’ll remember what love felt like at first,
Before it stopped being the surest path to ruination,
Before it had done the worst it could and passed away.
And to them it’s as if those who lived this life before them
Moved with the jerky speeded-up gestures of characters
In old-fashioned movies, their expressions intense
And exaggerated; they roll their eyes and loll their tongues
When the heroin hits their blood. It’s as if the beauty
Of evil lives only in the present, where the drop of dope
Clinging to the tip of the stainless steel point
Catches the light like dew; and it doesn’t matter
That the light falls from a streetlamp with a short in it,
And the impatient boy with the syringe in his hand
Will touch the drop back into the spoon
So as not to waste it. It’s his instinct telling him
How much it means to live this now, before he knows
Better, while he still has a chance to survive it.
It’s the moon over his head with its polished horns
That would slip through his skin if he touched them.
It’s the trees leaping to life in his blood, greenness
Unfurling so hard it almost bursts his heart.
I have never done heroin. It is doubtful that I ever will. When you think about it, I haven’t really had much experience with pretty much anything. I haven’t seen The Titanic (The Titanic is very similar to heroin so’s you know)
I’m still young enough that I have it in me to do incredibly stupid things. I guess age is relative anyways. I love feeling young. It’s almost worth not being old enough to go out dancing. Speaking of getting old, and not having experiences, I have never been full-on drunk. The few times I have had l’alcool, I drink so little it doesn’t do anything and there is really no point. I just don’t like how alcohol makes me feel stupid and slow. I have no conversational skills and I don’t get less inhibited, just confused and self conscious. Of course I generally have enough self-confidence to fill arenas, so it’s not like drinking could really improve anything per se.
Basically. It’s five in the morning and I can’t sleep. Here’s some random crap that you can read I suppose. Goodness I have poor writing skills at this time in the morning. DON’T HATE THIS IS MY BLOG NOT A FREAKING RESEARCH PAPER.
This title and yesterday’s are from Atmosphere songs. (gearing up for the concert in a couple of weeks)
Waterside by =AnnMarieBone of deviantart.com
haven’t seen, haven’t seemed
happy, it’s gonna come to me
when it does I don’t know where I’ll
keep it at all