Swing Shift GinJaElla's blog: "Random"

We slip close in the spaces that bind, the places that rend and tear under the relentless scrutiny of our demands. All of us are falling. Falling in, falling out falling into, sometimes landing with sickening thuds that produce rivulets of blood and scars that shine near as red. I like you because you are wounded, wounded like me in different contexts that make it interesting for us to compare the twists of the places where we stitched ourselves back together again, to try again. To try to not try again. I like you because you are smooth and unstained, glistening purely in your idealistic unrealities. Sometimes it gets to be a bit much, then, I like you simply because you are pretty. With this hand I’ll hold yours, and that one cradles the tender slivers of this friends hope. That ones love. Yet anothers despair. Clutched in the warm dampth of my fragile fist that nests them safely, close to me, where I can see the pulsing of life in these small wayward dreams. You dream of despondance, drink it up in dim lit places where faces blur, becoming friendly and closely warm yet even as the humid breath of of your illicit saviour draws you in the tendrils of thought and care retreat slowly and quietly into the night. Tendrils that return to you with the sun, bearing claws of confusion and guilt that open rifts filled with too much caffeine. Too many butts in the ashtray. More booze drawn through straws in places that forget you as easily as they are forgotten. We are all falling. From our perches, our safe staunch havens, falling from the grace and graces of everyone we thought we knew and believed in. Towards gossamer nets that sometimes shred like the webs of our belief yet sometimes catch us. Strong and sticky, woven by those beauitful, dangerous and deadly. You are caught, captive, spread there in willing suspense of the inevitable sting. Now drifting, dreaming... Falling. We should forget about love. Dream, instead, of wings.