When i love, all of me dives in which is probably why, when they cheat (possible one day but so far i have never), loves equals pure devastation in me and around me. Hell, i haven’t kissed anyone since Gummi Girl 30 months ago.
Someone incredibly beautiful enchanted me my second day in Knysna. Nothing happened but served the realization that i wasn’t dead yet. I’ll kiss again but hope for the safety of friendship rather than every day in each others lives ’cause with love comes too much control of one another…and even more scary, control over me. I only fall for special people which makes it damn dangerous for me.
So why bring this up now? ‘Cause this blog will eventually record every scribble that’s left, the good and bad…even the very bad. This may be one of those but despite my childish rhyming it is, at least, true.
This is about Rene Reid, The First, an Artist of my emotion:
Ah, but it would be fine
to bask in your beauty
and to feel divine
with you as my duty
To watch you paint my moon
and thousands of blue balloons
Wouldn’t I be the lucky one
to hold you as my friend,
to build a trust that couldn’t be undone,
our hearts to each would lend
To have me paint me a happy face
that would free me from this rat race
Imagine us making love,
warmed by heart, sweat and body;
pleasing the gods above
with our making of a third body
No more will I roam
for now you paint the picture of our home
Then, with one act of selfishness,
you paint my world ugly
and me full of wretchedness;
a creature lonely
You empty the sky of stars
so that everything’s black
with my soul behind bars
waiting for your ghosts to ATTACK!
… waiting…for your ghosts…to attack
[The painter paints herself old and a future so cold
What happened, she asks?]