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After sundown, before sleeping, |
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I am the worst of me. |
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I am a mess of these |
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Old themes and the murmur of half-dreams whisper seductively and |
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Stage scenes. |
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It's fear fiction, these visions, caught somewhere between delusion and |
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Prophesy. |
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What I haven't done, what |
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I've wanted to, and what |
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I fear you have |
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Becomes reality here. |
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Bright lights in the young night keep to the beat. |
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A classic party scene, crowded and interesting. |
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No love, no life, no history. |
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Just touch, just chemistry, just |
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A roaring undercurrent simple and sensory. |
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Young bodies, warm skin, perfect symmetry and |
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It's a moment, harmless. |
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It's energy. |
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It's like medicine, |
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It's self-discovery. |
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See, all the secrets |
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I keep, why are they secrets? |
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It's only temporary, that fleeting feeling of warmth, |
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Just a flash before the line gets blurry, |
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Between a longing for more than what the body wants now and |
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What the body wants now more than anything. |
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Was it integrity that kept my hands to myself or |
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Just the thought of getting too far ahead of you? |
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Was it that |
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I got too tired of the consequence? |
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Or was I just scared? |
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I only know |
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I never wanted to get left behind. |
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No pauses, not a second guess. |
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First a swaying then a stumble then a swagger. |
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They're just movements towards feeling. |
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It doesn't matter |
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Neither hesitates to carry on a kind of energy, |
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Sweat and block out everything to |
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Find every aperture and compel the animal parts. |
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Fan flames, taste fruit, taste bitter fruit. |
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Just trying to learn how all the wires in the body work. |
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Just trying to feel it out, it's like medicine. |
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Trap the healing in whatever bed they end up in. |
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I want to feel it out. |
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I want to know how it works. |
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I want to know if it was worth it to worry, |
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About the ghosts |
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I feared would haunt the memory, |
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About the damage that |
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I'm sure the fear has done to me now. |
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I want to know what it is in me that won't follow through |
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Those nights the instinct takes a hold of me and pushes too. |
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Maybe it's only that |
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I've never gotten over you. |
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Or am I still scared? |
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I see the church steps, a vision. |
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Is there fiction in this one too? |
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It's true, |
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I've made a tale of it here, still, it's a little unclear who's |
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Been haunting who. |
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And time can be such a funny thing, always moving to the future |
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Glorifying the past and amplifying the pain in frames and glass. |
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So was our touch half as sacred as |
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I've made it seem |
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Or just another fabrication of a half-dream? |
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Just those chemicals, the adolescent love. |
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Just us trying to grasp onto meaning, |
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Onto a purpose, |
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Onto a sense that |
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Something spiritual releases when the feeling hits. |
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And when the feeling hits. |
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And in that moment sparks and harps play out |
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A sweeping melody through fog and fantasy |
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And in that moment there's an honesty instinctive and pure but |
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It departs like it came, rapid and bearing no more |
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Than fleeting ecstasy of natural harmony. |
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They fear the notes being played and try to sing along. |
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Don't be ashamed, be free to the feeling. |
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Don't be ashamed, keep feeling. |
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But find it: a body that makes sense. |
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I've felt it. |
