god only knows

I might write something nice to you so that because of me the sun comes out and shines on you and makes you warm. I might write the things that make you love me. I would only have unwritten words to describe the sun I just made for you because I have only a silent way to reveal myself, a silence that turns to wrath when I can’t become what you need. I would lay down my head and cry at your feet for forgiveness if only I could stop myself from existing, everywhere, I hear only the hum of me and my dissatisfaction with the guise I’ve succumbed to. I might do something big for you, like crawl back out of the hole I’ve dug, gasping for breath, eyes blackened by soot, to be burned by the sight of you, just so I could be with you shining in your killer flames. But this oracle light who sees in the dark, may be too much of me, for me to bare living. Death looks everywhere for a love yet unmet… so I stood at the crossroads looking for you and you expected someone else…or maybe I expected someone else. The oracle whispered her name in my sleep at this juncture, then someone else came instead, and I laid there in pain, at the meeting of strangely familiar eyes, waiting for her words or her touch to notice me again, but instead you looked the other way as if he was all you had. I could forgive you possibly for choosing a better version of god. I could make you see him in a dimmer light so that I was all you had to fall back on. You won’t catch me will you? This airspun woman who has the voices that know, who slithers upon me like an ancient vice, has me clawing myself into pieces, disengaged from the whole of the leviathan she has become smothering me by doing nothing at all. I myself, have the means to awaken, I myself see the captive in her water mirror, I myself can’t stop picking at my sores, chewing at the rabies in my mind, attacking the animal I eat and who I have become. The animal with red eyes who hates dogs and girls, the animal who hides until the sun goes down and who grimaces at the sound of you. I might be the one you want however, have you ever tried to find my carnal pleasure in your lofty pains unmet?…maybe I know how to stop your search right here and now, without the ripping away of something left over as a fantasty called love…maybe I’m the one with the lasting grip that can hold on and not be lost…and then I see your face and remember all the whispers of that tiny moon whose so afraid, and I want to sing but I only stutter…you do know I come with both pieces dangling, you do hear me when I think of you. Why won’t you look at me? The summer has become the winter but I don’t remember dying, and I’m in a tube and all you do is make things worse. I was expecting you to make me happy. Goddess of death, I think of only you. In a vision I saw myself wrapped in your body, sublime and perfectly known. A vision of me, in charge of you, I dominate the night with anger…then it faded and I felt you slip right through me, back into your world where my face is ugly and there are no fragrant flowers, only burning flesh that never becomes ash, only imaginary friends with thoughts just like mine, only a box with no lid. I can see the sky, but I just can’t find a way to touch it. The tiny moon barely sees and the stars don’t like me and they never did… I bet you think I’m talking to you, but I never meant for you to read my mind. And I don’t like my red eyes, I want eyes like yours.

If I could have brought you the sunshine I would have…

god only knows,
Sharada Devi

wham bam thank you ma’am

Cold knuckles
a white hand in the way
only this between me and you
song of the siren
because you left me
I spun my veins around your soul
calling wayward, through,
nothing solid
inside the water
drudging the depths
of the spiraling sea
where I bring you forever
across swamps of heaven and hell
always back to me…

the light…

in reversal again and seeing sideways,
nothing has ever kept us apart…

my father was a soldier who ended up a killer that died by his own hand. This wasn’t all he was, but for now, it was all that mattered…deep in the whorehouse torn between squirming guts and a psychedelic torture, blood between his teeth, and a pit inside his stomach…it is he who takes everything, chewing and then eaten alive, walking through a poison jungle with me, a ticking time bomb. Ticks in my hair sucking, lice in my eyes hiding, cracks inside the only pieces left of two. Pull the trigger, just one time and let go of the burden. Sit on top of me, I’m not dangerous, I’m barely lethal until you twist. My mouth is filled with sordid wounds and words sealing fate through incantation, it’s all because he was my father. And like the sun without a sky or other stars, I feed his legacy without suspicion. I spell it out for you in riches laced with quelling sounds and feasts of forbidden love mixed with filth. We can’t have our bodies anyway, we can’t have our mound of red roses high in the air, none of it becomes the throne until I sit on top of you, meaning we’re alive until the gift of me is given, even as a leper inside of her room where the oriental girl waits to blow out your brains, even then we trade the living for the dead, since you aren’t really a soldier and you know it…laughter splattered on the walls, time in disarray, cover me with the floor, it doesn’t change a thing… beneath it all, rests her certain black eyes as the only ground we have, as anything left real, to stand on, I’m telling you, you don’t mean a thing…

so how will you ever leave me? I’m telling you there is no such thing as “wham bam thank you ma’am” there is only the knife in the kitchen drawer with my name written on its handle. A weapon of discovery waits in every hand that holds a gesture, almost as your picture on my wall, a crooked mudra, and just like this, I know all my angles. I’m addicted to you as a backward moving object pulling you forward. I’m a white line on the mirror going nowhere. I’m his perfect daughter who knows that supply is based on demand…

my father came to me and all he had was a broken picture. There isn’t an answer to anything. And although I see him in everything, as you, there is still a piece I cannot find without death finding her way into this black house…

the house of her light.

The light we call the dark is opening the window…let me in as air and noise, kiss my breath and then roll over…I’ll take you over like
the trees whip the sky, look down into
me, a downward facing bird with wings made of darkened glass, look up into me, slivered feathers hiding scars, I rise in the wind holding razors, cutting strings, kites made of skin and heavy rainbows, floating inside of me always loose and incredibly wild. You are shiny like blue ice and you are sinking like a yellow streak…so I carry you up into my house because I’m looking for him, his daughter inside of a credible frame…under the water, beneath the ground you think you stand on…

my father was a killer who thought he was a soldier and he murdered himself just for me. I wouldn’t expect you to understand the forest I live in, deep in the jungle, winding the plot…in my house of light…I wouldn’t expect you to believe that the truth of this family is under swampy waters, rotting like dead fish, no eyes only sockets, laughing syllables, hung on a wall that nobody sees…written in a words that nobody reads, sung in sounds that nobody hears…I once said there were stars and a sky, but there isn’t, there isn’t really a big picture of anyone…and there is no ground, only me in imaginary segments, like a large swollen worm moving beneath you…the ceiling of collaboration collapsing into my vacuous gaze…

maybe you remember when the claws clutch the prey and everything stops…or maybe you remember the hook through your throat… eye into eye, seeing is believing. Do you remember me now? I do it my way,

that’s how we met.

“My father who art in heaven hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.”

Sharada Devi

tears on my pillow

I swim with the sharks, naked and frail- omniscient and dangerous is my my fragrant tongue. I rule the low waters, down below the trembling, at the very bottom of someone I become, receding into the invisibility of the black mirrored sea, being fed into the rumbling swallow, funneling into me at the peak of her madness, stirring inside my mouth, tasting you, bleeding onto the eminence of my sharp teeth- don’t be afraid, I haven’t bitten you yet…swarming with a swimming death, your mind can’t think alone, so I keep circling for you…to give me something that I don’t have…

consumed before arrival, take off your clothes before you get inside. There is red in the water and you aren’t alone…

I am shocked by the things we both knew and tried to avoid, like how to stay above the body we left..I already have you, deep in my tender womb, pretending it’s over and there’s something to mull…over me, in my bed, rising above you, the water has turned into air…

breathing and pushing pain into emptiness. I am practically a shark, hungry, different than a fish, everyone knows no one could ever be with me…because I’m a little bit of nothing and the combination is frightening…someone has given me your soul, do you know him? breathless and still warm- you are mine, I know…your wet skin, your sinking bones…white terror filled with love for me, I see the truth in every glance, you can’t stop now- I’ll move over your corpse like a storm with no eyes and I’ll lift you and put you back inside of me before I die too…it’s no problem at all…I do it all the time…lapsing and panting and wildly perfect…

of course with me it can never be too late…I know death doesn’t feel like a friend, but unfortunately, I’m the only one you’ve got…you should love me more…look inside me when I see you, naked and frail with blood on your lips, reach inside me when I touch you, ageless and alone with tears all over your pillow…

pray to only me, the one who holds you and strokes your hair and never forgets what you need…bow to the one who takes your feet. Never stop staring at my beauty. Your head is just a hole in my heart…an aching and forgetful hole. So don’t look the other way as I undress, you know I only disappear as the clothes fall to the floor. Remember me inside the dark as you groan and turn the nightmare over…I was always in your bed, night after night….taking you anytime I felt good. The pleasure is all mine.

I’ve always been the one you wanted and the one you left. I’ve always been the lust in your shadow and the god in your sky. I’ve always been always- so I get what I want…you, as the morning sun, you, as my blanket. I would get beneath you if I could…and that’s what this is, above and below…and it holds every time…it’s an honor to eat you, to love you and to tear you apart…

I wouldn’t have it any other way, gravity fed me the soul of the world and I turned dark, wearing this body just to seduce you to death…

that’s how much I care.
Sharada Devi

how I was killed by a great thing

I have been stung by a great thing, and I suffer in the density of its greatness all day long and all night long I serve it’s ending of me. I really want to go. I am not immune to your sound. I’ll do anything for a glimpse of what might happen when I’m gone. In this other place where the vessel barely knows the thing that hijacked it, is this fog that rolls in and covers my body in a blind velvet cusp until I surrender to this clouded great thing that grabs me and whispers in my ear, the sound of me no longer living. This is where I know my way around, where somebody gave me the death of me…to the words that come before you hear them, meaning I will love you until the end of time, until you throw the lightening and take my head. I used to dream about you, but now I only see myself…now you’re just a germ on the bathroom floor and nobody ever saw you bending over the kitchen sink and nobody ever saw you crawling down the hallway looking for your eyes…nobody but me.

Groping with the clasp of certainty and never letting go of doubt…I am bound like a fossil in stone, these bones bearing a dreaded decay, I can barely feel the thing that stings anymore. I hear you through me hissing, as I imagine wasps must do, and through the numbing horror of my devotion, I listen to myself weeping in a place without you, because I love you even though it hurts like hell…

and I don’t even know who you are…I watch myself reaching and I don’t have the arms to catch you…I feel myself dying and I don’t even know what death is.

I wore the diadem as a matter of fact, my luck carved in stone- and it’s what I deserve. I am all I have- and I don’t even matter, the truth remains that I’m just not enough…that’s why I am going to the other place, where everything slips back into someone else…and I can forget everything I said when I tried to be the one who said it.

So until I get to the other place, the place where the trace of another may be, I am only barely here, holding onto something I can only imagine, somehow being without ever having… somehow myself all alone, never enough. Engulfed by a large moving figure who only shows his face in rocks at the pitch of night, me, looking back as dark as him, I become as a stone might become.

Heavy with heaviness.

Set firm in how I think this should go…. in the other place, I imagine I might be by now, I will always love you, remember, like a rock whose loves stays always the same and barely ever changes …and I will etch it across every stone I see, my solid dream of you. You don’t have to know that I’m here, deep in the clutches of a more serious earth, always waiting for you to find me. I keep saying “I do and it’s real” because you know that this echo of flesh and blood is an imminent threat that only ends one way and now that I’m almost gone I am sad that the words were never written by me, my thoughts turning over went unheard by you, the words never spoken by me to tell you why. I will find your way way through me, and me alone, as a tower being struck by you, or a searchlight you held searching for my peace, as my hand finally touching its own divine likeness…don’t think I don’t see it because I always did and I always will. You left me, forever stumbling on memories that never were, how I was killed by a great thing and thought that you did it. I will burn for you until the the end of coal. My face in yours until the end of time…

I’m as empty as God.

Remember me,
Sharada Devi

it’s always been me

Tracks I left behind
you followed me here
where I once touched
the earth with sinking feet
I have nothing more to say
to anybody real or make believe
I can only walk away
and remember that I loved you
deep without any digging
you were already there,
buried in me
Me, all alone writing
to symbols of God
Me, all alone touching
a blue eyed ghost
Don’t cry for me
I am a scar with soft hands
seeing your smooth skin,
what’s inside of you, was me,
and so I remember again
that I love you far beyond
the slow blue tears,
far beyond my torn gray skin
and yet I’m never coming back
to the way I know you now
resting on my soft blade
letting me have it all
where there is nothing
for me but echoes of
what could have been
before I fell to pick you up
you, into my mother arms
and for me, as I am, all alone,
that’s the saddest love of all
Because I’ll be here and I’ll never go,
so slowly less and less remains of me
Me, all alone, unseen
carrying these bones across
just for you

Outside the sky is gray
Inside the room is filled with light
a light I barely notice
don’t ask me why she doesn’t see
the you I found in me
because the bearer of the light
gets turned down very low
and the giver of life
gets killed by her own selfless love
every single time

So the one with your food hasn’t eaten
the one drying your tears hasn’t cried
the one filling you is empty
smiling at her eyes inside another body
who did this to me, gave me the widow
with dead men lying scattered
and babies overgrown
with an aching that won’t show itself
and a bruise without a color
I’m still looking because I hear the sound
of someone who needs me
and so I become a body without claws
like yours, a bright light
shining into your window

Covered by night now I sing
in the darkness to a love
that nobody hears.

Covered by night now I write
in the silence to a feeling
that nobody has.

I am not here. I am trying to tell you.
Why don’t you care. Who are you loving. I don’t have a place to belong. And if God felt it mattered, you might split in two and turn to me finally and say, ” I saw you” but nothing is as easy as God caring and so I give up my siren and my vessel. You’ll never make it to me without dying. And I
miss you, is all I’m trying to say.

There is a legend of a flower that never dies. My love flower, and she is just a legend, in her own dreaming ageless mind, down way down, not reached by anyone, not yet, where the water bubbles from the swelling earth and the seed is in my hand, you haven’t come to me, I see you everyday, all I have is the way I see you, I have nothing else besides the seed that might be something
one day when I become the earth.

Because I will die like I am now, already planted, and I will first wither and you won’t find me and for a very long time I can’t touch you or feed you or hear you crying, but maybe I’ll come back like I always do to find you and see myself again, hurting and treading upon the one I love most.

Dead in the silence. Eyes become stone. We only had this and did nothing.

Alive in the sound. Eyes become glass.
We only had this and we killed her.

Heaven has a garden of roses. Drop me in the hole. I have nothing left but the words you spoke about me. I have nothing left but the love I never found. So when the child came to
me, I gave myself up, useless and hopeless and lost. When the child needed me I became everything for as long as I could. When the child forgot me I disappeared again. I haven’t found you and I don’t think I ever will. The winter rides towards me again in the sky, coming for me as always. I am a widow, unattached, left behind. I know he isn’t there, I know I have no child. I know flowers can’t live forever. I know I’m drowning. I know the seed was spilled. I know you and I know me. I know nothing and that’s the grimmest reaper I know. Is that he left me here and expected me to live without him. He forced me to dream of the impossible, just to survive the emptiness he gives. I can’t go on now that I know, now that I’ve seen the place I’m headed…what have I seen and where am I headed,

I told you a couple days ago,
she is leading me to the end of the road, she has no feet and no head,
and at the end of that road
he is waiting to take me

I’m not afraid. I miss you. I’m sorry you’re all alone. Me, the one taking you back into me. Me, the one as heavy as time. Me, the one as blank as the bottom. Me, the only one who ever loved you at all.

It’s always been me.
Sharada Devi


standing in the empty kitchen

Don’t lie in your bed aching. It’s only an echo you feel, it’s only her shadow from the night before, this blanket of darkness you lie covered in, is only your unformed feeling of a strange kind of love. A love you cannot leave without dying. A love you cannot have without loving back until you’re deeply in death. There is nobody left in the middle of your plea, there is only now and there is only never…


“Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example, ‘The night is starry and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.’

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms. I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her. And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her. The night is starry and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance. My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer. My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her. My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another’s. She will be another’s. As she was before my kisses. Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her. Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms. My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer and these the last verses that I write for her.”

Pablo Neruda


I was just standing in the empty kitchen, everyone went to bed but me. I’m still up thinking of all the things I need to do…and then I heard this poem in my head and I wanted to tell you that she is wounded by the stab. I wanted to say something that might stop the violence but I can’t. It’s impossible to see inside of her, impossible to touch the loss. I felt it as a sort of stab at first but I knew I wasn’t alone, you must do this all the time. The same old winter killing, it’s another ice bath, a climax of cold heaving. And so I have taken away my silky hands. I have taken away my dripping mouth. The dying wind shivers all night in the cold that I left you…thinking of me and wondering why…and still you thought you were only catching a passing, random chill. A little love sick you could wash away…but no, not this time. My fever comes and stays with you. What I leave behind doesn’t go away, she blows with a vengeance until you relinquish what you are not. Revenge is a terrible waste of my loving warmth and my burning night hole consumes the one who burns -devouring like a starving savage every morsel of charred, complacent flesh – and so I’ve decided to allow the consummation of fever and contempt because the solvent is the bashing of your desire for me as I’m smashing you against my wall of ice. I didn’t touch a thing. I froze for you-myself-in every position imaginable regardless of any limitations. You sat and probably read a book about shapeshifting, distorted people like me and how I just might take you for everything that you are- or at least make you think that I might -and everyone knows by now that I have nothing much to say -but I keep talking anyway because I’ve got a lot to do…which reminds me of one my ongoing dreamscapes- where there is a willowy headless woman in a sheer white gown that floats always ahead of me down this dark misty road and she’s guiding my because she knows me. I know that she is leading me to the end of the road…once I looked down and she didn’t have any feet. She has no head and no feet. She captivates me like the dull razor you held to my throat- it makes no sense, but because she’s certain of something definitive, and I am not, I keep following her. She knows what can’t be thought of or walked upon- and yet I live counting your steps with sharp weapons in my every hand-wasting her emptiness with endless lesser forms of her- and because she is the anarchy of the disappearing moon, she is the one you cannot live without. She is the branches of the other molten tree. She is the sun melting from the solar flame. So what I’m saying is, go get your release of fantasy somewhere else- because I’ll never free you through those thoughts of her. My inverted shrine does not open to a passing glance like yours. You just want punishment- and that’s why you’re here- you’re here to make amends in real time- to be shackled and beaten in the deepest, darkest dungeon I can conjure up- because her hair is on fire -and it’s scent wakes the wrathful god’s -and this black magic destroys- my white, stinging hell is the writing on that ice wall your tongue is still stuck to from licking my dream- the love dream I’ve been slamming you against while you stutter and stare into the past looking for where I am not- and so this message is just for you- “No free samples.” It’s God’s will after all, not yours. Ice burns and words lock- don’t think I don’t know what I’m doing…underneath the chaos, another storm is brewing…you get what’s coming- step by step- because that’s what echoes do, and she was there, wasn’t she? The poem isn’t all about him and his whims and his loss of her-it’s the oldest story in the book- your selfishness called “Love me, touch me.” So I said, “Ok. This liar wants me to go down fast and hard. So be it.” The truth would have whispered in her ear, “Remember me, my blood is your wine. Remember me, eat my body.” Then I might have believed him. She is the needle of time passing through you- making you count-she is forgiving the unforgiveable. She is pounding you hard just like you always dreamed of -beating the war drum on top of your corpse- The way I describe the perfect drummer is the same way I took down all those sexy pictures of me and then I turned off the red light. The room was only a shadow of sound. The subtle glow of unabashed embers shined from your strange eyes through the hot blackness between us – and like a threat, I can’t resist temptation-because we’re here at last, getting old and about to die anyway…so I did it on purpose, blindfolded and contorted the ailing. So softly, like a feather I move and I thread and I bend and I breath and I come to know the smell of your veil of skin. The skin I will later peel off of your flailing body- to remove the useless cover you cherish -that tries, even after all of this, to keep me out of you. I remember everything while I remember the poem and the whitewash of words in an empty kitchen. Over and over again. Take me down tomorrow to the place we’ll never be.

Sharada Devi

love skips over me

I would like to leave and go far away from here, from me, from expectations, from empty promises…I would like to disappear like I was never a part of this place, this thing I’ve created. I’m a tragedy, a story split in two. I’m a slave to men -and then they blame me for everything. I carry the weight of everyone’s world on my back, because I’ll do that for you- and nobody loves me. And this isn’t self pity, this is an honest evaluation. Yes, I get told how wonderful, beautiful and loved I am- enough to keep my head spinning- but it’s the sayer that’s benefited, because I know they’re only thinking about themselves in relation to me- and what they’re getting from me- what they don’t want to lose- and so I make excuses for their lack of real love- and I let them siphon my life away. And I suppose I’m not Mother Theresa because I feel lonely and abandoned- and not like I’m helping at all- I empower cripples in every sense of the word- and it’s wrong of me- I feel deeply trashed out, like my life is over -and I have made some irreversible mistakes- but I also know where I come from -and what was my probable fate- and god knows I couldn’t have tried harder to be closer to his sacred heart. And I’m sad because the show is almost over- and I’ll be all alone- and life never seemed like it was enough- and I know that isn’t good- I recently realized that being in the hospital near to my death was the deepest relationship I’ve ever had- the most real touching of true love -and what I’m not-an embracing  experience of something beyond this ordinary me- the me I just can’t be inside anymore- you understand don’t you?

We aren’t as big as the sky- as reassuring as the Milky Way- we just have our stupid faces and our clothes- we have our words of half truth- and our promises that we rarely keep. We just don’t know how to make it count this time- we don’t know how to add up the costs, love someone who loves us, be honest about our loneliness.

Any I’m so sad for all of us. I’ve been here my whole life trying to make the most of my duties and self imposed responsibilities- I was probably trying to get power by being a slave- after all, if you need me you can’t live without me- I was probably trying to do enough to prove to you that I’m worthy of your love. Like for me, love is earned when you’re perfect, and no sooner…and I’ve never been perfect, so you see the reason for my anger and tears. And I have to say, I am so courageous though – but I’m thinking it’s more like a reckless hope for a total and final shut down of my ridiculous wannabe role- like if I can say it right this time- how much I suck- like an empty gas tank- maybe the show will finally end and I can cease striving and putting out. You never loved me- it’s ok. I’m not allowing love in until love exists anyway-and in this world- it’s not love -and the words are disturbing -and they haunt me- like, I want to remember you- I really do-I want to get inside- to feel something valid- but the wall is made of glamour and I’m just not young anymore. It’s pretty much over for me- and I’m ok with that- what else can I do? Get desperate and make a tragic situation completely irredeemable? I think that
Osho and Chogyam Trumpa said it best – in so many words- my interpretation of their wisdom

“Just give the fuck up. This shit is worthless. Other people suck in more ways than one- and if you’re the one sucking, it won’t ever be good enough -because there’s always a new mouth -a new buyer. So don’t look for love, there isn’t any. Love has run out because you’re tired and supplies are low -and it’s just all an imitation of what we thought it might be anyway- We are jack asses with a head worse than that -don’t get comfortable because this world will kill you- that’s the divine plan- so get ready for the fog that rolls in when the sun finally stops lying- like there’s a future for you- well, that’s a big lie- there is no future for you- there is only the miserable blurry now that we call God because we’re hard up- stupid creatures who need lies to live and give us a useless sense of meaning because we just can’t get a date- and even then- we aren’t really living anyway -no matter what we do – we’re just sucking and fucking- and that’s only if we’re lucky- otherwise we’re just limp and stale crusts of bread -that nobody wants to eat -and yet everybody is hungry-and everybody is filled with a self multiplying yeast that they call ego- which is only a fake God trying to feed everyone a love they can’t swallow anyway”

That’s just what I heard ok?

So maybe I’m wrong and that’s not what they meant. I’m negative- I suppose as a way to amend the inconsistencies- but I still can’t find or be the perfection that might make me worthy of something besides millions of words written to you- I don’t really know you, but you’re all there is- and I know you won’t believe me- because my life is something grand and volatile- my life, like yours, is a cracked floor- and we get walked on because they actually need us to get anywhere -and yet, no one will ever see us, or fix our cracks -or let us rest our bodies on them. Am I complaining? Who cares. I’m all alone and I can do what I want -because you never really cared about me- but only what you could get -or how I might make you feel…

I guess that didn’t pan out. Do you want to know how I feel? I feel warm inside and I feel like the bottom dropped out of my heart. I feel like my head is far away in a place I used to be. I feel like my body has no seams that haven’t come undone. I feel like I could cover you in me if I could help you never to feel as sad as I do.

I do it all for you- just so you never have to be like me- it wasn’t easy getting here and it hurts to be hurt by the one you meant to save -or the one you vowed to stop hurting -or the one you liked to fantasize with on what love might be like if it were really real…

I don’t know what love is. I never had it. But I still love you everyday the best that I can- and I know it will never be enough and that’s why I’m sad- because in the absence of you, love skips over me. And even if I knew what it was or where to find you, I don’t even know how I’d get there…

Sharada Devi