Toujours à deux
.
Est-ce que t’as pleuré?
Il pleuvait autour de mes souvenirs.
Coulée chaude qui m’entraînait sous la réalité.
Jamais au dessus.
Des rivières de moments qui se déversaient dans mes rêves.
Il n’y fait plus chaud maintenant.
J’ai ouvert les fenêtres, les portes.
Je laisse le vent assécher les traces de nos passages.
Les cernes marquant le niveau des marées seuls témoins de l’humidité de nos voyages.
.
Struggle
.
Waiting in line, waiting to pay for something I can’t afford. Buried in the depts of my purse. Sitting on the kitchen table. The weight.
Every consequence I anticipated. But not doubt. I’m faltering. Is that what peace of mind costs?
Should I give in, should I surrender, should I brush off the alarms, a tinnitus without prozac. Acceptance.
I am what I wanted to become yet the consequences of my changes are bringing back the outlines to the surface. I pressed too hard on the pencil. I can still see. No matter what.
And the pulls, and the pushes, and the hooks. My skin rips, but does not shed. I can see my bones.
As naked as I want to be, disguises cling to my fingers. I have made no promises. Put forth only my hunger.
The weight. In my purse. On the table. No one is looking. But I see.
.
Ouf!!!!
.
Quelle journée! L’ai-je dit? Joie!
.
En musique…
.
Parce que j’ai trop de souvenirs des Saint Jean de mon adolescence… J’aime autant écouter ma musique. Écoutez la vous aussi, cliquez sur mes voeux 
C’est juste plus ce que c’était. Enfin… C’est probablement moi qui ne voit plus les choses comme avant. Balancez moi votre politique à la gueule à l’année longue. On peut tu prendre un crisse de break une journée par année?
.
I’m wrong
.
I’m thinking maybe I’m wrong. I’m thinking too much is what I think. I’m thinking that that being happy thing is really more of a drag than anything. It’s so… foreign.
It’s fucking boring. I’m fucking boring. I went to pick wild flowers in a field on my lunch break yesterday… What. The. Fuck.
But I feel clouds forming. I feel fire building up. The darkness hovering.
My sweetest dreams contain coarse language, violence and explicit sexuality. Viewer’s discretion is advised.
Thank god for PMS.
…!
Did I just write that?
.
A ride
.
We sped up
And we slowed down
Between, a burst of flesh
It’s the ride
It’s the speed
I could let you drive for a while
I could grab the wheel
I could get off
I could
.
