IV: Wild

I think it's half funny half interesting how we turn into savage drooling animals when it comes to passion.
I guess i fit in that group of "unfitting girls" for questioning that.
I guess i should just cut the bullshit and let it go.
Loose the clothes and get in here, bitch, right?
But wait, first wait.
No one wants to get hurt
If you don't wait my body will fail and it won't burst open for you.
If you make me breathe your stinking sheets
and choke on the smell of spit all over the pillow
My mouth will dry
and it won't taste yours
I don't know
Maybe i didn't want to.
Maybe i just didn't fucking want to.

"It's okay if you want to change the subject"
"We're in the middle of this, Cameron. We're getting to the point."
"Oh no, the point was discovered long ago..."
"Okay, then let's get to another edge":

my brother and i used to sleep on the same bed.
Some nights i punched him in the face
how can one single person make so many noises in his sleep?
first the tongue stuck to the palate
then the drool swallowing and then the snores
maybe a sneeze
maybe an arm itching
maybe a tiny moan
maybe puberty...

first night he thought i was asleep
later he knew i wasn't but he carried on
and frigged
and choked his thing 'cause it was there to be strangled in the dark
and i was there to witness what would soon become a routine
even with the fucking lights on.
We laughed though.
Mom? well she knows shit
and nobody taught us how.

He probably got it from dad but one day he was long gone then and forever, Cameron knows that.

And mother was God
'cause she caressed where it hurt with her songs and my dramma.
I celebrated the buiscuits of cloudy green gardens while her hands brushed my hair
and made ponytails from it
                                        then home was sweet
                                                                        when it rained.

I was focused on growing up as safely (in quotations) as i could
confusing myself with a hip of the same old poison:
"loose the clothes and get in here, bitch"
(loose the clothes while i scratch and smack and rush inside you
'till my fuck has flowed.
Because you're so skinny and fragile and easy under me.
Because i hold your hands tight and perhaps i don't let you talk
or scream
or i just want to feel the steam of your denial turning to sweat on my palm
as i quickly bungee jump in your tiny core)

some words slipped afterwards
"you were really good"
even though i didn't do or feel anything.
Good girl
beating beside him.
And then the smokey glue
coming in the shape of a whisper or a sigh
ice cold but warm:
"I love you"
So lopsided smile from me
'cause those three words change the world
turn it blurry
drunk
high
fucked up pretty nicely.

By dawn it wasn't enough 'cause they faded away like most lies.
And i needed more
more confusion
more disguised pain.
At least 4 "i love you"s a week
and i digged for it.

Oh mother, are you there?
won't you kiss my cheek goodnight?
lull my soul to sleep?
i'm so empty.

But the day i met the light was close.
The day i met and understood goodness was soon to happen.
And one night i danced
and i had beer
and "hey, you got a light? thank you! wanna dance? i'm Ginger"

"I'm June."
Nice to meet you

And magic.

Twas the night i dared to promise myself
that from now on
no man
would touch me
ever
again.

III: Love

well maybe i do need these pills
                                          and maybe i'm not as smart as i think i am but i still have solitude. everyfuckingwhere.
even in social circles, i still find myself hidden in a corner like an upsidedown sleeping bat.
but solitude is to be embraced.
hate in solitude is dangerous, take good care of that.
give hate those pills, i'll swallow them later.

maybe we all need a day off.

headaches are sort of gone,
my brain works from time to time.
i can't nod or shake anything that involves my neck, it twistes alltogether in a perfect mushroom shape
sometimes my spit turns to blood.

'speak' said Dr. Cameron.
'fuck off' i replied.

my hands are useless
sell them
at the amazing price of $fucking1

i'm an insect.

still i'm pretty, you know, i like me.
i like Dr Cameron because she's a professional.
i trust her.
i just don't want to talk right now.

pause.
slap.
crush
kingdom.

i have a crush on one of the patients.
she's legally insane.
she's a he.
i am everyone at the room:
from left to right i hold a cigarette with one hand and a cup of wine with the other
i wear a cozy black suit and i have a funny beard.
i'm at the toilette hating my dress and rubbing my feet on the carpet
i'm sitting on a couch next to a couple making out
that's my turn to spit the blood
spread the virus on myself

it's a cold cold night
everyone should fucking die

if i only could smash this hate against some confident wall
yeah Dr Cameron sounds like a giving a go
but i need time to hesitate.
i also need a good sleep.
and a good lay.

kind of weird
i have wings.
it's these things in my stomach
i think it's the crush i've got
on her
on him
'who's that?'
'i can't really tell now, Cameron.'

Cam
(((cum)))
yes, it's easy
she nods and writes
i have to exist.

i can't really find a good definition for love
at least nothing than a parallel life
because we are here
but we're also there
wherever we want it to be
up
down
left right
we chase the dragon
a silver dragon i guess
maybe all my neurons are in their night gowns
but i'm trying to open my heart here
with a knife of words
a rough knife of silver words
'cause i've been feeling in love.
and that doesn't mean anything with swallowing those damn pills

fuck
being in love is living the dream
living a dream leads to awakening
and we're alive
but we're just Here.

Wherever i am
is not what i dreamt.

tu rima en tanga (adiós muñeca)

Adiós muñeca nena embrión carrito

adiós postura jeroglífica de ayer

adiós ayer y antes de y antes de

adiós muñeca ojalá te vaya bien

las fotos de buena calidad
la luz blanca (blanca) desde arriba
y yo con el jean a medio sacar
escuchando los gemidos venezolanos de la vecina

me duelen las piernas de tanto bailar
la media del pie izquierdo también por la mitad
en la casa de al lado se bajan un ron o un tequila
mientras late Marc Antony desde la cocina

tengo un cuadernito de los deseos
tengo sed pero jugo de pomelo
el jean no se sale tal vez yo no quiero
tal vez quiero que lo arranque un tirón ajeno

GILÓN