XVI and she’s alive.
With a lovely, detached feeling from those who know her.
And a slow, fragmented realization that she doesn’t yet know herself.
So what should she do, other than become a child of the darkest night?
What can she do but lose herself in cheap alcohol and stolen cigarettes?
A drawn in, choked breath through a filter can only make her feel better,
Even if it is with the awful taste of guilt because this might be the only (first) thing she has ever stolen.
But maybe she was meant to live this way, to taste the vicarious nature of life on the tip of her tongue as if it were her own to be swallowed.
And it is with this that she knows for the first time what it means to live through death, and see through the ghostly mask of something in your system that makes you feel and forget.
She’s so high…
It is with this that she knows for the first time the feel of someone else’s body too close to her own, and the helplessness that cannot be fully expressed through the burden of speech.
So she forgives and forgets, although she does feel regret at the sinking truth that she has just gifted away some small part of herself to someone who won’t even be back tomorrow.
It is now that she discovers that thrill seeking is not truly worth the result, because most of the thrill was lost in the seeking.
It is here that she knows what life is, but can only wistfully reminisce and wish that she had craved then what she craves now.
A/N This poem...has a very cliche idea and is not so unique, but for some reason, I really like it. The title is "forse", which means "perhaps" in Italian. Enjoy...all I want for Christmas is some comments!
