cmon, not cold feet

fuck lana del rey, this is not the end & i don't want a boyfriend.

i wouldn't mind a husband, though.

fuck.

or an ex-girlfriend. same thing, tbh. every husband is an ex-girlfriend. friendship is the form of monogamy - a uniquely personal commitment.

but… that's just the form. the content is polyamory. meet the multiplicity of the personal

are you content? right now?

do you have cold feet?

or can your feet move easy, walk to wherever they want to go. run away & come home & run away & come home, fickle as a paper doll.

play st. vincent & marry me, john, marry me, john, i’ll be so good to you.

you won't realise i’m gone.

(no, this is content, actually)

the body is a tool that makes movement possible. not the weight of a corpse that slows you down.

cmon man, not cold feet.

have you forgotten the last time we met?

has it been years?

have a million god awful memories creeped up since?

listen, come sit with me, tell me a story & maybe by the end of it, love will fall to our feet again.

lol. source: just trust me, bro.

no, i know how i sound but wait, listen.

you look real determined, dragging those blocks of ice around. your crystal chains are fusing with the ground. your sleep paralysis demon is quaking.

and baby, i know how temper travels. i have studied, for hours, how heat tries to escape gravity, travelling with the smoke of my cigarettes.

i know when warmth leaves a body, the feet are abandoned first. ma would rub my feet to death when i had a fever. vicks on the soles, socks to the knees.

but you’re not really talking to me, modest mouse is playing again, and my thoughts are too loud, i can’t hear my mouth. and i’m trying to make it like ed sheeran, just thinking out loud.

but maybe pain is the limit of the articulatable.

and is that still incomprehensible?

or is that bdsm?

the sweetest ancient madness- your pain is yours alone. sure.

are you feet still cold?

actually, do you want it in written? is the lack of marriage the problem? are we not real until a brahmin agrees that we are? must we make ambedkar proud?

see, where i grew up, marriage was always a need. people need alliances or something.

but you have my word, my ally. i left it under your tongue when we spoke last.

unto death we part means nothing to suicidals in a death pact.

let me kiss your feet.