s.envy

I woke up this morning with bitter jealousy in my heart. Envy, one could possibly intertwine with what I describe as my bitter feelings of retribution, but I think jealousy is the most fitting. I desire to take nothing but credibility- then, is it envy? I don’t know. I don’t care much.

I feel this way because reality’s stern hand has never touched me. Stern, but I say sweet- I need her hand to hold mine and keep me steady. I think she will come to me soon.

Sentences don’t need to make sense. All that matters is that I understand them, hear them. I don’t need to make sense- all that matters is that I hear myself, or someone else hears me. Nobody can hear me the way I hear the buzzing of my words, of my broken bits of yarn tied together humbly and pridefully, or give me the grace that I give to my sinful manipulations.

I don’t want to own anyone’s heart or watch or gilded rings. I want their words, to seize them and be in control of them, to bend them the way I bend the ones that I have already stolen into my own possession. At some point I will realize that my own surplus of sayings is enough, when reality cruelly latches onto me. The distance yields no clues of her impending presence, so I am left to wait and live with myself while I wait for her to hold my twitching hands.