Laying back in my casket, I’ve accepted the end. This world around me, casually caving in. Caving in like my chest. It could be the years of chain-smoking cigarettes and stress. But I do believe you had something to do with this. I could replace these thoughts of you by visiting old friends. Instead of decomposing my soul alone at home, trying to pretend that there was a feeling that once existed. Now all I can feel is a burning hate. And that choking feeling closing in. There are temporary escapes, but I don’t believe there is anyone left to relate. And as soon as you came into my life, there you went. Only you took my dignity in exchange for the time that I spent making some kind of attempt to repent my sins. This is the end of everything. I can feel it reeling in my bones, sinking deep into my cells. Welcome back dear, home is where you hang yourself.
~G. Grippa 2010
Unaware of how gravity lifts me away. How heavy burdens of love entwined with seas of despair slowly, but surely pull me the same. Left to disintegrate. Into dust like remaining ashes from the flame. And I’ll continue to do it again and again. Take my hands and read my fate. My fingers breed dysphoria while my knuckles burn bone white hate. And I’ll dig deeper and deeper until there’s nothing left. And remember the days I swore I’d never forget. To give time in exchange for you taking it all away. Gravity and burdens, they pull me the same. ~Gia Grippa 2010
Emotional alimony.
Shit broke, tonight I called on a ghost. What an omen to be left empty handed, alone in a world full of hosts; show boating their greed for their lack of hospitality. This is the false reality; the imperfect fallacy. That shiver down the spinal cord immersed through the galaxy. The clock; hypnotic; ticks, hip bone on hip, aligned dead on at the lips. Make a dead man shake in his boots, pining for that gentleman’s grip. The doctor says I won’t feel a thing as I float through the pores in the ceiling. So why do I linger in the lack of a feeling? The tension is a slow, but sure reeling. Windshield crack, light pours through the glass as my ghost sits shotgun and spews out a laugh. The laughing stock, the gun cocks, holds two promises in the chamber. A “his” and a “hers” and both in your favor. ~Giorgia Grippa 2010
I believe time passes so slow because my mind always races a mile a minute. Sometimes I think about life without me in it. Heightened pulse at the quick draw. Descending away from what I’ve seen over time in awe. In retrospect, this life has been one big unfortunate event. And the stadium in my soul isn’t clapping at the end. A compilation of the burning desires, lessons learned, the cat’s curiosity have kept me afloat. A sad song that bellows through the radio. Could have, should have, never been so careless. But one caress can make me a mess. Still to this day. I find myself falling farther away. Full of love, full of hate, but not full of shit. I can guarantee you this. This is the part that you have missed. Forever questioning what’s missing. And what’s here doesn’t seem to be real. Time is of the essence, they say. I disregard the statement anyway. ~G. Grippa 2010
Use it or lose it.
Be careful and certain not to abuse it. Take this window of opportunity and look through it. Don’t let me ask you again; just do it. Life’s carousel won’t slow down for anyone. Adolescent innocence is long gone. Now you must take responsibility for your actions or look like a bum. You can front like a fool or you can overcome. Which seems more godly? I believe the second one. ~G. Grippa 2010
Every day we slaughter our finest impulses. That is why we get a heart-ache when we read those lines written by the hand of a master and recognize them as our own, as the tender shoots which we stifled because we lacked the faith to believe in our own powers, our own criterion of truth and beauty. Every man, when he gets quiet, when he becomes desperately honest with himself, is capable of uttering profound truths. We all derive from the same source. There is no mystery about the origin of things. We are all part of creation, all kings, all poets, all musicians; we have only to open up, to discover what is already there. ~Henry Miller’s Sexus
Born to die.
Filth.
Thinking, standing over the sink trying to wash away the tears with dirt. Everyone tries to analyze my life; but they don’t realize how much it hurts. You’ll never believe it, you cannot fathom how hard it is to be me, so keep your comments to yourself and let me do me. Alone like a rogue warrior walking down the road. This is my life’s pilot and the show has been canceled. The rain hits my face, and I can’t honestly say that I feel no pain. You’re 19 years too late, I’m far beyond that stage. Heavy and unbearable, it’s dragging me down. Sinking to the bottom of this no-name town. Scared of how I’ll get around when soon enough my car breaks down. Now how do you expect me to smile with a permanent frown? Throw my name away like an empty pack of smokes or old receipts. I follow in my own footsteps anticipating defeat. Can’t just one day be beautiful and real, instead of me daydreaming about the way I wanna feel? You all want to step, spit on my rep, but you seem to forget your own faults and disrespects. I never said I was perfect, but I’m above this shit. I was the one to feed you, but my hand got bit. You can all dish it out, but you can’t take it. See me in the flesh and you try to fake it. I may be stuck here now, but I’m gonna make it. Take the hit, make that rip, don’t step on my shit unless you wish to be blessed by a bottomless pit. Thinking, standing over the sink trying to wash away the dirt with tears. You can’t survive in this life til you confront your fears. ~Giorgia Grippa 2010
Pre-midlife crisis.
In the midst of a dawning, it’s Spring. I’m tied down to the nest because you’ve clipped my wings. I’m living in winter, this chill can’t be real. Cold as steel behind the steering wheel. Now all I’ve got left is a memory. The bills pile up, but I still seem to sing the words as they make their way to the back of my brain. I said it once, I’ll say it again. Life has a ball and a chain. The world that surrounds us seems unfairly insane. Now if I could release and forget all my pain, believe me babe I would. So I’m kicking up dust in the road. I cough and I choke into a cloud of smoke. Sometimes I wish I could be one of the grains. Forgotten and floating away. This is where I sign over my life. For many a reason I call it a strife, but I don’t believe that I’ll be a housewife, I won’t, but I’ll put up a fight. I know that’s not my destiny. I’ll work in the dirt til I find a meaning. I’ll visit new places, look down on the stage, as the actors perform my life’s play. Now I’m praying that you’ll believe me. Like the Christians to Jesus, put your faith in me. Look past all the bullshit and simply give in. I promise it’s not complicated. ~Giorgia Grippa 2010
