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for you, my dear

2004-10-08_xx_2:58 p.m.


My dear,

If I were to say all the things I had to say, if I were to sink in the fangs and let all the venom pump through your veins�why my dear, I would be no better than the demon that you perceive me to be.

Instead of, ripping your claws from my flesh, an act I assure you will hurt both of us equally; I try subtly, compassion, reason and logic. All of which seemed lost on you, since you always scrunch up your face and cock one eyebrow and always claiming you understand. Your idea of defusing the situation is to wear a shirt that is a cut lower than the one before, or simply strip it off all together. You wash away the tears with carnal sin and deny plotting subterfuge while using your flesh as the ultimate deterrent. Yet despite this dance, this tango, this break-down beat-box mess that we continue to Shirley Temple around, you still cry out in the night and my phone buzzes to life at all hours as yet another has broken your heart and you need your pseudo-prince and his white Chevy to come rescue you�again.

I�ve kissed your tears away too many times and last time I checked friends aren�t supposed to be this naked with each other. Sure, the laying bear of souls and the rendering of brain matter out in the open is something that friends are supposed to share, but even if we don�t believe in the whole �god� thing, I think it inherently wrong that we can give each other everything under the sun that is sinful, but never truly have it all.

So I gaze into those big brown eyes, regardless of what colored contact lenses you have in to disguise the real you and I can see�right down the front of your shirt and I swear if there was a hole beneath you the residences of the Xijiang province would be staring right back. How can I reason logic and consistency with someone who doesn�t even know what her real hair color is?

You make claims to things that you are not, speak in tongues you think you are fluent in and you just can�t get those claws to let go.

So my dear, if I were to say all the things I had to say, if I were to sink in the fangs and let all the venom pump through your veins�why, I would be no better than the demon that you perceive me to be. And with you rooted so firmly in my soul, the poison I would use to cut you lose, would probably kill me to.

I hate to love you and love to hate you.

Sincerely,

A southwestprophet

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