The Secret Chord That Pleased The Lord.

I dreamt you had perfume in your blood, love
I swear the night was drawn on
the skyline.

I saw where the scars on your heart start
I sweat through the sheets
in your bed.

I tasted the parched sand of love, sweet
I swear the trees were born on
the horizon.

I want to see me a flick show.

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My cat keeps bringing bugs into the house to play with. Crickets and cockroaches. He toys with 'em, bats them around the living room in front of me with wide-eyes and youthful vigour. Them bugs must wonder what the fuck is going on when they're one minute perusing the world at their leisure, then the next are scooped up in the mouth of a feline, carted into a strange house and subsequently harangued until they escape (never happens) or they die. It seems a little unfair, but I'll be fucked if I'm going to sit here and debate the morality of letting a cat who is still really a kitten kill bugs.

But, I will ponder on it. Not out loud, not publicly, not in writing. Silently. Like a stealth bomber or a ninja or a guy walking past a deaf guy. Yeah, I'm in the mood for silence.

I've been getting caught up in thoughts of drowning myself. With an anchor. In the lake where I grew up, in shallow water so no one will have to dive for my body. Even though my uncles are divers and they have recovered hundreds of dead bodies over the years and they would be able to find me easily and efficiently. But I'm not worth all that work. Plus in the shallow water I'll be able to watch the sun refracting through the water as I wait to lose all that oxygen and slowly lose consciousness. And then the peace and quiet will come and I'll never have to hear another word spoken or another sound in my ear. I could go the shotgun route but it doesn't strike me as the right way for me to go. I'm made for the water, always have been.

I have others to think of, however. Friends and family who will be saddened and angry. No lover to mourn the loss, though. But that makes sense, too. I'm not made to make people happy. I'm made to make 'em appreciate the good because in me, they're witnessing the bad. Time heals all wounds, except perhaps for the wound of losing someone like this. But I won't be here to feel the guilt, so should I truly care? Call me a bitch, but I can't help but feel bad about the idea. I care about many people, just not myself.

So we come to the road block. Any suggestions? Should I stay or should I go? I don't want to hurt anyone, least of all you Freckle. I just can't seem to make this all ok.

How many years since you last watched "American Pie"?