Tales in the Tunes.

Nameless you above me, come lay me low and love me.

I long so much for Yeshua. For the touch of His skin and His hair and Him. I have such a craving for touch, and I know, I know, that He should be enough in any capacity: spirtually, mentally, whatever. But He made me with such a tactile disposition, and I just fucking want His body here with me, in the completely literal sense.

I change shapes just to hide in this place, but I’m still, I’m still an animal.

‘Cause in my head, there’s a greyhound station, where I send my thoughts to far off destinations, so they may have a chance of finding a place where there far more suited than here.

 Every day, in this place, this planet that I live on, I am hiding. I am apart. Not in the good, Christian way. But in the awkward, I may very well never find anyone to love me who is not contractually obligated by DNA way. So, fuck. But at least I can glory in my unique and differentness, yes? Yes! No. Just kill me, Peter.

Must be a devil between us, or whores in my head.

I put a bevy of mental boundaries betwixt me and what I want so fucking much of the time. I do it defensively, so that I’m not vulnerable and susceptible to actual pain. But what I’m doing is probably worser. Michael.

Moods that take me and erase me, and I’m painted black.

I’m moody. That’s about it. I’m pretty secretive about it, in most ways. Not textually, obviously.

Words fall through me, and always fool me, and I can’t react.

I’m gullible in a knee jerk way. But in about every way for the objects of my affection. I’m also notoriously slow on the upswing with things close to the heart. I somehow break parts of my brain when something too wonderful is happening. I wish the same thing would happen when the too terrible goes on. Doesn’t much though, just in my head.

You put your arms around me, and I believe that it’s easier for you to let me go.

I believe this almost exclusively when it comes to anyone without that DNA contract mentioned earlier. I don’t know why this is. I have a wonderful father, so no daddy issues. I mean, I have a weird dichotomy in me where I feel like too much and not enough and a fantastic catch and a sad sack butt muncher and it’s screwed up. No good psychological excuse, I’m just a whiner with self-destructive tendencies, but not in the beautifully tragic indie movie way, just the everyday, run-of-the-mill, gonna shoot up the post office eventually in my life kind of way.

i will make sure to keep my distance, say i love you when you’re not listening.

GAHHHHHHHHHH I am stupid. I really am. I am so fucking afraid. Any why? What’s the worst that could happen. Oh, he’d say no and make me feel pitiful and like a sadsack buttmuncher and the world would suck itself into its butt and implode and I would be very sad and run up the water bill to completely inappropriate proportions and the universe would be destroyed.

I. Need You. To Want Me. To Hold Me. To Tell Me The Truth.

Basically me. Which should be and kind of is troubling that so much of my life and identity and energy is tied up and down and around this concept of being somebody’s somebody of the only variety and mattering. A lot of my self-worth is contingent on there being a Someday with Someone Somewhere. I should be satisfied with Jesus here now.

Or I should just die and Heaven would fulfill my requirements.

But I’d really really  like to do sex first. Because I DON’T KNOW IF YOU GET TO THERE AND EVEN IF IT IS ALLOWED, IT’S PROBABLY AGAINST THE RULES TO DO SEX WITH JESUS.

That’s enough for this time. I’m going to go sleep (read: watch Fiddler until I pass out with my laptop open and my contacts in and my teeth unbrushed).

NO, it’s not, obviously, because I’m leaving Spotify singing as I check the above for typos and THANKS ANDREA BOCELLI.

Con te partiro, su navi per mari che, io lo so, no, no, non esistono più.

Hey, look, that’s weird, I’m afraid of this. Missing shit. And I know I’m going to/am/already have, because of my FUCKING DEFENSE MECHANISM. DAMN IT, YOU HEDGEHOG.

No puedo pedirle lo eterno un simple mortal, y andar arrojando los cerdos miles de perlas.

I’ve cast quite a few pearls. I do not honestly think you are a swine. But maybe you’re just a non-swine looking for someone else’s pearls and that hurts my chest and burns my eyes and I want to die. Slash, this is also a general statement that articulates my fear that no one outside of the Eternal will satisfy me. Which, I mean, I don’t think I have ridiculously high standards, but more and more I am seeing just how low the world’s have gotten. So, yes, that sucks balls.

Okay, NOW, I’m going to pee and brush my teeth (!) and then watch Fiddler. And, obviously, do some pining for THAT PERSON DAMNIT.

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