I’m sorry I had feelings again. I’m sorry I had feelings and I’m sorry that I don’t know what to do with them. They’re so unwieldy, these feelings, this wet slab of sadness and hope, and I’m standing there as the butcher and they’re hanging there as the carcass, exposed, bleeding thinly on the floor, pooling at your feet, staining your shoes, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do next because the slab and the knife and the butcher are all me. It’s all me. The meat and the blood and the sadness and the hope. All me.
And I’m getting my feelings all over you, again, so I’m sorry.
I’m sorry I got me all over you.
I really am.
I just don’t know what else to do right now.
And getting feelings over you isn’t nearly as easy as just getting over you so we’re back to the hope and the blood and the sadness and the meat, and the meat, when we meet, when we met, and every time I look at you I get hung up, still on tenterhooks.
I’m really making a mess of things, aren’t I?
Mercury Combustion in the Fifth House (barely)
I want to say something here about you, but I can’t. I can’t because it’s already been said or it’s not ready to be said or it’s not my place to say it, not now anyway. I want to talk about the version of you that lingers on my fucked up teeth, pressed against my coffee-stained tongue, making divots in the soft slab of my mouth. The soft slab speaking of anticipation and guilt and joy, the slab that’s still me, still searching for you. I want to say something about you, but I can’t, because I don’t even know what to say anymore. So I’ll stay quite, keep the tongue still, and in the daylight tomorrow the lingering will grow dry, and flake, and crumble.
Venus Conjunct Neptune in the Fourth House
Jesus, God, can we forget the feelings for a minute? Forget the feelings and let me feel a press against my skin instead of the pressure of trying to escape it. Forget the feelings and just feel me, feeling you, handfuls of soft flesh, sweaty slabs of sadness and hope coming together, and let me be wet from something other than tears for just one minute, just one minute more, just one more minute, I’m close, I promise—
I’m on my way.
I’ll meet you there.
I’ll see you after.
I’ll catch a ride.
No, I’ll be fine. Go head. Go with him. No need to stay with me.
I’ll be fine.
Mercury: Ruler of the Chart
And this is the point where I say something uplifting, something that makes all this sham and drudgery worthwhile, something with meaning to lead us to an end.
But it’s complicated.
It’s complicated and it’s complex and—
“There are complications,” said the surgeon as he held my heart in his hands, and Oh My God, is that really the metaphor I’m going with? Ugggggghhhhhhhhhhh. Fukken sadboy tripe. WTF am I even doing?
Saturn Squares the Ruler of the House of the Moon
My body has grown soft. Soft and brittle, hard to move, easy to bruise. Skin that shifts a little too freely over fat, pulled loose and drooping. My skin didn’t toughen with age, but instead grew soft, like the peel on a rotted fruit.
I don’t think I’m rotted, though, not to the core, anyway. There’s something sweet still lurking behind my eyes, my wet and itchy eyes, the heavy lids, the red veins streaking in the corners, the blue a little darker now than it used to be. So keep crushing me and we’ll see if there isn’t some juice left in this wet slab of sadness (and hope). Because I am delicate, but I am still delectable, and someone will drink with me.
Why can’t it be you?