Tuesday, March 13, 2012

loving an artist...

I love and hate that which makes you what you are...in moments you are wise and loving and tender and true, but then the beast comes you transform into something other and wicked. your transformation completed in the self absorbed artist who cares not a fig for anyone but him self and his next lay or next fix.

The Jekyll and Hyde wage war in your being, battling for control.  A kind man and a cruel lover both pull me closer and closer to the edge of reason.  You will be the death of me or the inspiration of the greatest art  my soul can hold. Either way I don't know whom you will be from moment to moment and for some godawful reason I can't seem to let go. My affection for you is like some warped version of Jacob's wrestling with the Angel seeking for blessing. A deep river of thought runs through my heart bound to the belief that if I just hold on I will be blessed by your Angel.

So I eat the bitter tasting half promises, the soggy professions of love and care...hoping vainly I'm sure in a lover who will never really care. For I am not words on a page or a screen, neither painting nor canvas (although I would willing offer my body to your creative endeavors), alas neither am I guitar or bass or drums that you can stoke and hit. I am merely woman, lover of your take heart and soul...drinking the drops and swallowing the crumbs that are left in the wake of your magical whirlwinds. 

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