Hic Sunt Dracones

the smylere with the knyf under the cloke

Nightmarish Residue

Incubus – I Miss You

To see you when I wake up,
is a gift I didn’t think could be real.

To know that you feel the same as I do,
is a three-fold, utopian dream.

You do something to me that I can’t explain.

So would I be out of line if I said,
I miss you.

I see your picture,
I smell your skin on the empty pillow next to mine.

You have only been gone ten days,
but already I’m wasting away.

I know I’ll see you again,
whether far or soon.

But I need you to know that I care,
and I miss you.


It would be a pleasant sonorous effect to the ears IF only my resentful mind didn’t notice how much it reminds me the (almost) routine five days (half of the ten days absence) suffocation of reality I need to endure for the last 443 days.

I really wanted to make it 444 days, and put off this entry for tomorrow morning. Triple number 4 (四; accounting 肆; pinyin sì) to the Chinese means a triple death warrants for me. Yeay, death!

Stupid Feng Shui’s tetraphobia. What is 2 plus 2? 3A. What is the level 24 says on the elevator? 23A.

The (almost) routine 2 days on the weekend is almost as stupid as pushing the 23A button on the elevator. 2 days that transcends to 3 days, and scaling to full 5 days (or worse, full weekend). Stupid prime numbers (2,3,5,7…) sequence.

I woke up to the smell of asphyxiating nightmarish sweat, feeling numb to the idea of tangible lost — being comfortable with the idea of solitary.

I only need to know that my life is not worth to be wasted away for fleeting ephemeral dream.

What ever you did to me, I can articulate it with fitting conception.

Do I miss you? Do I really care?

I’ll tell when I see you.

If I see you.

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Written by cthulhu

July 24, 2007 at 5:19 am

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