Poses on air: " Poses " Rufus Wainwright
assume poses
sometimes voluntarily, and we can not distance ourselves
from the figure that we have set. More is the world we forced to accept them, and who knows how to fuck you to move.
I am in an uncomfortable position for a while ', caught between the poles that hinder my thoughts.
All that's missing is a soft skin, eyes wet with joy. A thinking hard but happy. frenzy rage and peace continues. With me, everything.
I
reconsider the way I perceive the world and to relate to my duties, my pleasures, my dreams. Delete from the bottom of my stomach feeling of perpetual fear.
The world can be beautiful, even if there is not much more. My life can be peaceful, though he lacks a bit '. The joy I found in my hands and in my ears is real, I have to accept it. Although I left behind me spare me, I'm finding the front is beautiful at the same time, maybe more sometimes. And there is much more than I expected.
not necessarily what you leave is better than you expect.
I'm waving my past, slowly, with much pain. A pain but I am doing well, I is caring. Maybe my problem so far has been that.
"Shit! The world can not be fine if you're not here." This
I felt inside until now. Although he no longer existed in my mind was an image of happiness that Matt had given me, his clear eyes looking at me with adoration. In my mind there was the memory of his apology and his feelings. I had built
its own shining image. Shone within me obscuring everything else, nothing was more important than that, it was my only goal, but not long ago
corresponded closer to reality. Now more and more the image fades and is replaced by a more gray plastic. Yet, something inside me seems not to surrender to this, and my body is convinced that the past can only make me happy.
But it is not, because the world is beautiful, my life is. I am, the music is. And the past can not affect
the future, ever.
I'm sick of this posturing. I'm sick of this tragedy, celebrate
unconsciously perpetuating
the hidden pain that attaches to each of my happiness ruining any source of smiles.
I'm sick of feeling this compulsion in me still, my mind rebels at every light, unable to enjoy the fragrance of serenity.
must lose something to find something. Sometimes the loss seems unbridgeable, but just wait. Everything passes. Passes through a river of blood (or shit), or passes over a blue sky. Or maybe through the crowd, or in a dark alley and empty. Maybe going through months of pain, tears. Maybe apathy. Sometimes depression, cut veins. Sometimes nymphomania, even repression. Passes. And then it arrives. Reach a smile comes to new lips. Comes with new tears, a relief. Passes.
assume new attitudes, time to walk the catwalk. Are the subject of color photos, dance a sad and melancholic music. They did so, the depressed music makes me feel good.
assume new poses, I decide to smile at last.
That the past is there, but the future is everywhere and it's up to me to decide where to put it.
