the legs just keep moving
I don't even think I can stop them
the steps just follow one another
and the hands find their way to my pockets
the money is found,
the ticket is bought,
and somehow I am on a train again
the room number is spoken
but I hear it as though another
my mouth performs a smile
my fingers choose the floor
and all the while I am amazed
that somehow I have walked into this hell.
the knuckle knocks the wood
the skin burns electric lust
but I am only watching on
as I am welcomed in
by another automaton
after the deed is done
I wake up to find myself out loved
and leaving
once again I have traveled
in miles and inches,
in bodies and carriages,
and somehow,
once again, I am leaving this hotel
4 comments:
I don't know what you intended that to be about. But it hit home in an awful way.
I'd better get the vodka!
Sorry about that. It was about doing things, often the most physical or supposedly emotionally loaded things, in a seemingly dettached and automatic way. Sometimes it seems I'm going through life like this - a spectator of myself. Specifically, it was about someone I shouldn't have done, but did. Repeatedly.
Yeah, you wonder that it won't catch up with you some day. That it might be somewhat dangerous to remain objective to the situation. But, as if you were on autopilot, you think fuck it and do it anyway. Entirely aware that it's a fucking awful idea, yet purposely oblivious. As if one could later say that "I had no part in it" and be absolved.
You've nailed it.
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