Your inner selves.

Just about everyone feels as if they have another side to them sometimes. The easy persona you put on when at work, or when the family is visiting, or even the coping mechanism you use when in a situation you would rather not be in. Even celebrities fall into this at times. Beyonce's new album deals with her Sasha Fierce side.. and Garth Brooks ruined the awesome career he had when he 'became' Chris Gains... Now I'm not agreeing or denying that I am the same. But if you know me, this all makes perfect sense.

I am not always creative. I can't always draw or paint like I did the night before... the month before... There is a mind set I have to be in to create. I call it... 'The Twins'. The artsy and creative Jaq, and her brother, the more angsty edgy poet Jack. Today I'd like to feature a poem 'he' wrote, a few years back. Usually it's stories, but I was always proud of this poem. And as each day I want to try and explain one of my pieces (2 i guess for this entry) and then do some more main stream posts, and some spot lights on artists that I love or know... Here is my first confession, my diving into myself to pull out something personal.

Beauty at the top of the hill. --- Jack Bond

There is a hill where you live,
in your little house, way at the top.
You are stuck there, but I visit you
bringing you tokens of my love.
You accept them, yet move on quickly.
Stabbing yet another knife into my heart.
Your tongue traces the blade,
you consume me, inside and out.
Your eyes glance, here and there,
but never meeting mine.
I light a cigarette,
letting the smoke fill the air between us.
Eventually the blood will dry,
nothing will remain but scars on my chest,
and the stain on my clothes that will never come out.
I forgive you each time, for the abuse you serve me,
always cold, always constant.

I am your dirty secret, the sin you want to commit.
I make the blood in your veins boil,
and the desire you hide, well I've fucked that.
I am your knight in a blood stained pin stripe suit,
shaggy hair, and painted black nails.
You wont admit I'm real, I'm nothing more then a dream.
But I am holding your frail frame tightly,
feeling you break in my arms.
I want to shatter your glass bones, see you in a pile on the floor.
Make your heart ache and crave,
as you do to mine, each and every time.
You are too beautiful to harm,
through your tears, I see the goddess each wants to possess.
I kiss your blood red lips, soaking you in, as long as I can.
Slitting my wrists as you push me back down the hill.

Angsty? Yes. Angry? Yes. Truthful? Yeah...