#1
everyday, i wake up and i wait for her to say something to me. most days, i can go a full five hours before i reach for the splintered carcass of my words lost in my throat and go out, looking for her, stumbling into cafes where books line the walls, where handsome men distract the women of the world with hand gestures. i wait in the corner without ordering and stare at the faces, hoping she will be one of the translucent ghosts drifting in and out of the room all through the night. i hold my bundle of thoughts and adjectives like a sack of cumbersome groceries. i sway in the loose skin of my soul with the drafts and exhales of satisfaction. and i wait. i wait until my arms are flimsy and shaking with soreness from the weight of my words; i wait until i am standing on the stumps of my knees like a war veteran in a battlefield after the war is over, observing the catastrophe of my personality hiding silently behind the trees. sometimes, i fall asleep and my arms relax and the words spill over the floor like a tongue rolling out of a mouth. my legs buckle and i fall backwards, or sometimes forwards, knocking my head against the corners of tables or the wall. everyone leaves and i wake up alone and bruised, my throat scorched dry and my tongue swollen. and i drag my useless limbs home and scratch quotations marks into them with knives, writing the great tragedy of my spirit into the soft dough of my forearms and thighs so that the words won’t leave me, so i will never lose them again so faultlessly. and when i run my fingertips over the etches and lines, i am reminded of the way i touched her, with the grace of sunlight, with the stillness of a star; and i wonder if, when she is old and dying, there will be any trace of me left on her lampshade-thin skin, like there is on my own.
Last edited by hippieboy444 at Nov 10, 2013,
#2
everyday, i wake up and i wait for her to say something to me. most days, i can go a full five hours before i reach for the splintered carcass of words lodged in my throat and go out, looking for her, stumbling into cafes where books stand idle in rows against the walls; where handsome men distract women with hand gestures. i slump in the corners and stare out at the faces, hoping she will be one of the translucent ghosts drifting in and out of the room all through the night. i hold my bundle of thoughts and adjectives like a sack of groceries. i sway with the drafts and exhales of satisfaction in the loose skin of my soul, and i wait. i wait until my arms are flimsy and shaking with soreness; i wait until i am standing on the mangled stumps of my knees like a war veteran in a battlefield after the war is over, observing the catastrophe of my personality hiding silently behind the trees. sometimes, i fall asleep and my arms relax and the words spill over the floor like a tongue rolling out of a mouth: like an eye popping out of its socket. my legs buckle and i fall backwards, or sometimes forwards, knocking my head against the corners of tables and bookshelves. everyone leaves and i wake up alone and bruised, my throat scorched dry and my lips swollen. and i drag my useless limbs home and scratch quotations marks into them with knives, writing the great tragedy of my spirit into the soft dough of my forearms and legs so that the words won’t leave me, so i will never lose them again so faultlessly. and when i run my fingertips over the etches and lines, i am reminded of the way i touched her: with the grace of sunlight, with the stillness of a star. and i wonder if, when she is old and dying, there will be any trace of me left on her lampshade-thin skin, like there is on my own.
#3
I really liked this, but there are parts where the imagery just seems really forced. like "splintered carcass of my words" or "sack of cumbersome groceries" or "stillness of a star."

i really like the second half more than the first half. the ending's really nice too, but I'd clean up the last sentence. I don't like "like there is on my own" very much. I think it'd be better if you parallelized the wording. like there is of her on my own would be preferable IMO.