Monday, November 26, 2012

Madonna/ Whore Complex

There are an endless number of words that are jumbled inside of me. They gravitate and tangle in the pit of my stomach, making me ill. They're eating me from the inside-out, and it literally feels as if my silence is killing me. I wonder if it's possible to believe in destiny if you intend to deny it. It's like I'm a time traveler trying to sabotage my own future, and I'm succeeding. I'm disappearing and fading away, and all that remains is what I'll be without you: a fractured and hollow shell. Cheating fate is torturous, and my damnation seems unending.

She bit her lip as she told me about the last four days. My blood was pumping so fast that I could hear my ears ringing. The nervous laughter was obvious and forced. Fake smiles were all I had to give as I heard about the man who held your attention for longer than I ever have.... or ever will. A swirl of questions washed across my mind, distracting all of my intentions. Did you fuck him? Did you love him? Is he funnier, more handsome, or in better shape than me?  My eyes wandered as my mind drifted into dark fantasies of self-loathing. Then, you pulled me back. Though be it a not much kinder reality. You told me how he "used" you, and how he stopped returning your calls. My worst fears were confirmed, and my heart swelled to my throat before resting in my gut. Everything about you looked different. The angelic glow that was permeating from your face was now absent. The unmistakable magnetism of innocence was vanquished with one felt swoop. I could see right through you, like looking to the bottom of a shallow pond and seeing the scum on the floor. Your eyes became doors into an abandoned temple, no longer fit for worship.

You are a tomb, and all my roses are dead.

Saturday, November 24, 2012

Death By Inaction

I saw you again tonight. We shared little more than a few glances, but I mustered the courage to speak to you. This is all I could say:

"Sometimes, I write until my hands hurt."

As your smile dropped and your eyes widened, you responded, "Really?" The tone of your voice was inquisitive and sarcastic. It seemed as if you were asking a question that you knew the answer.

I shook my head in agreement and walked away. I assumed that you understood what I meant, but there is no way of knowing for sure.

Since, I can't tell you how I feel in person, I'll tell you here. My hands cramp from the frantic entries into my journal in the dead of night. They cramp from the pictures I sketch of you, and they ache from writing seemingly inexhaustable poems and letters that you'll never read. Sometimes, I write with such fury and passion that the thick lines of ink become saturated and warm. A mix of sweat and tears smudge the lines, making a beautiful mess of everything. Each stained page is the literal manifestation my torment.

These words will never be spoken to you, but that's what I meant when I said, "Somethimes, I write until my hands hurt."

Friday, November 23, 2012

The Days That Pass Without You

My love for you is not only unrequited....it's forbidden. I can no more have you than I can fly to the sun and burn to cinder. My hope is so painful. It comes in spurts, and I constantly suppress it. My attempts to squelch my lustful yearnings only leave me exhausted and lying in the darkness ....time and time again. I fall in and out of sleep for hours on end, and each dream is more real that the last. Sometimes, during the fog of consciousness between dreams and reality, I believe that you're there. In these moments, I can only have you for seconds at a time, but I would sacrifice everything to have these moments forever. The blank pages in my journal are endless prayers of indecision, and the ink that spells your name is rich with the aroma of my immeasurable desire. Your eyes destroy my heart with every glance, and the air is thick with static when our hands almost touch. It's a chemistry that defies all logic, and it speaks to my most primitive impulses. Every inch of your frame is committed to my memory, and I've imagined every curve filling the void between us....leaving nothing. You are my savior and my damnation. I'm born every time I see you smile, and I die every night without you. I wish I didn't feel this way, but I do. Other than my pain, it's all meaningless. In my silence, I will suffer till the end.  

Friday, November 16, 2012

Honesty Kills

Today, I folded a note and dropped it on ground as I passed you.

On the outside, I wrote, "Destroy After Reading," and on the inside, "Is it possible to believe in destiny when you're certain you've denied your own?"

The tiny white sheet of paper fluttered on the ground like an injured butterfly. Then, it died at your feet. Only a trashcan and I bore witness as you reached down to grab it. I couldn't bare the rejection. So, I turned away before you read it.

Seconds became hours as I escaped into nowhere. When I returned, there was no sign of you or the note. The trashcan was empty other than a cup of coffee I had disposed of earlier. I looked in every direction, but there was nothing. No butterflies. No angels.