Truth hurts, but Lies Kill

Faded fairy dust in the wind of hurtful truths;
Sting in the eyes of lies that bathe in salted wounds;
However insignificant,
However safe,
The intolerable verse is played on the cracked shell of old Fragile Trust.

And to hide beneath the light of what would be innocent,
Becomes the shadow of an abomination,
Forgiven but never Forgotten;
However insignificant,
However safe,
The intolerable verse is played on the cracked shell of old Fragile Trust.

Winds of hues, words of clues;
Good at beginnings and its circular ends;
Trapping progress in the steps of immobile news;
However insignificant,
However safe,
The intolerable verse is played on the cracked shell of old Fragile Trust.

Words were sold;
Bought for small beginnings;
Their fairytale ending would  not be so obscure
If their mask was unearthed from the start;
Now they remain forgiven but not forgotten;
However insignificant,
However safe,
The intolerable verse is played on the cracked shell of old Fragile Trust.

Sudden Aches of the Brain

A headache like none other; driven by heat, punctured by stress.

A pain as immediate as a blink, taking refuge on the surface of my temples, rooted beneath the template of my skull, like needles that are stuck deep in a wooden plank; stubborn, and refusing to leave their hold on the rings that bind them.

Neither the lack of sleep, nor the unsolicited attention of thoughts - it is the mild seclusion of someone yawning out of despair.  It is stressful...

Words to express, words to destress...

Words, Words, Words.
Stressed in each sentence, emphasized by character.
"Why do We Write?" - the question was posed and I found guilt in such pleasurable querie.

My mind, filled with contours on paper, draped the gaps that expressed my stress.
This is a fulfilling week.
This is a week when I learn to forget to breathe.

Catching up with a ghost, learning to re-learn.

They met after some time to catch up on the news of their happenings since the break-up.  It was strangest to him because he had loved her so much.  He only wondered why it was that she returned when, originally, it was her decision to leave his heart in the dark.

Together, they made up for the loss.  Words were intertwined as much as their bodies, which lingered about, retracing each others’ contours as if they were lost treasures found once more.

It felt good.  It felt comfortable.  They were both aware of their company and how natural it became to be by each others’ side.  This was not surprising to him, but he wondered if she felt the same.  They were caught observing the lines under and around each others’ eyes when she finally asked, “why can’t we just go back to being like what we used to be?”

He looked into her eyes with a perplexed stare.  She did not want to be committed to him anymore, and yet she wanted to stay with him.  Silence had muted their speech for what felt like fifty long uncomfortable seconds.  He knew his frustration would get the best of his lyrics if he did not find a way to paralyze all anger and verbalize his diction in a mature and peaceful manner.

“You mean before we decided to give us a chance?” he finally asked; a hint of sarcasm was heard in his tone.  “You mean before we decided that a year had been enough and that it was time to stop playing games and make a commitment of fidelity toward one another?”  He pondered if she understood him.  She sat there with her eyes stuck to the ground, but it was not shame that overtook her body language.  He continued, “you mean before I made you realize that I was more than just a toy and you realized that we were meant to be?”  This was too much and it almost sounded conceited, he thought, but he needed to say it.

“In a way,” she began, “what I mean is that I want us to go back to how we were…no commitments, just two souls learning from one another.”

“What’s the point?” He insisted.  Although her suggestion made sense to him and the notion of liberty of exploration enticed him, he knew that they were not strangers any longer.  He grew to be confused by her request, but only because he could not understand what it was about him that she did not want to live with.

“Why are we going backwards when we should be moving forward?”  He asked but he worried that she would still refuse to comprehend his question.  Why was she so intrigued by him, so hurt by him, and why was she so comfortable around him?  Why did she want to be by his side and yet not be with him?

She stayed as silent as the night.  Even crickets sleep at dawn.  But time did not prevent him from further probing to find an answer to what seemed so ludicrous a request on her part.

Her silence made him uncomfortable.

“I trusted you,” he began, “and you robbed me of my heart’s dreams and desires because you feared fighting for something that could have been so good.”  He noticed, by her body language, that his words were stabbing at her, but he could not stop; though he refurbished his words to avoid conflict.  “I understand what you mean by going back to how it was.  I agree that it was, perhaps, the most magical of times for both of us; however, you know that I had always loved you and wanted more.”  A tear threatened to escape his eye, matching the ones that already dripped from the corners of her green emeralds.  He pondered if he had the strength to continue with his words, wondering if they were too accusatory for the moment.  It was too late now to pretend that this was not an issue.

“I understand,” she finally answered.  And with her final sigh, she exited the car once more.  The role had been played in his mind too often that it became a simple déjà vu.  It was no longer surreal.

He wondered if that would be the last time that he would ever see her again.

Welcome Ms. Allergies

I sit on the front porch of my home, reading, observing the seldom happenings of my quiet neighbourhood.  The smell of fresh-cut grass that once brought upon the childhood memories of my youth now hinder between the nostrils with a threatening essence, staged to perfection around the symphony of my sneeze.

I changed the oil of the Black Mamba all under the sunny shelter of today's beauty rays.  Memory would have me replay a role where I saw her image walk toward me as I hid under the weight of my car.  And then dirt made my eyes itch.  Thank you Ms. Allergy for awakening my song.

Birds sing, I sing - though not in sync, not as painful as the contortion of my core.  It is a beautiful day to be sitting outside my front porch, dreaming of what is to come, of what I will do with the days to come.
If only Ms. Allergy would be so kind as to let me go sooner and not make me cry throughout the summer, I will  take a walk by the bushes of her greens, and a stroll down memory lane of my inner youth.

"Do not cling or avert..."

The words are read and contradicted by their affliction to make sense of indifference – why now that status labels are diverted? Why are reactions so profound when once they were not?  And to betray my morals for a moment’s bliss and my values for a childish game; surely, I could not be so naïve to believe that it is alright?

The attention gathered was desired as a constant in the open past, when everyone knew.  Now lays a secret hidden under the blanket of stars, all to fulfill the selfish treasons of both participants – and the two who would fondle in secret, without alerting their miseries to public’s eyes.

But why the secrecy? Why the games again?

Why the discouragement from doing what’s right when healing wounds still wear their bandages?
Why the egoism to re-live what once was without the labels that would discourage strangers from poking their fancy at the status of a relationship between two old lovers, two best friends?

No promises, no directions - Just toying with the flow.  This is nature but unnatural to the cause of a heart’s amendment. One step forward, two steps back.

The steps are contradicting – the game will be played once more…just until all constants become too burdening to bare and the heart is overwhelmed by the insult proposed.

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall, You were the Fairest of them All….

I was replenished by the lines of an unborn dedication, secretly wounding all sense of senses, and confusing the state of absence that alerted my old youth.

What is it that was scribed when not all that was open laid on Pandora’s box?

Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall, yes you were the Fairest of them All… and then you stole your reflection from my admiration, taking with you the short time spoken.

“It was cut so short,” said Snowhite to the Elf.  Magic was breathed in the air but the Elf knew too well of her train of thought.  “Yes,” he agreed, “it truly was.”  And with a glare into her indifferent stare, he asked, “what now?”

It was just a dream...Just an illusion...

It was just a dream; an illusion…

I walked on a daydream with my head held up by a string, and the sting of memory that became confused by the concept of nothingness in time – 23 hours of awakened resolution, and half of sixty to breathe with the eyes closed.  Why was I kept from sleep?

The road kept from me no secret of her arrival, and strangely as an unborn instinct, I knew of her presence at a distance.  Subconscious efforts made improbable but not from becoming visible by the orange lights of my dark neighbourhood.

“Why are you here, dear illusion?”

There can be no response from quiet tears.

Her smell; her form – these played with the notion of reality.  Has insanity finally taken the best of my idealism?  Am I talking, once more, with the essence of a remembered ghost?  But how can I explain this sensation upon the sense of touch?  Smooth, delicate, and shaky with an attack of the nerves below my sweaty hands.

I walked without walking.  I tossed without limping.  My legs deceived me.  The sun alerted me with a message of heat, and a massage above my scalp – “This is as real as real can get.”  No! how could I have been dreaming all day long?

The gasps in despair of fresh air were no longer present; my lungs felt rejuvenated in exchange with her breaths.  The dorm that once kept my ambitions alive became a shadow of memory touched by her skin; and the frictions of two strangers, two old acquaintances, dancing above the waves of unearthed sheets.

But it was all just a dream; an illusion…

Her fragrance, impregnated in my skin of skins, leapt from dusk to dawn and I carried it with me throughout the rising sun.  And the taste of her lips upon mine was filling my appetite, consumed by what little energy preserved me.

“Will you travel to nowhere with me, oh dear illusion?”

Dreams often give you answers for which remembrance is vague.

I laid myself on the empty casket at the corner of my room – my eyes suggested rejuvenation, my body demanded sleep, my mind requested peace.  There was no room for wanders of the heart after 23 hours of voluntary insomnia.

“Even in the distance I have kept you awake,” said my illusion.

“For you,” I said, “I would keep the days awake in the sight of sleeps, where your figure can be dreamed about, and the illusions become as real as the nights spent in the darkness of your light.”

Will I dream again?

"If you love someone, let them go"

There's a saying that goes: "If you truly love someone, you will let them go.  If they return to you, their love is yours.  If they do not, then their love never belonged to you."


Why?
Why should I?
Why shouldn't I just stay with this person and keep them by my side?

"If they return to you, their love is yours."
But how bitter will I be with them for having left me in the first place? Why should she choose to leave something that was once so good?  Was it for selfish desires? How am I to accept that as an excuse?

"If they do not, then their love never belonged to you."
Am I supposed to be content with this self-righteous conclusion???

I guess the lines may prove to be sensical when all sense escapes the mind. "If you truly love someone HER, you will let them HER go."  Such bitterness is proclaimed by this first opinion - it contradicts all desires, but truly, when the mind is calm, the heart obeys the hidden intent of said prophecy.

I guess if the love had truly been unconditional, there'd be no questioning it - and then again, if it truly was, she never would have left.

But why do two souls meet and depart from one another?  Is it that their love was untrue? Perhaps their meeting occurred at the wrong moment in time? What is time if not a self-made frame of open windows? The timing is always right.  The love is merely staged in different phases.  And I guess this would make more sense if one were to see things from this perspective.
Yes, she loved me, but it was not to the depths of the love I felt for her.  My offer was unconditional, while for her it was always questionable.  She thought herself incapable; unable to see what I saw.  But who am I to propose patience when the inner self has yet to be interviewed?

Let her be.  For what it's worth, love, in its truest form, cannot be damaged by the absence of one shell or another.

We are all children of the Universe, walking about a trail of veins upon the Earth - some that intersect unnoticeably, others that compose our re-direction, as we digress from one path to the other, (and then some that intrigue the focus of our discipline).  But as many a soul that meets our legends, only few meet who are destined to sail together.  Those who do not perform to meet our destiny need to be 'let go', if only for progress' sake.  So let it go, because it would be of no benefit to stay when the soul has misinterpreted the nature of its soulmate.

" If they SHE return to you, their HER love is yours."  How cleverly misguiding.

Saw you in his arms

"I feel the rage at the tip of my knuckles, itching to express their frustration at the constant virus that clings onto my progress."

With the pity story, he has once more become my enemy - poor me has lost all sense of empathy despite the possibility of his fictional fact.

And the naivety that she expressed - how I envy the emotionless.

"I hate them both."