Driving to work today, in a rotten mood, I came to a stoplight and grudgingly stepped on my break. I cast my eyes left to watch the cars creep into motion, but as I followed them across the intersection, something more interesting caught my eye.
A man, bouncing gleefully from foot to foot, arms swinging around like a monkey or a goofball. My first instinct was to scowl softly as he tipped his chin up and gave the sky a smile and a sly wink. He came to a stop at the corner and rested his temple against the pole. Having ceased to walk, and therefore unable to bounce anymore, he seemed to consider what he had just done. In public. And his smile broke like a dam and gave way to a wave of laughter. He stood there, laughing, as long as I could see him.
I considered the man throughout the rest of my drive. My initial reaction had been that he must be absolutely loony and what a freak... but how narrow-minded could I get? Maybe he had just fallen in love. Maybe he had been hit by a happy stick. Maybe he just quit the job that he had loathed for the past six years.
Maybe he was just happy.
I felt a tremulous sorrow fill me up, and it continues to trouble me as I write these very words. Why is the world so sad? Why is it such a queer and distasteful sight to see a man dancing jovially through the street? Why was my first thought not to rejoice along with him? Share in his triumph, whatever it might have been? Why can't we all be so carefree and joyful? To hop from one foot to the other, throwing our arms about without a care, laughing, and loving every moment...
Friday, August 3, 2012
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Snow Boy
I close my wishful eyelids, praying silently, lacking faith. I have never been considered strong in body, but in mind I have a hand above the rest. You are my angel wings, who keep my heart from bobbing below the surface of an ever-swirling fog of desolation. The same and likewise, you are the anchor which tugs me down like a tease, a taunt, a reminder of my fragile soul. Always there, but never within sight... I gave you my heart before our relationship was even born.
Laughter, scorn, and condescension, I collect them all with a pensive, downcast demeanor. I keep a bag tied roughly about my neck, to carry the hate. It has no purpose but to narrow my vision in on that which truly matters. A life which one should be glad to live. I consider the hateful words I have picked up along my way and learn from them what I can.
But, ah Goddess... Fate does have a queer way of making her way.
The sweetness I once thought to embrace has become a pain I cannot begin to describe. Your suffocating restraints draw me downward, fumbling my heart and ripping holes in the seams that once held my patchwork soul whole. The bag about my neck does split, rip, and that cold poison does splatter my skin. I fear an ending that they call the 'Inevitable'.
But all of this is of no consequence when compared to the sincere longing, innocent lust, which does ring through my being like a cry for war on all that would dare to stand in my way.
My sincerest wish;
I only ask that I could cling to you the way a snowflake does stick to a child's cheek. I would be that snowflake that lands so prettily, twinkling like a jewel, winking coyly in the snow-refracted light, alighting on a young boy's face. It would be easy to brush me aside - I am not strong, my heart can be broken with a flick of the wrist - but if I make myself lovely enough, then none would deny me my brief embrace. I would be that fleck of precipitation that kisses the youth's skin fervently, causes his skin to flush red, and melts in his warmth. Then, as a fading spirit, I would gladly disappear. Become a trail of liquid, seep into the boy's skin, and live there for an eternity. This, for you, I would be.
But, my passion is more. I could be a thousand snowflakes! I could be a snowstorm with more wrath than Ares, determined to conquer what most definitely does belong rightfully to my soul. A thousand and more snowflakes that do polka-dot and eventually cover the entire body of this boy, who symbolizes you in all your tenderness, who cannot hope to comprehend my desire. My snowflakes, (each filled with more love than the most eager, trembling kiss) would caress every last inch of this boy's sweet, sensual skin. Of... your skin. And I would take you as my own.
My soul mate.
But, while a snowstorm passes and winter does eventually fade to spring, I know with all certainty that the fuel you provide to the fire in my heart... will never run low. My passion will never fade, our storm, our snow-dance... will never stop.
Do say you love me, do say you will. Promise me the world and deliver it by merely kissing my mouth, as that single brush would mean more every time. I must believe now that there is some greater design... as I know that you and I are two halves of a whole.
My sincerest wish... for you to be my companion, the coat-rack for my heart, the love that would make my life worth living, my watchful protector, my object of adoration, the champion who won my hand, the criminal who stole my affection, my wise adviser, my gentle tease, my snow-boy... forever.
ML
"And I'll love you, if you let me. And I'll love you if you won't make me stop." ~ MM.
Laughter, scorn, and condescension, I collect them all with a pensive, downcast demeanor. I keep a bag tied roughly about my neck, to carry the hate. It has no purpose but to narrow my vision in on that which truly matters. A life which one should be glad to live. I consider the hateful words I have picked up along my way and learn from them what I can.
But, ah Goddess... Fate does have a queer way of making her way.
The sweetness I once thought to embrace has become a pain I cannot begin to describe. Your suffocating restraints draw me downward, fumbling my heart and ripping holes in the seams that once held my patchwork soul whole. The bag about my neck does split, rip, and that cold poison does splatter my skin. I fear an ending that they call the 'Inevitable'.
But all of this is of no consequence when compared to the sincere longing, innocent lust, which does ring through my being like a cry for war on all that would dare to stand in my way.
My sincerest wish;
I only ask that I could cling to you the way a snowflake does stick to a child's cheek. I would be that snowflake that lands so prettily, twinkling like a jewel, winking coyly in the snow-refracted light, alighting on a young boy's face. It would be easy to brush me aside - I am not strong, my heart can be broken with a flick of the wrist - but if I make myself lovely enough, then none would deny me my brief embrace. I would be that fleck of precipitation that kisses the youth's skin fervently, causes his skin to flush red, and melts in his warmth. Then, as a fading spirit, I would gladly disappear. Become a trail of liquid, seep into the boy's skin, and live there for an eternity. This, for you, I would be.
But, my passion is more. I could be a thousand snowflakes! I could be a snowstorm with more wrath than Ares, determined to conquer what most definitely does belong rightfully to my soul. A thousand and more snowflakes that do polka-dot and eventually cover the entire body of this boy, who symbolizes you in all your tenderness, who cannot hope to comprehend my desire. My snowflakes, (each filled with more love than the most eager, trembling kiss) would caress every last inch of this boy's sweet, sensual skin. Of... your skin. And I would take you as my own.
My soul mate.
But, while a snowstorm passes and winter does eventually fade to spring, I know with all certainty that the fuel you provide to the fire in my heart... will never run low. My passion will never fade, our storm, our snow-dance... will never stop.
Do say you love me, do say you will. Promise me the world and deliver it by merely kissing my mouth, as that single brush would mean more every time. I must believe now that there is some greater design... as I know that you and I are two halves of a whole.
My sincerest wish... for you to be my companion, the coat-rack for my heart, the love that would make my life worth living, my watchful protector, my object of adoration, the champion who won my hand, the criminal who stole my affection, my wise adviser, my gentle tease, my snow-boy... forever.
ML
"And I'll love you, if you let me. And I'll love you if you won't make me stop." ~ MM.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Current times like currecy
Thoughts like speculations of emotion. Spirals of color and flecks of light, trapped in a cascade of falling leaves. Look to smile, but fail to follow through. A laugh, a tear, a heartbeat, fear... someone somewhere, somehow sometime. Listen, just don't speak. Hold tight, hold close, hold heart in hand - just don't squeeze. Love is blind, love is kind, love is to find beauty in the dirt. If beauty is in the eye of the beholder, then make everything beautiful with just a glance. Your eye is the eye that matters most.
Would that I could be the beauty found in your eye.
Would that I could be the beauty found in your eye.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Empty
An overturned bucket... am I.
I am the bucket taken into a young man's arms, carried to a well, and lowered by a string. I am the bucket that drank up the water and carried it dutifully. I am the bucket that weighed the boy down on his triumphant return, only to be set aside. I am the bucket that sat, and sat, and sat. I am the bucket who was given the news that the precious liquid which I carried could save a life. I am the bucket that was overturned, emptied on the thirsty dirt, and hated for my inability to hold the water that could have saved a life. I am the bucket who was rushed back to a dry well. I am the bucket that was cast aside in fury, empty.
Empty.
I am the empty bucket that could have saved a life, if I had not spilled the water on the ground.
ML
I am the bucket taken into a young man's arms, carried to a well, and lowered by a string. I am the bucket that drank up the water and carried it dutifully. I am the bucket that weighed the boy down on his triumphant return, only to be set aside. I am the bucket that sat, and sat, and sat. I am the bucket who was given the news that the precious liquid which I carried could save a life. I am the bucket that was overturned, emptied on the thirsty dirt, and hated for my inability to hold the water that could have saved a life. I am the bucket who was rushed back to a dry well. I am the bucket that was cast aside in fury, empty.
Empty.
I am the empty bucket that could have saved a life, if I had not spilled the water on the ground.
ML
Angel
It is discouraging to feel the dark rift in my chest begin to leak once more. That inky liquid, slow to spread but with horrific persistence, seems to be dripping through the lower half of my heart. Seeping, creeping, thriving and lurking in the darkness of my soul. Feeding off the hateful words that, I know, have been written by my own actions. Can one truly hate oneself?
Then a hand like a dream reaches out with angelic fingers, straining just to touch. It finds my soul, it fills me with light like a whiff of the most perfect drug, it provides clarity and cures the incurable. Trembling with gratitude, I grab the wrist of the gracious hand and, with all the blind fury of a beast cut from leash and freed from bars, I rip through the air, demanding to see the face of he who has freed me. Surely, a joke. Who would dare to make a mockery out of the likes of me? How utterly foolish.
Yet this pain, so biting and severe, is so refreshingly different from the despondent wretchedness I was forced to endure. For this pain? It is not pain, it is not sorrow, it is humble gratitude in its purest form. This man, whoever he can be, has saved me from an existence more loathsome and detestable than that of any maggot, any creature, any cur, blackguard, scum, or wretch. I carried the devil as a leech on my heart, but this angel has cast him hence.
I wish to thank my savior, but my pride trembles in its grotesque ugliness. Instead, all I can do is gape quite moronically at him, wishing I could know his face. If for a moment. As it is hidden by a modest veil, colored like the night sky. With his jaw turned aside, his identity hidden shyly, and the corner of his lips, which I can barely find among the black, quirked half-laughingly... he drops his arm. The ice of my soul redoubles, my weak body crumbles, my weakly pulsating heart flutters, and the floor greets my nose with a malicious kick.
"And the sky is filled with light... can you see it?
All the black is really white... if you believe it.
As your time is running out,
let me take away your doubt.
You can find a better place in this twilight.
Dust to dust
Ashes in your hair remind me what it feels like.
And I won't feel again.
Night descends. Could have been a better person, if I could only do it all again.....
And the longing that you feel. You know none of this is real.
You Can Find A Better Place In This Twilight." ~Nine Inch Nails
ML
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Things change.
Fate's tapestry is a strange, beautiful, and complex thing. I find myself continually surprised. How can it from instant to instant that the universe continues to change? It might run out of possibilities someday. It never seems to.
I want to latch ahold of this moment, this feeling, the light banter of a first meeting, and stretch the thread for eternity. I don't want to fall back into that dreaded pattern. I refuse. But then... do we ever really have a choice?
I want to latch ahold of this moment, this feeling, the light banter of a first meeting, and stretch the thread for eternity. I don't want to fall back into that dreaded pattern. I refuse. But then... do we ever really have a choice?
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Great Big White World
I lost myself in a dream last night. I dreamt that the earth was just a floating orb outside my window, a cold and distant object to be observed but not to touch. There was no gravity to keep me down, leading me to believe that I resided in space, amongst the stars. My house was an odd ship, furnished by nothing but a small cot and copious vases filled with roses. The rose, a dangerous beauty.
All I did, day in and day out, was hover by the tiny porthole, bobbing on the air, observing the world silently. My infintismal existence, unnoticed by any earthly inhabitants, was lonely and quiet. However, I found that it was everything that I desired. I had no want, nor, indeed, any need to visit that foreign globe. Only, I wished it were much further away from my residence. It was a constant eyesore that I could not bring myself to forget or ignore. A blaring horn which seemed to get louder with every passing instant.
And I felt a sweet sorrow. This odd and ugly planet which I could observe between my sprawled fingers, pressed against the plexiglass seperating me from the unforgiving vacuum of space, was very sad to behold. It was grey and metallic, like a withered soul, starved of light and love. I was just as daunted by the angry world and its denizens as I was grieved by them. I pitied them, but I did not hate them... despite the damage they did to the property value of my tiny abode.
Oh, what hope could there be for such an electronically-fueled people? How could spark plugs and batteries ever replace emotions, empathy, and love? How could it be, also, that none of them realized their peculiar, damaged position? Could their computers, their phones, their gadgets and gizmos, not inform them that something in the system had gone wrong? Surely, there must be some cure.
So I sat and watched the world turn around, but there was something else. My own reflection in the glass. My cheeks, caved and gaunt. My eyes, haunted and dead. My lips, stained red and trapped in a perpetual frown. Had the world done this? Even being so detached from it, so far from my demons, devils, and antagonists... had they still managed to reach me? Was it possible that, in fleeing the world, I had become eternally a part of it? Was I doomed to stare out that window for an eternity, pitying billions of lives that I would never touch? Doomed to observe a problem that I could not fix? Caught in compassionate commiseration, completely consumed by the constant caustic cry of a coldhearted cosmos... contemplating the callous curiosities of these corrupt creatures.
Forever?
How bittersweet an existence. To be at peace myself, but always to know that such a massive callamity lay at my feet? Was it actually possible to feel serenity at all when I was filled with this terrible knowledge? Was I as happy as I thought I was? If not, how could I ever feel joy? How could I ever heal myself if the world's pain was forever shifting onto my shoulders? Was there truly no rest? No escape?
I guess it's true what they say... you can't run from your problems.
ML
As a side note... inspired by the song, Great Big White World.
"Cus it's a great big white world, and we are drained of our colors. We used to love ourselves. We used to love one another...." -- MM
All I did, day in and day out, was hover by the tiny porthole, bobbing on the air, observing the world silently. My infintismal existence, unnoticed by any earthly inhabitants, was lonely and quiet. However, I found that it was everything that I desired. I had no want, nor, indeed, any need to visit that foreign globe. Only, I wished it were much further away from my residence. It was a constant eyesore that I could not bring myself to forget or ignore. A blaring horn which seemed to get louder with every passing instant.
And I felt a sweet sorrow. This odd and ugly planet which I could observe between my sprawled fingers, pressed against the plexiglass seperating me from the unforgiving vacuum of space, was very sad to behold. It was grey and metallic, like a withered soul, starved of light and love. I was just as daunted by the angry world and its denizens as I was grieved by them. I pitied them, but I did not hate them... despite the damage they did to the property value of my tiny abode.
Oh, what hope could there be for such an electronically-fueled people? How could spark plugs and batteries ever replace emotions, empathy, and love? How could it be, also, that none of them realized their peculiar, damaged position? Could their computers, their phones, their gadgets and gizmos, not inform them that something in the system had gone wrong? Surely, there must be some cure.
So I sat and watched the world turn around, but there was something else. My own reflection in the glass. My cheeks, caved and gaunt. My eyes, haunted and dead. My lips, stained red and trapped in a perpetual frown. Had the world done this? Even being so detached from it, so far from my demons, devils, and antagonists... had they still managed to reach me? Was it possible that, in fleeing the world, I had become eternally a part of it? Was I doomed to stare out that window for an eternity, pitying billions of lives that I would never touch? Doomed to observe a problem that I could not fix? Caught in compassionate commiseration, completely consumed by the constant caustic cry of a coldhearted cosmos... contemplating the callous curiosities of these corrupt creatures.
Forever?
How bittersweet an existence. To be at peace myself, but always to know that such a massive callamity lay at my feet? Was it actually possible to feel serenity at all when I was filled with this terrible knowledge? Was I as happy as I thought I was? If not, how could I ever feel joy? How could I ever heal myself if the world's pain was forever shifting onto my shoulders? Was there truly no rest? No escape?
I guess it's true what they say... you can't run from your problems.
ML
As a side note... inspired by the song, Great Big White World.
"Cus it's a great big white world, and we are drained of our colors. We used to love ourselves. We used to love one another...." -- MM
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