I want to tell you, simply,
"How can I *be* without you?!
Before you, there was darkness...
there was fear, and nerves, and cold.
The world was blinded, a passionate state of
denial, or something even
less profound.
And I fell, again and again,
into the invisible puddles of the
world's piss,
tripping over myself,
falling over the others,
and letting the entire contents of this
globe-shaped cup of water and dirt
drown me
little by little.
And you,
you slipped inside slowly,
quietly...
sneaking in, cautiously,
like you were entering a house
at midnight.
I, longingly,
tried to push you down,
crush you into the past...
rose petals on a sad, cold grave.
This, this is not love.
This is not that beautiful emotion
that makes everything glitter
in the pink-purple light of dawn.
And without you, all of you,
how can I continue?
I see the half-strength of your light,
and I stagger to my knees,
blinded,
crying for the world to set me free.
These chains are
my very own veins,
which flow blood through this body
which beats with the warmth of your spirit.
I... what am I, like this?
What am I, longing for something that
I would never even
dream of
advancing towards,
sobbing silently in the night,
wishing to reach into the water and
break this distorted mask?
What was I, before?
Full of
dreams and life, but empty of
anything real... empty.
And what will I be after?
How will I be able to even just move my head, every day,
without knowing that
you,
your gaze,
your smile,
rest with me in my heart,
and devour me in reality,
leaving me
nothing,
full and not-existing,
a dream and a loss,
a speck of dust on the ground,
the affection in your eyes...
This, this is not love."
Author notes
I can't write anymore. It's so depressing. My life is so depresing because its become that now it revolves around ...well, nothing. Nothing. Just tell me what you think of this "poem".
The whole thingi n general.
Comments
-
Ditto!
-
wow
"like you were entering a house
at midnight."
Those two lines really hit me. There's something about this poem, it seems desperate and honest, but not desperate in a "i need to write" way, desperate in a "i dont know what to do" kind of way. This is something I would have been able to completely relate with a few years ago. I would have worshipped you for this poem, because it would have been something I wished I could have gotten out in these words.
Maybe it's not in a book and maybe it isnt hundreds of years old, but I think this poem is truly great. It's full of emotion, even if you call yourself empty in it. You seem caught between empty and too full, between two extremes, severe shadow and light.
There are so many great lines in this, I cant even begin to pick one out. The mention of dawn, of roses, of your veins being chains...thats all just poetically brilliant.
I also like how the poem is just a quotation of something you wish to say to someone. that just makes it all the more personal, all the more real and living, all the more breathing and bleeding. The parts where you're asking what you are, what you were, and what you will be are really vivid, like you seem scared to know the answers in some ways.
However, I hope you dont feel too awful for too long.
thanks for sharing...
~blessings~
~rora
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