[1.]
I have snips of hair and strands of you strangling me, holding my mouth and covering me up with withered petals. Your face keeps me here; rising me up with the billows and wake from the tug boat. Exhaust, like ice on the air collides with your vocal chords.
S n a p.
C r a c k.
B o o m.
And there goes the pretty little windmill. Rustic ocean breezes filter into my lungs, I cough, crack my knucles against the back of the wood and look upward. You sit in the water: floating, placid. Seemingly so unaware of how vulnerable you are: a duck in a pond, just waiting to be shot. My mouth is contorted, twisted, and angry. It mocks your place and swears to throw you out. It calls you garbage and you smile, your lips throwing blowdarts into my side. Tattered bits of where ever we are float by my eyes. The stream blows up and I see pieces of who you used to be, mixed in with the rotting wood. How can I have you, when you don't know how to survive?
[2.]
This is the part where you turn away, the part where the girl pouts and the guy swivels on his heel. A punch to the face would've been better. An angry word, a slamming of wood. But this, this silence I can not handle. This is too much for me to reconcile with, and I close my eyes; gasping on the need to beg you to stay. You just stand there and I can't breathe. I can't give up, I can't give in.
But in the end we all know who goes and who stays. We all know who's going to be waking up with a smile on their face, and who will be closing the curtains.
The question is: how do we make it stop?
[3.]
Falling, I'm falling and you won't catch me. Not now, not ever. I want to feel what it's like to be alive again. I want to know how to cry and I want to understand why things are imperfect.
But lighting a candle in the back of the church only gets you a prayer, it doesn't grant a miracle. How many times? How many dollars, how many matches? I have wasted countless mysteries on you, hours praying for your forgiveness, begging God.
For everything. But the funny thing? I didn't ask Him for you. I asked Him to make you happy.
And are you?
Are you happy now, with the things you've done?
Author notes
memoirs.
In a list
let it be, let it be;;;
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
-
i read this before and now i felt like i had to read it again and again and again untill i turned numb or atleast tried to..
its killing em inside
-
my 1969th comment goes to u. =]
-
That's really beautiful. You really have a talent for writing eloquent prose. You're honest when you write, which is something I can completely realte to, because really, if you're not honest, then what is the point then? Great write.
-
holy crackwhore.
that was... intense.
i have to save this one for sure..
but darlin' you've written something so fantistically sad i can't stand it. [in a good way]
"How many times? How many dollars, how many matches? I have wasted countless mysteries on you, hours praying for your forgiveness, begging God.
For everything. But the funny thing? I didn't ask Him for you. I asked Him to make you happy.
And are you?
Are you happy now, with the things you've done?"
this i strongly pertain too in the way that i am religious and i do pray for him.. to continue on with his new family [he had a kid], and i tend to wonder if i when i really mean it am i actually meaning it or am i just becoming more and more miserable knowing that he will continue on without me.
its hard to deal with.. trust me i know.
but i guess we've got better things to look forward too huh
-
This is very well written. Your presentation of the characters is very, very real, in your notes you seem to indicate that this is a personal poem and your depiction of this real and unfortunately common human relationship. the imagery is rich and beautiful. have to go now, but thanks for the read.
Adding your comment:
1 - 5 of 5
