Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Our souls entwine with each other, mingle and settle. Slightly altered.
We are lonely, shrouded travellers headed down dirt paths
That wind through the hillsides at dusk.
We meet at shady taverns and trade horror stories
Of lovers quarrels and lost limbs.
Over a cup of poison in a den of smoke,
We become vulnerable and
Want to be touched.
Only to recoil slightly when something goes amiss.
We blame ourselves for laying our emotions on the table.
We blame each other for wars.
But we are always lonely travelers,
Cloaked and hidden and wary.
Travelling along the dirt path through a darkened meadow
Going the same direction.
Things ebb and flow with water and air. Grounded by earth and catalyzed by fire.
Our souls entwine with each other, mingle and settle. Slightly altered.
Friday, March 19, 2010
I laid down on the floor and tried to regulate my breathing. Deep, long inhalations that only exacerbated the pain. I spread my arms out, crossed my legs at the ankle. Pretended I was Jesus. The exhalations dulled the ache a bit; I preferred not to breathe. Was it the cigarettes? Too much dark soda? The broccoli? Fuck, I don't know. Does it matter right now?
Okay. If this gets worse, my arm really does go numb or start hurting, I'm going to the hospital. No need to wake up my roommate, not like she could do anything. The hospitals only ten blocks away, anyways. I imagined sitting in that ER waiting room. Those kind of scratchy chairs and the stark white tile. What's the waiting room like at three am? It's only Friday morning, shouldn't be too outrageous, right? Where the fuck is the actual ER in that hospital anyway? I guess I'll have to put my parents' address down on the insurance forms. I'd call them right away. Well, right after I got taken back somewhere to a room. God, I hate IVs. Somehow, I wasn't as scared of them, at that very moment. It would totally get me out of work tomorrow though. I don't care about that, though, I just don't want to be having a heart attack. What if they have to use those paddles on me? What is that thing called? I dunno, that thing that jolts you back after you die. They yell "CLEAR" and shock the shit out of you. Those things leave burn marks. It'd be pretty cool to have burn marks left over. It'd suck to go through the process of getting them though. I'd call my parents when I figured it out, and they'd come in, and I'd call my boss that morning. How long would I be out? Friday and Saturday? I'm already off Sunday through Tuesday. My paycheck will suck. I hope I don't have atrial fibrillation. I don't want to get an ablasion.
I kept coughing. My chest kept swelling then relaxing with pain. A tide of it was slowly rising and falling beneath my sternum.
I guess perhaps, I might be dying.
What if I was, right now?
It's not so bad, is it? I wonder what happens next.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
May it knock a brick of sense aside her far-gone noggin and remind her who cares about her.
Just who are you, little star? Do you think you shine brighter than your brothers; the both of us? We're designed for a little respect, possibly let-downs and drawn-outs but nothing of this sort. You speak highly of those never seen and darken under pressures of loneliness. You yearn for companionship yet shun the life you already have.
This ornament brightens not enough anymore, as if to say it's done for the evening. How can you gag onward for companionship then leave it unappreciated once received? Ashamed coward; turning a slight supernova into an otherwise bitter night. Crash gently now, bullet-proof because of distance, not because of durability. Make fools of the wanted, and misunderstand all direction.
To make frank of all best intentions, fuck you. The fellowship is leaving you behind; liked or un-liked. It's possible every smile hitting your face is a lie; a mild discomfort to your otherwise soulless disposition. It's possible you can't appreciate one from which you call a friend if they aren't thousands of miles away. For we cannot be loved as brothers considering our position as strangers.
Shine brilliantly now, little star. Impress the wanderers; the strangers you'll never see, a million miles away. While your true companions sit and watch you, wondering what happened to that old fellowship that once was, before the orbit collapsed. You might feel a sigh of regret, possibly.
As a tear drops forward from each cheek of our faces, we'll never forget you; possibly miss you but never understand you, little star. The world you live in turned mangled once scribbled on with the ink and needles of no-one's time. Make light of us, as we do of you.
We turn now blissfully to a planet unseen, to the familiar woods unseen by you, little star. A guitar sits beautifully in the night, reflecting the shimmers of sky-driven madness. The callous tears and bleeds over misbegotten chords, creating beauty from hideousness and grandeur from the macabre. The little star shivers and quakes on the gleaming surface of tradition, shaking until blown; on the last final note, never to be played twice, but remembered all the same.
Loved but regretted.
A tear for a tear.
You never forgave me, did you? I guess you couldn't, I never apologized. I never said sorry for making my choices and doing what I do and going about what I generally go about. My skewed modus operandi, and that was doing for me as I see fit. But then again, that's how we all operate, isn't it?
I am never going to apologize for my taxing job, my far distance, my internet friends, my demanding family. Just as you will never apologize for your marriage, your demanding family, your far distance, or any of those other things that would be a hindrance to a friendship. I don't expect you to apologize for your choices, for they are your own and no one else's, and I have no right to tell you what was good or bad. So, please, Billy, for both our sakes, quit making me feel guilty for what I've worked for and what I have and what I do. They were my choices, not up for your judgement.
Are we going to do this again? That awful awful cycle of nasty letters and defaming stories? I don't want to, Billy. I don't want this again. I can't take it. Every time, we agree on letting it lie and letting the ocean erode and cover it and eventually bury it under sand and decay. But somehow, it keeps getting unearthed.
I am proud, I am listless. I am a scared little girl. I was lonely. And yes, apparently, I am misunderstood. I never said I was better than you, never pretended to be. I never forgot you, Billy. Never pushed you to the side and acted like I didn't want you there. Due to circumstance, we hid our friendship and never spoke, and agreed to bide our time until everything was right. We have rules and restrictions. I can't randomly IM you. I most certainly can't call you. And I'm scared shitless to email you. Heaven forbid I say the wrong thing, have it misinterpreted and there we are again. Ground zero after everything we built becomes rubble, dust and smoke.
Why is it things are either thriving or dying? It's black and white. Here or gone. This is all gray, Billy! It's different, unconventional. I didn't think our friendship was fading or getting lost. We were waiting for old emotions and bitterness to die down so we could finally pick up what we had left off. It was off in the wings, waiting for its chance to come out on stage. Just because it isn't out there growing and changing every day, doesn't mean it's dying.
I loved you, Billy, the friend I could never properly have. And I still do. I wish you would quit pushing me into all of your labeled boxes of who I am or who you thought I was or how you think I should be. I most certainly would never do that to you.
I can't change the past. I can't change how people see me. I can't change how people are. I can't take back that we all got hurt. You, me, him, and her.
I don't know if you want me to go away forever or to try and stay. You know my buttons, Billy. You know which ones and in what order to press them. You have to quit hurting me, if you want me to die, to never see me again, for my name never to ring through your head, for me to just stop existing.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Why did she have to go?
He angrily mused. There was nothing he did or didn't do that caused her sudden departure, he was sure of it. But she was gone; she was free. And he was here and he was bitter.
Here I am, baby. All alone. Where the fuck are you?
Do you remember where we are?
This is where they came for their first date. They went to a lighthouse and stopped at this very overlook on the ride back. They could see a thunderstorm brewing far out over the sea, several miles away, purple lightning striking the surface of the sea. She had smiled up at him and told him how exciting it was to see the storm like that, and after a moment of getting lost in her young, perfect face, he kissed her.
Did you know I was going to propose to you here? This summer... Our anniversary.
He swung the locket upwards and into his open palm. With his thumbnail, he pried it open. "For my Beloved. Now and always." He read aloud. On the side opposite the inscription, was a very tiny black and white photograph of the two of them. It was just their faces, and it was taken at a friend's wedding. He remembered that day so clearly. He remembered delicately zipping her up in her little black dress and being ever so cautious not to catch her soft skin. She had laughed then, at how gentle he was being, and he felt embarrassed. But she told him, no, don't be embarrassed because it was sweet, then kissed him lightly on the lips. The mere thought of her touching him made him shudder.
I knew you like nobody ever could. Loved you like no other man.
They both knew it was true. He knew just where to touch her on her neck, exactly how to brush his lips across her throat. He had deft fingers and a firm grip. He remembered running his hands down her ribcage, down to the thickest part of her hips. Kissing her bellybutton. Making her gasp and moan and scream and whisper and curse and praise his name all in one glorious, sleepless night.
Who can say they've ever given you that, baby? Nobody. Now? Now though? After all that we went through... After all I gave you. Would've gave you. Wanted to give you...
She saw the good in him. She wasn't afraid of him. She never chastized him and she always knew how to cheer him up.
You always wanted to be the 'strong one', but you couldn't carry us both.
He bit his lower lip. He had held her hand that day she decided to go to the doctor. He even held her purse in the waiting room. When she came out, red puffy eyes and completely trashed make up, he didn't say anything. When he put his arm around her shoulders, and he felt her stiffen uncomfortably, he didnt say a word. Even that night, when he tried to kiss her good night and she rolled over to face the wall, curled up in the fetal position, grinding her teeth he didn't resent her. He waited patiently and was ready to help if she asked.
You never did, did you? You had to handle this all by yourself.
Now here I am, baby! Where the fuck are you? You're never coming back to me.
In one brief moment, he balled up the chain and locket in his fist and drew back as if he was going to hurl it over the edge and into the tumultuous sea below. But he caught himself. He opened his fist and stared down at the tangled necklace. Never, in his whole life, had he so strongly hated and loved an inanimate object. It reminded him of how much he loved her, and how much he hated that she was gone.
He sighed and dropped it into his jacket pocket, and stared back out at the gray, gray sky. It looked like a storm was brewing off in the distance. He winced but couldn't completely stop the tears from sliding down his face. Leaning forward, he gripped the rails of the overlook, stared downwards, and tried to regain composure.
You didn't have to go, Stacy. I would've taken care of you. Forever.
I... Love you.
"Hey, you alright, man?" His best friend said, emerging from the path, then walked to stand next to him.
"Yeah... Yeah." He said. They both knew he was lying.
"Well," his friend began, looking down at his watch. "We really do need to get going. You can't be late."
He sighed and put his hands in his pockets. Gave the scenery one more quick look over, as if he were trying to remember random details. He looked down at his watch, too.
"Yeah, we should get going. Her funeral's in half an hour."