the city lights try to reassure us, tomorrow
the sun will be back... the streets show no
remorse for the lives that they swallow
everyday.
sitting next to him in his car, tears falling
from those dark eyes full of mascara and
liner, streaking her face with pain bleeding
midnights screams. the broken life of a
tattered soul, who at some point forgot what
she was supposed to be when she grew up...now
frozen waters harbor her heart, one wrong move
it could be shattered and her life would be
over.
She clutches her purse as if it is a lifeline,
as if it is her breath, her addiction, and
also her worst fear... inside a hidden pocket
is a razorblade, inside another, scizzors
bandages... She has only tried burning once or
twice, drugs... more than that, and there is
such a rush when she knows that she can save
herself heartache with blood.
Isnt it so insane to actually be able to carve
into your skin and not feel anything,
perfection could never be attained and so by
making imperfections at least you arent on the
fence between worlds of perfect and imperfect,
now you are truly a flaw, an imperfection, a
word written in the wrong place, completely
incomplete of what they all expected of you.
I am in a room, Walking back and forth, the
lullaby of an empty echoe, the sound of my
shoes creating a sincere silence, a broken
smile, tears...Nothing, I cant even cry
because I have forgotten how to produce
emotion.
In the essence of our past, I could almost
bring myself to a place of substance, where I
used to know how to laugh, or be who I truly
am, but Close isnt close enough.
We were once eachothers air, lifeline, we were
what kept the other one inside and alive in
this life of "half empty-ness"
The city lights cant reassure that I will see
the sun tomorrow, the black streets will
swallow every ounce of anything I had believed
in,
because I know that when I step out of this
car, it will be the end of everything we lived
for, for so long, our entire selves,
The Fragranced air has now turned stale and I
know that It is time to walk away...
I clutch my purse with every bit of strength I
have left, knowing that I can let you go when
I get upstairs to my apartment...in an
enclosed room, alone.
I can carve you out of my soul and my life,
and I can walk away, completely dissatisfied
with myself, and broken because of you.
We must have written this break up a thousand
times in a play, I have seen it in my mind so
many times, and yet, im almost not here, not
aware that it is over.
How bittersweet and tragic that We had to end
on a stage in front of thousands of people
reading our life story in the whisper of a
crowd. How ridiculous and predictable that I
could paint you and everyone else would know
what I couldnt seem to see, I am the artist,
you were the muse, I was the writer, you were
the blues, the colors of emptiness painted
your face, and I was to blind to see that all
this time, I walked in an empty apartment, to
the silenced lullabies of sadness, You made me
the ghost of myself...
The end to every story, the memory that haunts
you, the conclusion to a long year of
emptiness, and hurt, the remnant of whatever I
had left, The empty echoe of footsteps where
there were none, Take your bow, I have written
you like we never existed...
2007-05-21
15:48:33
·
3 answers
·
asked by
Anonymous
in
Poetry