Posts Tagged ‘sad’
55 now. Hugging pavement. Between all the lines. .
Remains of your reflection loitering in my rear-view. My eyes begin to leak with curiosity. A fragile sensation.
Pupils go numb. So stuck on staring at yours. Through yours. The answers caught beneath the irises. Such pretty irises. So perfect. So neat.
Yet who am I to be the judge of that? I suppose I will never know; I cannot see from the inside-out. So I remain silent. Sometimes not being in control is the most beautiful thing in the world.
Mind over matter, fucking with these filthy feelings. But feeling fucks back. .
A witch with a massive, black book of ugly, mean spells. Cast upon unsuspecting souls. 360′s on the spinal cord. A spiral staircase of white.
There is no escape. There is no end.
- static in the speakers.
- jogging with dry mouth and wet shoes.
- stepping on ABC gum barefoot.
- roller coaster cars that reek of puke and dirty children.
- the failed 4th and 1.
- people without patience.
- a dying black Sharpie.
- too much chlorine in the pool.
- Oprah in skinny jeans.
- getting the red light because the truck in front of you took up all the yellow.
- dropped interceptions.
- people who have no manners.
- an automated British phone line.
- being voted the DD for the night.
- the evil pine needles lurking at the bottom of soft leaf piles.
- a drunk bum begging for change, 10′oclock on a Sunday morning.
- cold burgers and flat soda.
- people who can’t pronounce my name right.
- loud music that isn’t my own.
- movies that look good on TV, but when you fork out the ten bucks to go, they suck balls.
- non-sticky tape.
- sleeping 10+ hours and still being exhausted.
- receiving “I Love Jesus” stickers instead of candy for Halloween.
- sunburnt shoulders in the shower.
- a dead battery with no jumper cables.
- snow in April.
- false advertising that works.
- hair on the soap.
- losing the count when counting sheep.
- electricity shortages in the elevator.
- the undiscovered cut after applying hand sanitizer.
- the lost mosquito inside yer tent.
- overplayed radio songs.
- sugar-free chocolate.
- a waitress with dirty fingernails.
- couches that smell like pets.
- stepping in dog shit on a hot summer day.
- frostbite while sledding.
- rings that make yer finger green.
- guys with no sense of humor.
- dull crayons.
- Ziploc brand knock-offs.
- fun ruined by time.
We never change our ways. Living in a water world of fake promise and faded future. Trapped here. And the people who can’t handle it are swimming in it. Searching for dry spots, but this pool has no steps or fancy rails. No shallow end. And no drain. So it fills up. And eventually seeps over the sides. Floods are constant. Damage is inevitable.
But the people are reaching out this time. They don’t want this. Stray water is uncomfortable.
I just get lost in it. With it. Above and below it. I sink and then I float. All the memories get tangled in filters. Spiderwebs of youth form inside them. Only a few remain. And I’m the outsider looking in. I grab for a piece dangling to my left. All I come back with is sticky. Drowning, but not from fear – curiosity is a tricky fellow.
I’m so tired of it now though.
I head for the ladder, right over left. Repeat. Right over left. Repeat. But these rungs are too slippery. And I am far too heavy.
Confused, my feet leave me at the ankles. I fall backwards, plunging below the surface yet again. Cold, wet, numb. I know this water all too well. But why is it so hard to get up? There’s got to be a reason for it all. But why can’t I find it?
Frustration sets in. Tears on fire. Slicing their way across sharp cheekbones, erasing hope as they greet the chin. A plastic surgeon with a butter knife. The flame is always cold once it reaches the lips. I’m left to taste the embers. Darkness falls, the people are crying out. And I’m right there with them.
I’m not sure why I called in the first place. You never pick up anyways.
I wish I could have x-ray vision. But for feelings. Then I wouldn’t hafta guess anymore. I’d actually fall asleep within ten minutes of hitting the pillow. I’d actually know what to expect in return when my mind gets to those clingy and obsessed stages. Fuck I hate those stages. I never had those stages before you came into my life. I actually hafta make myself not want you, or else yer all I think about.
I feel like I’m following Hansel and Gretel. But you’ve got all the clocks in the world on pause and an unlimited supply of bread crumbs. I’ll get to a curve in the path sometimes and loose track of the trail. He’ll come back for me, I tell myself, emotions shaky, confidence shakier. (The broken is the beautiful, right love?) But you never do. I’m left to find my bearings all alone in these creepy woods. The trees are always laced with unfulfilled needs and wants. The forest constantly reeks. Strong whiffs of could-have-been’s and I-wishes get trapped in the linings of my nostrils, even when I come across the crumbs again.
My need’s dominating my want tonight. That’s never good. Potential danger is no stranger when the need overrides the want. Shit gets ugly, attachments grow stale, and most of all, desire becomes a deceiving enemy. I find myself in an epic battle with that word. Not a bloody one, just a simple scuffle. A Looney Tunes chase, per say, where nobody gets hurt and everybody goes back to normal at the end. Me versus Desire. But not vice versa.
Just give me a compass of yer sensitive side. Please? I know you have one, I’ve seen it. I crave the man I used to spend endless hours on the phone with. Not just for a quick fuck either. There was meaning behind the words we exchanged. At least I thought there was. Or am I just lost in those woods again?
When I search for yer bread crumbs, I search everywhere. Sometimes for days. Being lost is no fun, especially in those woods. I’ll get to that breaking point where nothing seems to matter much anymore and giving up is inevitable. The wildlife are protagonists, I’ve learned. They wipe my tears away with gentle paws and tilt my head up so I have no choice but to connect watery blue pupils with them. Lacking the ability to speak with their mouths, they use their eyes.
It’s amazing how silent love can be. An infinite language that the deaf can hear and the blind can see. So powerful, so distinct. I sit there for what seems like forever, locking irises with these creatures of inspiration. Until finally, they’ll bat an eyelash and force me to break my gaze. Slowly, without missing a beat, they point in unison at a tiny piece of bread underneath a fresh pile of leaves. I must have overlooked this spot before, must have walked right past it. Then they disappear among the masses of trees before I can even thank them.
I dust my knees off quickly with both hands and recover from where I left off. I suppose you’ve forgotten about me by now though. It’s been too long, I don’t blame you. And I’m sure you don’t either. But yet I continue following this twisted path. I can’t help it. I’m stuck on this endless journey of undeniable lust and blind reactions. Why won’t you come back for me? I’m so sick of following. Be by my side this time, I need a hand. A man’s hand. My man’s hand.
When people laugh and ask me what I see in you, I simply tell them “everything you don’t.” I never lack courage here, and why would I? By loving me, yer teaching me how to love myself. Love is life, and if you miss love, you miss life. And I guess it’s so incredible to me because I’ve never felt it this strongly before. I’m high without smoke, without pills. Everything I do is so enhanced and brighter with you on my mind. It sounds so fucking cliche, too. But it’s….true? Yea, true.
So this is my life. And I just want you to know that I am both happy and sad, but I’m still trying to figure out how that can be.
Earlier today, some of my good friends and I were watching TV and chowing down on a bag of yer guyses amazing Mauna Loa Kisses (the ones with the macadamia nuts). I seriously love these things. Like, you have no idea. If Jesus had to suddenly morph into chocolate form, he’d be one of these, hands down. You know how when you see something sour and yer brain automatically starts making extra saliva to compensate for that sour, even before putting it in yer mouth? That’s what mine does, except for the “sour” part is replaced by an overwhelming “omg, there’s that Jesus chocolate again!” part.
Anyways, we got about halfway down the bag and I noticed I was coming across more and more ‘nutless kisses’. Once I realized what was happening, I began to slowly die a little on the inside. Those nuts are like the ying to my yang, man. The headphones to the Ipod, water to the vitamins. Take them out of the mix and it’s like trying to draw sky without the blue crayon.
I ended up finding eleven out of the thirty kisses that we ate to be minus their nuts. I secretly fought back tears of disappointment looking at the empty blue wrappers littering the table. “Are you crying?” My friend asked me this in a wave of confusion as I stood up quickly. I managed to answer her in brief stutters and half sentences followed by a muffled, “I’ll be right back.” I immediately made a mad dash for the bathroom and haven’t come out since. I’m currently huddled in the bathtub, writing this as you read it, shaken and still in shock from my current candy condition. I ask you this now, in regards to future Mauna Loa lovers and dedicated Hershey’s fans like myself. Please don’t skimp out on the macadamians this year. They complete me.
Happy Holidays To You And Yers,
The body preserves the soul within,
Creeping and crawling, resisting a grin,
My conscious is warm now, it tells me to speak,
Holding torn hands in the land of the weak.
Look on up Jimmy, there’s nothing to fear,
It’s okay to be scared though, just don’t drop a tear,
People will hate you, they’ll tear you apart,
Then glue you back together, but minus the heart.