Shadows

shadows…

Shadows hide me in their welcoming arms. They let me see what’s beyond; beyond of what is seen. We take long walks at most nights, through the hissing winds of winter.Sometimes I feel something waning inside, waning for those old days, when I was like others…how I longed to be like them…how merciless they were…my rage got beyond limits after all that time…

It was me who called the darkness and sent it onto them.It was me who watched them pray for salvation.

But I closed my eyes, closed my ears, closed my heart and let them fall.

...Goodbye

I'm stading here, lost in the dark that permeates my numb veins, clouds my tired mind, soothes my heay, aching heart.

I see her,

talking with another,

looking happier than before, happier than when it was I she was laughing with.

I see her, turning her back on me, turning towards a larger group of people who love her. Maybe not more than I ever did.I see her, pointing at me accusing me, false accusations, hateful lies and hateful disguises. She's smiling now, happy seeing me... all alone again, lost, pushed away.

I see her, turning away with a little frown, cussing me out as she heads for her home, while I stand on the hot pavement, my feet cold. All because I got a date wrong.I see you laughing with all our friends, and I can't help but feel in deep awe and admiration, for everytime you show up, I want to grin and laugh, be just like you, be cheerful like you, to just be me.

But I can't.I see you smiling and laughing, and something cold seeps into my eyes and into the pit of my stomach. I grab my things and turn away before you can notice. You don't need me to hang on you.

You don't need my eyes to follow you wherever you go.

You don't need my hugs.

You don't need my help.

You don't need my support.

You don't need my presence to stand up tall.

You have so many others who are better.I'm nothing more than surplus baggage left to rot in some dark confindes at the airport. At least, that's how I feel. You may argue, but think about it- who makes everyone laugh and smile with little to no effort, and who sits and watches quietly from some isolated chair? Who has a beautiful grin and a happy voice, and who's quiet and emotional, a chicken and a wuss?

Who is so awesome they don't even realize how much it affects those in awe, and who stares blankly at the wall and hides from reailty in some book or song?I'm terrified of when you won't want me. Maybe you already do. I'm scared of being left alone whilst you stay knitted together through unique and punk ways. I'm cold at the thought of you turning away and growing up in so many differnt ways like the others while I'm degenerate and small, becoming nothing more than a broken CD on the side of the road.

But when It does occur,

I'll smile when you aren't looking, and even though my heart willl be breaking apart, unraveling at the seams, waterworks beginning to flow in great streams, I'll whisper as you walk into the sunshine.

"...goodbye... my friend..."

Storm

A storm, metaphorically and real, both overhead,
and while the storm of wind and rain is headed my way, a storm of feelings and words run rampant in my mind.
Sometimes i wonder if one storm could stop the other, or if the storms would combine and block out all thought, all light.

Maybe one storm would light the sky, flashes of lightning playing on the edges of the world, captivating all who could see, the other one might blow away all those captivated, no longer left to be fascinated with such a deadly, beautiful storm as this. Both make my head scream, clear thought but a distant wisp of air, roaring thunder now above and within, surging electricity splitting air, striking thoughts.

But both storms I will have to endure, taking shelter in what small secure places and thoughts i know to be real, something i can feel, and touch.

But I often find myself in doubt, of what is real, of what can truly be trusted. My shelter's my secrete thoughts and feelings turning to but more storm clouds gathering. Light is gone, cold and emptiness fill my body and spirits, and I've run out of places to hide, now, I have to face the storm, and I won't back down,
I may loose, and I may not recover, but the sky will be sunny again, even if i loose all traces of myself,
the world will be bright again,
and the storms will be forever forced to hide from me.

Fear

It's hard to see why people fear the night. The worst things happen, not in the shadows, but in the light. Because most people are arrogant, and selfish. Mainly because we distort our own fears, as well as other peoples. Some of the biggest fears, are the fears so widely abused.

I fear seeing planes, flying low in the sky. Seeing them physically makes me hurt, watching them take off and land and all parts in between. But during the nights, like tonight, I watched a plane cross the horizon. And I was happy. I enjoyed seeing it like I used to, when I was a kid. Because I knew that there would be no acts of terrorism.

Acts of terrorism are done in the face of the world, so that everyone will see that this is why. This is why the world is this way, and we hate it, so we are going to change it.
Those acts are not for themselves and there causes.

What ever it is that they support.

It is for the world. If it is big enough and bad enough, these people could end up with Barbara Walters, boosting what they did, instead of in a eight by twelve foot cell. Because maybe the punishment for some of the despicable things people do are not severe enough. Maybe the more horrible things that are done, the more publicized ones, should be more arduous.

Then with the punishments harder, only those with something mentally wrong with them would even subjugate themselves to theses penalties.

Please, anyone who reads this, don't think I'm saying don't change the world. I think that every person will change the world in some way great.

My goal in life is to inspire someone to save the world in there way. But the way in which they decide to change the world isn't exactly the best thing. That could be the exact opposite of what is needed. At the time these things could be perfect.

The Solution.

But then the Solution has repercussions. It could be that the Solution starts as and, at the core, stands for something great and good. But then temptation steps in and twists what should actually happen. So pretty much the whole point of this little spat, is that temptation is one evil son of a gun. Try to understand the core values of what you support.

That is the only way to actually save the world from what you are trying to save it from.

I was born...SCORPIO

I was born to love.

I watched her walk to me, her long, slender frame swaying with each tiny step. Her radiant hair glowing in the rare moment of sunlight we'd been granted. Her smile wide and inviting as she opened her arms to me. I took that invitation, and stepped forward, meeting her enthusiasm with my own. She leaned down, and I stretched up, as we met lips, briefly. I knew that she'd always be my girl, even when she was someone else's. Our love was like no other, and would always transcend normal boundaries.

Because when I love, it's with a passion. They become my friends and my family, and a part of myself. Someone that I want to help, to protect, to help guide and strengthen. They receive my all.

I was born to rage.

I watched as the lies poured from his mouth, like water from the well. Like honey. And my heart constricted, venom pouring through my veins, scorching me from the inside out. Poisoning me until my vision is blurred and my mind races with only one single thought: He's done. Action was the only thing that would satisfy this creature inside me. This creature that calls for blood and sacrifice. Pain and mourning. This creature that claws through my ribcage, trying to escape this meager person that it has been placed inside.

I know my beast will never calm, nor can I control it, but I can try and maintain it. If I chose.

Which way do you want to cross me?

Please choose carefully, because my heart is fragile and my beast is unforgiving.

I was born to create.

That feeling pulled inside of me, stretching and begging to emerge. But in which form would it take? My fingers passed over these immobile squares, wondering if my need would form in words. Pulling the paint from it’s dust covered box, I opened one, smelling the sharp odor of ‘red’. The slick feeling between my fingers pained me. I missed these, but today was not their day. I ran from thought to thought, from writing, painting, scrap booking, sculpting, drawing, beading, photography, cooking and even organizing, trying to find my outlet for this inescapable need to create. To create something that will shake you your current state of mind. Something that will make you think, make you take a sharper breath, cause those gut wrenching rollercoaster feelings. To do something with my hands to express myself and who I am. Perhaps this is why I know myself so well.

I will create my life just the way I want it.

I was born to destroy.

I watched as his heart crumpled, and essentially I felt nothing. Nothing, except for excitement. I wanted to cause him pain, I wanted to watch while I crushed his hopes, his dreams, his heart. The sick glory that I derived from it. I told myself that it was just because I was glad to be single, but I know the truth. The way someone’s face falls when I make a cruel comment, no matter how true it may be. The way they stutter a slow response, their egos already curling into a fetal position and nursing it’s wounds. The way my heart speeds up when disaster is on the brink, especially such when I create it.

Even when I may regret it later, the sick truth, is that I enjoy it in that moment.

If I am not careful, I will destroy everything and everyone around me.

I will probably destroy myself.

If you were here...

If you were here right now,
I would give you a hug and tell you my feelings.

If you were here right now,
I would love you till death... literally.

If you were here,
I would sit with you in the warm summer breeze,
even though it's December.

If you were here,
I would study your face;
memorize your voice,
your eyes,
your smile.

If you were here,
I would have more than just a fragment of hope,
something tangible to hold onto.

If you were here,
I would tell you who I really am and know that you would stay.

If you were here,
I could stay in your arms,
and nothing would ever hurt me again.

If you were here,
you could sew my heart together again,
putting the pieces in the proper places.

If you were here,
you could make me feel alive,
and I wouldn't have to pretend;
feeling as if I am ceasing to exist.

If you were here,
you could make all the pain go away,
the screaming and the bleeding;
I know you could.

If you were here,
you could love me, too.

But...
you're not...

...City Lights

The sky was a brilliant shade of blue, as if a blanket of shadows had wrapped the city. Yet, the yellow lights devoured the starlight, leaving only faint traces of moonshine on the graffiti alleyways. Tall buildings stretched like steel spires into the sky, as if wishing to touch the clouds themselves. Cars rumbled along the streets, each embarking on an unending journey. The city’s heart was alive, throbbing melody of car-horns and voices, never sleeping. Beating, beating, beating.

He looked out over the ledge, and he was a giant, the world seemingly at his glorious fingertips. He took in a sharp breath of the polluted air. How long had he been here? An hour? Two? Too long. The wind tousled his golden hair, a caress, but his face was stony. A crowd, lathered in confusion and panic, had formed around him now, friends with wild eyes calling his name repeatedly. Their voices fell on deaf ears.
“Please,” one called, shaking his head as if emerging from a nightmare, only to find he was awake the whole time. “Please, please come back.”

Another crowd had accumulated beneath him, waving their arms excitedly, signaling their unseen friends. Their whispers carried like doves, like pigeons, on the wind: “Will he jump?” “Oh, God, no!” “Someone help that crazy man!”

The police were here now. They split the horrified crowd, rooted to the spot by their fear, their curiosity. They pushed to the front, their gruff voices carrying over the din of the electric confusion.

Their words were empty, leaden, and dripping with the fact that even they were fearful. “Step back from the ledge, man. You have so much to live for, step back.” The jumper did not move, their reasoning was futile, their words pointless. His stony eyes outlined the form of the streets below. He wondered where they would carry him…

A cry of confusion rose from the center of the crowd as someone pushed forward, fighting against the masses, slipping through the hold of the police, who recoiled at the defiance. She sprinted like a madwoman towards the man, her eyes wild. She threw herself at him, locking her arms around his waist, pressing her face into the grooves of his strong back. Her tears, angry, fearful and saddened stained his shirt, running down her porcelain face. His body stiffened at the contact—her delicate touch that he recognized. He hesitated, and a hush blanketed the crowd, the sound of her muffled choking filling the void around them.

His head bowed as a gentle breeze carried her sorrow through the night, around the oblivious city, twisting around the daunting buildings, whisking it through the tires of the cars, letting it cascade through the minds of the citizens, through the street lamps, the signs, rocketing it through the domain of the skies…

“…I won’t ever let you fall…”

A Evening of Romance

The soft roar of a crackling fire illuminates the room draped,
in a mysterious afterglow that permeates the silence.

The softness of a blanket envelops the romance that purveys the night time
of our dreams.

The clink of glass as we toast our love to the night and the fire,
and bless our longevity.

The warmth of you in my arms as the night winds down is all I need tonight
and tomorrow to keep me around.

The love is forever part of us and you,
you will make me happy for
the days to come.

The night is gone as the light envelops the room, the fire has faded, but you are still here and

I will hold you still.

And it rained...

The world stops for a moment it feels like it's just you and me. I can feel it wanting to rain as the two of us both stand there, quiet and still. Everything I had to say I said it, everything you had to hear, now you know. I hear the train pull into the station and the doors open wide. "Last call, stand clear of the doors." calls the conductor. I go to move but you don't stop me...I get on the train and it pulls away from the station. "Why?" I think. "Why didn't you stop me? Why didn't you come after me? Don't you love me enough...to come after me?" I take my seat waiting for my stop, and when it comes I get off. Slowly and amlessly I walk home alone, and now it starts to rain. "I'm thankful for the rain." I think to myself. "Now no one can tell I've been crying."

Imperfection...

What do you see when you look in the mirror? Is it someone you love, or is it the person you loathe the most? Why must you pick apart the one person who is always there for you? You push them away because you say they're a big imperfection. Man has focussed on this one ridiculous thought for way too many years, without a reasonable excuse as to why. You crave perfection and will do anything for it, but when you think about it... What do you really want? To be flawless, or even expertly crafted? Think hard about what you consider to be perfection 'cause you'll soon realize that nothing in existence can be "perfect" by definition. Nothing can be flawless, it is part of existing. So I don't know about you... So you can strive to be your imaginary dream self that can never be, but I'd prefer to be my flawed self and live. I like being real. It has it down sides, but trust me, the positives definitely out weigh the negative aspects.
Be real, LIVE.

Dear....

I used to have your voice all tied up in my voice mail box, trapped and whirling around in it's four corner area. I loved that voice, that sent joy trip-toeing up my spine and forcing giggles out after my sobs. Sunshine after a drizzling rain with you, you know? But enough time has passed that my voice mail has deleted your messages and burried them under a bunch of other staticy voices that don't know me. I don't know them either.

I turn and look into my little looking glass and see a little me. She's got her hair slicked back into a pony tail, bright blue eyes unmasked by makeup, and a goofy braces-filled smile. And I can see you too, bigger in my eyes than I'd ever thought a person could be. You hold my hand in your best friendly way, and you smile. We scowl sometimes, but it always passes.

I guess you're right though. That's just a story now, and stories are just stories. I can't make your voice filter through my telephone anymore, but I can hear you in my head giving me advice and calling me on my lifes. I was more real with you than anybody in the world. So a piece of me is missing now, It's getting late, I guess. I've written three pointless paragraphs to tell you that I need you and I love you.

I don't know how to go back.

And now I am done.

I am sorry.

~ Lost ~

The graffiti is gone.

This only oasis of colour in the bleak station has now been replaced with an off white splotch of some sort of unidentifiable substance.

People struggle to move in and out of the train before the pressurized doors wheeze close again. I step down; hoping for a comforting welcome but the only greeting is the babble of the crowd. The rushing traffic compels me forward.

I follow familiar streets. There’s the same jagged skyline, the same dented lamp posts. What happened to the city that used to be so full of possibility and vitality? Do you remember streaking through the parks and shopping malls, drinking up the air, the people, and the sounds? Those days are long gone, and the life blood of the city has run dry.

My wanderings take me to the old cinema. The footpath at the front of the cinema has an assorted variety of imprints in the concrete, like a little Chinese Theatre. On the day the first of those imprints came into being, we had defiled the wet concrete. Then, dashing away, we frantically searched for some way to rid ourselves of the layer of hardening muck on our hands. The paint is peeling off the building now, sadly neglected over the years.

I continue walking until I reach your apartment block. For a split second I can see you, calling down to me from the balcony. The sun is shining in my eyes, and when I refocus on the balcony you’ve disappeared. There’s someone else’s laundry hanging on the line. A small voice reminds me that you don’t live there anymore, and that it’s pointless to hang around any longer.

Visiting the places we used to go isn’t going to bring you back.

The day had begun with searing sunlight shining through my half window. Not cheering at all, considering my delirium induced sleep deprivation. Still, I would have preferred not to get up, enchanted by the idea of staying in a permanent state of unconsciousness, or at least remaining in my room. I wanted to just lie, safe, in bed for the entire day, watching the dust gather over the treasures you had left me over the time we had together. Leaving the confines of my room always seems a fatal mistake these days.

But time is a merciless task master, and relentlessly I was catapulted into action.

I struggled through work with a sickening ache in my chest. After enduring until lunch, I finally realised what was wrong with me. I had been suppressing any sign of mourning for your absence. A futile activity assuredly, as by suppressing my pain, I was now suffering a physical manifestation of it. My heart is not broken. Hearts don't break from misery, short of stress related cardio-myopathy. Sure if that nifty little organ in my chest starts to malfunction the only thing I can do is replace it with a new one. Or sacrifice a few foetuses for stem cells.


But hearts can bruise. And it could be years, decades, before my heart recovers from that kind of injury.

Instead of promising myself not to think of you, I went to the city. This was my second mistake. Since you’ve been gone, the city has become a barren and desolate hole. Sometimes there are hundreds of people pressed tightly together until it is impossible for me to move of my own accord, yet I still can’t help but feel alone, but maybe that’s my fault. Being raised here meant that at the best of times I distrusted people and at the worst of times I had an utter lack of faith in humanity.

There’s no trace of you left here, no matter how hard I’ve tried to find some kind of clue as to your current whereabouts. You always were two steps ahead of me, and I guess I never noticed just how far the distance was between us until now.

I had stupidly travelled here, looking for someone who I knew would never be able to find again. Still, I’m standing at your doorway. I can’t move on, neither do I want to.

I don’t want to forget you.

Before I have to decide whether I should flee this godforsaken situation I take one last look at the apartment block. The building is surrounded by a multitude of new imposing structures casting the ground below into shadow. The sunlight still shines brightly from behind the building, creating an aurora like effect. As expected of a mid-afternoon near the end of spring, the sun shows no sign of setting. I close my eyes against the light and my internal argument begins.

If I don’t move along with time, the world will leave me behind. If I stay here, then I will have no control left over where my feet will take me next. The choice is easy, really it is.

I make my way back to the train station. After finally passing through the turnstile, I am greeted with a welcome sight. The station wall has been freshly adorned with a contemporary artwork.

The spray paint isn’t even dry yet.

*** A smoker's confession ***

“Hey man, gimme a light.”
“Sure…hey, who’s got the lighter?”
“I’ve got it. Here.”
Light up.
Take a drag
Exhale.
Repeat.

~~~~~~~~

I gave it up two years ago. Serious. I know that there are a lot of people who go cold turkey and then pick up the habit again in a week, but I’m not one of them. I really don’t need it.
Shit, of course I’ve heard the stories. You know, the shaking limbs, the hacking cough, the holes in the throat. Heard it all, seen it all before.
Well, of course it’s bad for me. Killing’s probably bad for everyone, but I don’t see anyone trying to abolish wars. It’s not a good point, especially since I know it’s bad for me, you screwball. If I didn’t think it was bad for me, I wouldn’t have quit two years ago, right? Oh come on. There are always special cases.
Why do I do it? Come on. Don’t you ever get tired of this life? Shit, you know about the pettiness that surrounds us, the monotony that makes up everyday life, the sad fact that everything worth having in this life is impossible to obtain without an inordinate amount of work. Don’t you get tired of it? Bullshit, I know you do. I do. My point is, that’s why I do it.
Look…it’s like this. As solid as I appear sometimes, I’m not made to deal with it all, all the damn time. Shut up, I’m not perfect. If I was perfect, you wouldn’t be hassling me about this. Anyway, let me go on. Sometimes I need an escape…yeah, I know it sounds cliché, but it’s true. I need to walk away from this life and spend some time outside it before I can come back in and immerse myself again.
I know it’s killing me. Look, didn’t I say I quit? I’m only having a few. That’s the whole point anyway. Every single time I breathe out, I’m dying a little bit, and that’s what I want. I die a little bit so I can get away from life. You don’t quite get it? Maybe. Sometimes I think that I don’t belong in this world. It takes me out of all of this for a short time. Yeah, I know. I exhale my life every time. Hey, I’m gonna die sooner or later.
What, that? Oh, that’s nothing. I used to go through one a day back before I quit. Probably irreparably damaged my lungs, but hey, no use in crying over spilled milk, right? Anyway. I had a few, don’t get on my case. Look, I don’t want to talk about it anymore.

~~~~~~~~

Last drag of the night.
Watching the moonlight filter through the haze.

And I’m gone.