Heartbreak
Kostya stood at the window of the little hut she had that was built into the side of a mountain peak. Starring at the moon, she could feel tears slide down her pale, plump cheeks. She sniffled.
“I hate that you aren’t here with me.” She muttered to the wind. As Koya closed her eyes, she swore she could feel a large, warm palm take her’s.
“I miss you so much, Thomas… Why did you have to die…?” Koya burst into heavy sobs, slipping to the floor from the window, her form being shaken aggressively with her pain. She cried out angrily:
“Why did he have to take you from me?!”
Kostya wailed, her heart, again, being plucked from her chest by heartbreak.
Since We Never Said Hello (with Beth Goodman)
Since we never said hello
It was so easy to let you go.
It was easy to forget
What I never had the chance to remember.
You know I've seen your eyes
catch mine.
And yet, since we never said hello,
I never had the chance
To offer you a rose..,
Which could never compare
To the softness
Of your smile.
I can smell the rose and
it's soft against my skin.
I never had the chance
To offer you my heart...
Which was the only thing
I may offer
That was truly my own
At least until your smile
Stole it away last night.
Since we never said hello
It was so easy to let you go.
But the stars have lost their luster
The stars, well, they may have
lost some luster but they still
shine.
And the nights seem, somehow, colder.
Do you know it's your realness that warms
the nights which have become colder.
You see, we've said hello before.
It's goodbye that's haunting it's
lonely lullaby into our edges, let's
make them touch.
I have finally realized
What loneliness means
Since we never said hello.
No, it's really not so lonely
here.
We Spend Our Lives Dying
We spend our lives dying…
One day at a time.
We spend so much time fighting
Over so many shades of gray
And I have to wonder
If there isn’t a better way.
I made a friend just recently,
We shared some memories.
We found a common past.
Here I looking forward
While his life is nearly done.
We spend our lives dying…
Just a little bit at a time.
Sometimes it is just a world
That cuts away at our soul.
Sometimes it’s a misplaced kiss
That makes us grow so cold.
I made a friend just recently,
And we shared a dream or two,
Who is to know
What tomorrow is to bring,
Except for shared good-byes.
We spend our lives dying…
Waste too much time denying
That we were ever, truly, alive.
When we close our eyes that final time
Will we finally see the lies?
I made a friend just recently,
He reminded me of better times.
And, now that I know his history,
I find myself wondering
Why his heart has not turned blind.
We spend our lives dying…
And each day that passes
We forget just how to live.
My friend is slowly dying,
And I am at a lost for words.
It isn’t his lost that bothers me,
It’s just that time is so imprecise
That it rarely leaves for dreams.
So, my friend, what I am saying
This song really not for you.
It is for those you will leave grieving,
The ones that you hold so dear,
Something to remind them all
How quickly time slips by.
See dying is really easy,
We die a little every day…
But living life is really an art
And we often just lose our way.
So, in honor of this friend I made,
I ask you all to live…
Cause dying is really easy…
We do it everyday.
Wednesday’s song
On a rainy Wednesday, I decide to go for a walk. I grab my umbrella and don my headphones, considering them an essential outdoor accessory. I float through the quiet residential town, barely acknowledging the houses and storefronts and fully committing my consciousness to the ebb and flow of my music.
However, in the limbo between one song’s end and another’s beginning, I notice the timid sound of raindrops knocking on the borders of my mind. Intrigued, I remove my headphones and listen.
Children’s unbothered laughter weaves through the droplets. A hurried cyclist rushes past me, and the gentle whoosh of her bike tires enters the chorus. An elderly man trudges by, and my brows furrow at the squelching of his rain-sodden shoes. I cannot help but smile as my own breath joins the afternoon’s symphony.
Upon returning home, the song does not end. Instead, it shifts to a cozy melody, interlaced with whistling teapots, rooftop-tappings, and soothing silence. I close my eyes and invite the moment’s dynamic composition into my heart. With a content sigh, I realize, I should listen to the day’s song more often.
The Act Of Dying
The act of dying
Is the act of living..,
Moment by moment.
The act of dying
Is the act of remembering…
The roses resting in the morning dew,
Remembering where once was a sunset
In the morning will be a dawn.
The act of dying
Is not chasing the rainbow’s end,
But dancing on its edge.
It’s not singing to the music,
But being the song.
The act of dying
Is the act of living
Without the fear
Of a final regret,
A last good bye,
An eternal tear.
The act of living?
Simply the sharing
Of our souls.
Guts
You think the world is after your guts, but your entrails do not get to lap at my feet with your feats of victimization.
Your defamation disgusts me- and this is why those who love you are plastic. Faces frozen in time, a grimace permanently engraved onto their perfect little faces. They could not even shed a crystallized tear should you die, you absolute fool, when I have cried for your memory countlessly.
It's fine. Go be fine with them.
I will scratch out your name in my story, dilute the swoops in your name for ink blotches. You do not have the guts- not to be individualized, not to create your own narrative. You are a parasite, suckling onto the nearest warm vein in hopes it will thaw out your pathetic little heart. But you will always remain as you were born- cruel and easy to mold into the shape those who beat you around wish you to be.
Those you defame me for do not love you- you are nothing but a pawn, they your idols. You seek acceptance when you are as displaced as I, as if I do not share the ink of your exact pain. As if I were not the hero in your pathetic, morphed pages. But I realize with disgust, how true those were that hate me were.
They did not pretend to like me. You pretended to.
Immortal
A Fragile mind,
like mine,
running out of time,
the pendelum,
swinging like a gulliotine,
full of adrenaline,
the clock chimes,
like a money machine,
reverberating,
through my mind,
reality first dawned at fourteen,
crippling truth which undermines,
what lies in between,
life and death,
I've asked myself,
A hundred million times.
Angling for fiction
Angling for fiction
In a night of perfect black...
She is hanging out her bait hook,
Let's it settle with some tact
To the bottom of the evening where
She wriggles off her yoke...
Now she's tapping into currents;
Draws the moon down
Between spokes
Of an overturned felled applecart
That was once a means to feed
That wolfish yearning for discernment...
O, how to shed her skin through work...
It's a method of engagement
That can drive the young up walls...
So few have persistent patience
For the other shoe to fall...
Angling for fiction...
Out there through the wind and sleet,
She is
Angling for fiction
Writing sonnets fit to eat
That will justify the silence,
And draw lattice overhead...
Causing eyes to dance from
Tree to tree,
Gliding over waterbeds...
Whistling vast like racing sparrows
On a dash to be the first
To find a clearing of anointment,
Some great balm for restless joints...
Caught her out there in her magic cloth,
Holding court with frogs and crickets
Where the swollen stars hung down...
She was angling for fiction
Wearing hibiscus flower crown
Fashioned out of her enjoyment...
From her pleasures and her pains...
And I watched in utter rapture
As she blossomed in the rain...
1/20/24
Bunny Villaire
Edit #2