I Don’t Think He’s Coming Back
Old blue carpet, cleaned a thousand times too many.
Toys in their containers, mismatched but well loved.
A bunk bed for one, because up is the only place left to go.
A rocket ship in a painting, a reminder of fear overcome.
The flimsy half wood door slams, this time for good.
Sometimes, it is in the going where we find our true selves.
She was alone, and I thought she could use some company. Just a laugh or two, anything to make that forlorn aura dissipate.
Talks turned to walks, and walks into dates. I wore myself on my sleeves, and rolled them up while I pried into her most hated forms. She wasn’t so bad, not to me.
Time flew as I poured myself into her, our eyes locked, souls bared wide.
Or so I thought.
No, for she looked beyond, to a place where I no longer existed. A place where strife was an old friend, and lonliness preferable company.
Perhaps she wasn’t ready yet, or maybe she was - just not for me.
It's your old friend here, reaching you the only way I can, but you know that. Who else still writes letters though? For that matter, who else even thinks of anyone anymore unless they need something...
There I go again, about to ramble on about things I don't know much about, and how could I? I was never around anyway. Still, it's my favorite thing.
I suppose it's the wondering, guessing, and most of all, hope of being wrong. It is for that reason I'm writing in the first place. For once, I wanted to be wrong.
Then it all came out, and what? Broken, gone? Well, yes. That's the way of things between us.
We all know that once you show up, it won't be long before I'm there as well.
Dead branches of selfishness.
Oil of secrecy.
Rope and twine of the finest shame.
Bound am I by the trappings of jaded society.
When I was patient, nothing came. Do I not deserve pleasure - even a morsel of what I percieve others to have in their finest kodak moments?
Perhaps I do not, for it has been so long... and I no longer know what is right. I no longer know what I am, or who I wanted to be.
So bring now the fire, so that I do not have to see her cry.
I fell to the forest floor, where they gathered 'round whispering, "Bhut." Was I still?
My Heart’s Not Ready Yet
I wish I could forget my broken love.
I exist now in a void of monotony, and as much as I want to believe, I know the grass has long since withered.
Loathe I am to look, for perhaps it never grew at all.
The Big Sad
Shall I make them laugh, then?
"I said, I AM HUNGRY!"
Alright... I'll start with a smile, that always reels them in. I'll ask them about their day, then tell them it will get worse and not to worry. I'll keep the smile so they know. They will laugh, they always do. They don't expect it. They open up for however short, and tell me about their day. I jest at their expense, or mine. Usually mine, for it is no great loss.
"Choice! Alas, it was just a taste. MORE! So dull, all of this! More Laughter!"
"None for you, though," he whispers in my ear, voice dripping with venom. "It will not reach you. It will never reach you, for I am so... so famished."
His grin permeates my being, and I know he is right. Sometimes I wonder who I am without him?
I desire opulence from love. Let it not grow old, let it be rich and full of flavor.
It was in this thinking that I perished, and I never knew until your hand sought my form.
So it was patience then? Patience is my flaw.
It's a twinge - at first. The kind the starts with the separating of lips and ends with the errosion of my chest. I want to laugh, tousle my hair, and get out in front to take the jeers. With a shake of my head, I bow, and find a place among my forebears.
Hello everyone. Looks like I've made the cut.
My rifle fell apart in the sand today. Again. I fell hard that time.
Not as hard as others.
I can still hear his voice, and hot breath pounding on my temple door. "Why do you go on?"
He can't hear me anymore, but you can. I go on for those that cannot.
The ones you took.