I wake up. The house is quiet, empty, broken into. I do not know what happened here. The door was wide open. The lights on. I bear witness to a play with no actors.
Confused, I frantically look for an answer. A person. A heartbeat. A sign that confirms my own existence. Are you there? Am I finally on the outside looking in? I can't tell. The little hole is shut. But suddenly, I hear a noise. Is it a voice? A specter? Or was it my own echo, distorted by these unfamiliar halls? I don't know. I don't. I don't.
My hands shake. My voice trembles as I call out to the murky darkness.
Hello? Can you hear me? Is anybody there? Please, help me. Please, stop looking at me. Please. I can't take this anymore.
A siren song reverberates in my brain. Numbing my senses and breaking the connections that were once there. I can no longer see the red string that connected you and me, me and you.
A flatline. A stranger. An invitation I never received. All of these have one thing in common. All of these were accepted in my stead, without my input and without my say. Can you hear me? See me? Are you still out there? If you detest me, will you still come for me?
And if I feel happy in this reality how long will it be until am I once again left hollowed out and empty?
If god truly exists, I already know I won't be forgiven. But why should I seek forgiveness From one who laughs at the misery of everyone not eligible for their miracles? In a world where piety leaves nothing but death and disappointment in its wake, What are we to them but props in a scripted play?
The truth is a flesh eating machine. I kiss it good morning every day and lay by its side every night. When I have forgotten the feelings that once gave me courage, it whispers in my ears and guides my hand. We are happy.
But lately, the truth has become prone to fits of jealousy and anger. When I have forgotten the feelings that once gave me courage, it tears through my stomach and burrows itself between my ribcage. It will not be forgotten. It demands to be acknowledged.
I lay in a hole of my own making choking on my blood, my last breath. The truth rattles inside my lungs and gnashes. "Hypocrite! Did you not learn your lesson before?"
I have been thinking about you lately. More so than usual. And I ask myself, what did you feel when you decided to drive the knife through my heart? Was it worth it? I don't know. The question sticks with me like an abscess beneath my skin. I want to live, but my heart is heavy. My every breath has already become bored with itself.
A detonation. Loud, deafening, destructive. How do you measure love? Is it a feeling? An action? Or is the depth of the hole you create in the hearts of those you leave behind?
For every second we live, a choice is made. In one hand, a disaster is averted. In the other, calamity strikes. And what is bravery in the eyes of the weary becomes foolishness in the eyes of the numb.
"I love you," spoken from the lips of the dead. A violent, squelching horror. Not unlike the destruction of the world. "Was it worth it?"
Their mouths begin to move. But your ears are ringing.
I dream of strange patterns. Of a world filled with colors and sound. Where I am not alone and not all good things must come to an end. But when I open my eyes, I find myself living a life in greyscale. The clock keeps ticking.
Like a sheet of cardboard set adrift. Flimsy, crumbling, disintegrating. I am ripped apart by the currents. And piece by piece, I sink to the bottom.
When I open my mouth to speak, the water rushes into my lungs. My words are stolen away by the relentless onslaught of the ocean.
"Thank you." "I'm sorry." "Please, don't hate me."
A girl is a gun, a thought, a sword through your gut. The words that pass through my mouth leave a bitter taste behind. Like the memories we made in this world filled with ice and snow.
We clean the house after the funeral, digging through every nook and cranny of the world you hid from sight. The skeletons in your closet giggle with delight as they are pulled from the shadows. Whispers fill the room as the rumors begin to rise. Shock, disbelief and confusion. These are the themes of the night.
The two dimensional idea of you gains another layer. I gaze upon it with familiarity, my own thoughts lodged in my throat. The fire roars. The bridge begins to burn. He is stuck on the other side. Like a hypocrite, I hold a match.
My lips part, and with a quiet exhale I extinguish the flames.
An unfinished verse in a song, Discarded and forgotten. Replaced by the next bright idea in your mind. Their dreams of a life in the sun were dashed at conception. Crushed unthinkingly by the fickle nature of man.
They remain trapped between the lines. Unsaid words that will never reach the audience. No one will know of their existence, and alone they turn to dust.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
p.1
The house is
quiet, empty, broken into.
I do not know what happened here.
The door was wide open. The lights on.
I bear witness to a play with no actors.
Confused, I frantically look for an answer.
A person. A heartbeat. A sign that confirms my own existence.
Are you there? Am I finally on the outside looking in?
I can't tell. The little hole is shut.
But suddenly, I hear a noise.
Is it a voice? A specter? Or was it my own echo, distorted by these unfamiliar halls?
I don't know.
I don't.
I don't.
My hands shake.
My voice trembles as I call out to the murky darkness.
Hello? Can you hear me?
Is anybody there?
Please, help me.
Please, stop looking at me.
Please.
I can't take this anymore.
But nobody answers.
And so,
p.2
Numbing my senses and breaking the connections that were once there.
I can no longer see the red string that connected
you and me,
me and you.
A flatline. A stranger. An invitation I never received.
All of these have one thing in common.
All of these were accepted in my stead, without my input and without my say.
Can you hear me? See me? Are you still out there?
If you detest me, will you still come for me?
And if I feel happy in this reality
how long will it be until am I once again left hollowed out
and empty?
p.3
But why should I seek forgiveness
From one who laughs at the misery of everyone not eligible for their miracles?
In a world where piety leaves nothing but death and disappointment in its wake,
What are we to them but props in a scripted play?
Goodnight
and sweet dreams.
p.4
I kiss it good morning every day and lay by its side every night.
When I have forgotten the feelings that once gave me courage, it whispers in my ears and guides my hand.
We are happy.
But lately,
the truth has become prone to fits of jealousy
and anger.
When I have forgotten the feelings that once gave me courage,
it tears through my stomach and burrows itself between my ribcage.
It will not be forgotten.
It demands to be acknowledged.
I lay in a hole of my own making
choking on my blood, my last breath.
The truth rattles inside my lungs and gnashes.
"Hypocrite!
Did you not learn your lesson before?"
Well, of course not.
How could I?
A faulty line of code
can only create an error.
p.5
Regret is the height of arrogance.
pg. 6
Loud, deafening, destructive.
How do you measure love?
Is it a feeling? An action?
Or is the depth of the hole you create in the hearts of those you leave behind?
For every second we live, a choice is made.
In one hand, a disaster is averted.
In the other, calamity strikes.
And what is bravery in the eyes of the weary
becomes foolishness in the eyes of the numb.
"I love you," spoken from the lips of the dead.
A violent, squelching horror.
Not unlike the destruction of the world.
"Was it worth it?"
Their mouths begin to move.
But your ears are ringing.
You cannot hear a sound.
pg. 7
Of a world filled with colors and sound.
Where I am not alone
and not all good things must come to an end.
But when I open my eyes, I find myself living a life in greyscale.
The clock keeps ticking.
Like a sheet of cardboard set adrift.
Flimsy,
crumbling,
disintegrating.
I am ripped apart by the currents.
And piece by piece, I sink to the bottom.
When I open my mouth to speak, the water rushes into my lungs.
My words are stolen away by the relentless onslaught of the ocean.
"Thank you."
"I'm sorry."
"Please, don't hate me."
You cannot hear me.
And so, I disappear.
pg. 8
a gun,
a thought,
a sword through your gut.
The words that pass through my mouth leave a bitter taste behind.
Like the memories we made in this world filled with ice and snow.
We clean the house after the funeral,
digging through every nook and cranny of the world you hid from sight.
The skeletons in your closet giggle with delight as they are pulled from the shadows.
Whispers fill the room as the rumors begin to rise.
Shock, disbelief and confusion.
These are the themes of the night.
The two dimensional idea of you gains another layer.
I gaze upon it with familiarity, my own thoughts lodged in my throat.
The fire roars. The bridge begins to burn.
He is stuck on the other side.
Like a hypocrite, I hold a match.
My lips part,
and with a quiet exhale
I extinguish the flames.
pg.9
Discarded and forgotten.
Replaced by the next bright idea in your mind.
Their dreams of a life in the sun were dashed at conception.
Crushed unthinkingly by the fickle nature of man.
They remain trapped between the lines.
Unsaid words that will never reach the audience.
No one will know of their existence,
and alone they turn to dust.