Time Tells

You say you love me. I do not think you are able. Not when you wander around your own town with your heart on your hands and everyone else’s lips. Your blood trickles down your arms and leaves a trail behind that does not lie. You speak these words that you know so little about. I think your conscious just needs something to spout. My love for you provides nothing but genuine kindness and understanding. I go out of my way to make you happy best I can and you are not even mine. Your “love” for me causes only pain. You yell and curse towards me for no reason other than you can.

And still my heart bleeds for you. For you?

Or because of you?

You taught me nothing of love other than to never expect it back. Every time my heart would swell and burst with love for you, you merely glanced upon its remains littering the ground and commented on the mess I made carelessly handing me some paper towels. I am not sure I will ever be able to answer why I yearn so desperately to try to feel your love just once in this short life time. Just once to feel a genuine emotion cascading from your heart in the true beauty comparable to Niagra waterfall. But time and time again you prove just how unsuited it would become you.

And still my heart bleeds for you. For you?

Or because of you?

Only time will tell.

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The Pain

The pain I feel is palpable in strength and ferocity. Its anger ripping through my flesh in fits of injustice and fear. Large gashes decorate my entirety, the blood pooling at my feet in some sticky display of pain and longing. My soles adhere to the surface, glued by gallons of torment until I forget how to move. Trapped within a prison of my own mind I starve and hallucinate that it will all be fine. Months without clippers I lash out at spectators with nails of diamond and steel wanting to see their blood dance across the ground as mine. Falling to the ground from exhaustion and loss blood quickly fills my mouth dripping from my eyes and nostrils until it is all I taste and feel. Heart wrenching sobs fill the silence.

I am damaged.

Crimson drops splatter across the ground as some goth band’s morbid drum beat pooling beneath my cheek until it is too sticky to speak. Only one constant remains as endless feet tread past.

The pain. Palpable to touch and too intense to feign. It fills my days and haunts my nights until I cannot even sleep. The pain of knowing my love does not want me anymore. And the unbearable pain from knowing I respect and love myself too much to ever want her back. Glued in place but not in time. Cursed to watch her life progress while struggling through mine.

Mary

It’s never enough to say I’m sorry
It’s never enough to say I care
But I’m caught between what you wanted from me
And knowing that if I give that to you
I might just disappear

Nobody wins when everyone’s losing

It’s like one step forward and two steps back
No matter what I do you’re always mad
And I, I can’t change your mind
I know it’s like trying to turn around on a one way street
I can’t give you what you want
And it’s killing me
And I, I’m starting to see
Maybe we’re not meant to be

It’s never enough to say I love you
No, it’s never enough to say I try
It’s hard to believe
That’s theres no way out for you and me
And it seems to be the story of our lives

Nobody wins when everyone’s losing

It’s like one step forward and two steps back
No matter what I do you’re always mad
And I, I can’t change your mind
I know it’s like trying to turn around on a one way street
I can’t give you what you want
And it’s killing me
And I, I’m starting to see
Maybe we’re not meant to be

There’s still time to turn this around
You could be building this up instead of tearing it down
But I keep thinking
Maybe it’s too late

It’s like one step forward and two steps back
No matter what I do you’re always mad
And I, I can’t change your mind
I know it’s like trying to turn around on a one way street
I can’t give you what you want
And it’s killing me
And I, I’m starting to see
Maybe we’re not meant to be

It’s like one step forward and two steps back
No matter what I do you’re always mad
And I, baby I’m sorry to see
Maybe we’re not meant to be

Theory of a deadman “Not Meant To Be” : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3UNYAi5katc

Guardian

How can it be that this has become of me?

Such a pitiful soul thirsting to be free.

Tempted and tainted by confusing spirits

Aching from deep seated fears causing confounding wits.

Watching by distance equal to countries width

LIstening as her tortured spirit empties forthwith

Crying withing at burning desires to comfort

Breaking at her denial of love’s many perks.

How can it be that this has become of me?

Soulfully offering all of me

Asking one spirit for fellow love in this time of need

Diminished downwards to the size of God’s first seed

Yearning to sprout through the Earth once again

refusing to accept the coming of the final end

Blessing those who share and rejoice in love

Thanking the holy rains above.

Nothing to Say

You stared at me through your dark sunglasses inside your one bedroom loft
You were always mysterious and guarded like that.
I just before you, pockets filled with my bare hands to hide their shaking.
I always felt like you were comparing me to someone you once knew.

You were always the tortured artist with the tousled hair
Your house always matching your thoughts, so crazed and scattered, but it never mattered.
Until you stood before me with nothing to say.
Other than small talk over our dogs and the weather, I guess your eyes were blinded this time because you never saw

All the blood coating your feet or my heart lying in pieces on the ground not even the stains from tears upon my shirt or the blood upon my sleeve.
Kneeling before you begging please.

All the small talk and blinded eyes are tearing me apart.
Your cold words and deadened thoughts are breaking my heart.
How did we go from friends to lovers to opponents playing a pointless game, one we both hate?

All I can say is you’re breaking my heart.

My brightest memory where you resonate loudest is you with a beer and a cigarette in your hands.
The smoke seductively kissing your lips as it danced romantically away towards the starry sky.

We always spoke of your unique and sometimes crazed world views as I calmly watched your lips kiss that bottle time and time again.
I listened to you describe your love for Jeannette Winterson and Ani Difranco while I sat there completely in awe of you.

No time for apologies and no more time for games.
Who I saw you as and who you were were never the same.
I’m sorry, dear stranger, but I don’t even know your name.
I must have mistaken you for someone like me.

All I can say is you’re breaking my heart.

You stared at me through your dark sunglasses inside your one bedroom loft.
You were always mysterious and guarded like that.
But it never mattered
Until you stood before me with nothing to say.

The Forest

Scared and helpless she hit the ground, dirt cascading towards her mouth. Filling her taste buds, sealing her glands, the dirt thickened and grew slimy as she spat it in her hand. Body throbbing from force of impact, stomach hurling with each breath, nothing matters more than escaping in this time of blood and wrath. Her eyes search around, frantic from terror. They lock on the woods, a maze controlled by nature, sure to cover her tracks. Pushing from the earth with her battered hands, her toes crunch dirt rocketing to a run. Each step sent pain igniting through her veins, promising each step’s earned attrition. The trees grew closer, running towards her as she stumbled and staggered towards them as in some “Baywatch” shark scene. Blood steadily pumping through her veins, leaking from her pores. But nature always protects its own and leaves and dirt blew across.

Shouts fill the atmosphere. Shouts originating somewhere south, somewhere from her haunting past. Anger, anger seeps through the atmosphere spreading through each cell and pushing fear deep down her throat. What punishment could be next? More of the same or something far worse? Gripping the bark on each tree she sprints by, using their steady limbs as her virtuous guide. Pushing off from each hardened friend, her skin feels them begin to push her towards the end. Canopies grow darker and darker, the forest collapsing atop its newest addition.

“Just a nighttime blanket, m’dear,” the forest whispers. “Just something to keep you warm and safe, m’dear, that’s why you’re here.”

Her feet quickly stop, nose pressed against something hard. Hands grasping aimlessly around its bulk, she’s soon climbed atop a massive live oak. resting beneath its canopy of gold, her eyes slide shut and the forest she holds. Safe in its grasp her blood drips down, the wind slowly blowing to hide its origin. If the forest could, it would have kept her that day. Held her to its bosom for all eternity. Such a pretty child with such innocence lost, something destroyed at an awful cost.

The anger found her too soon. Just a day passed and before high noon, she was wrapped in arms too burly for man, being dragged back away from her only friend. Bruised and bloodied they questioned her life, never knowing the cause of her unending strife. Burly arms handed her back to affliction, never once questioning her potential integrity. Bruised and bloodied the forest wept, torn from its chest the one it kept. Blood seeped out of tree and flesh, creating one entity after its mesh. An escape and a victim, a survivor at best, united that day despite social detest.

The Whistle

What cost must love cast upon us? What changes must love force upon us? So sweet and timid at first, gently wrapping shoulders in the warmest blanket on the coldest night. One day, one singular moment, it changes and the blanket ignites filling intestines with an unquenchable flame thirsty for the one they love. The mind barred and suffocated under this blanket of love, its words of wisdom muted beneath feelings of compassion. Never once does the heart stop and ask what consequences there might be. Never once does the heart stop and ask, “how much for this one?”. And certainly, the heart never says “Oh no, that’s just too much” because the heart has unending funds, eternal pockets as Mary Poppins’ purse. The cycle of love works in one large circle and it all comes back around before we ever hear the sound of that damned train barreling down the tracks towards us until it’s too late and we’re back on our ass, breathless, and sore wondering what happened this time. And never once did our heart shout out, “Watch out for that train”. No, never once did our heart rip off that blanket of attraction to let our mind scream its worries and fears so we could be wary. Standing up, dusting off the blood and dirt, wiping the sweat from your brow, you gather your few belongings left intact and carry on down that track of life deaf to the sound of a train whistle in the distance. Never knowing what direction it will come from next. Never knowing what new pair of gem-like eyes will disguise it next. Constantly walking down that track of life and on real cold nights, sleeping with a blanket draped over sore and tired shoulders, a welcome relief for the weary traveler. Such a deception for the weak. Such a comfort for all.

Until the whistle blows.

Healing Slowly

I’ve been asked how I love you by many people in many ways. Each time it reminds me of being asked how I breathe. I take the air into my lungs, hold it there, savor it, then I release it hoping it will come back and not leave me breathless. This is much like how I love you. I take you all inside, I hold the knowledge of you there, I savor you, then I release you praying you come back to me and not leave me empty. 

I’ve been asked how I can still love you after you broke my heart so badly. A question asked mostly by those around me who witnessed the catastrophe. The question continues to remind me of breathing and I wonder why people are so curious about what comes so naturally. Do they not do it as well? 

I digress. 

After pneumonia do the lungs cease breathing? After one long is punctured or both are bleeding and they begin their healing, do they stop breathing? The answers to these questions are the same as to my love for you. Even after a broken heart the heart does not stop beating, nor love stop loving.  

Your Scar

Composed of scars and ragged lines, my heart still beats true. Not long ago a new gash was dealt. My heart now owns one long gash piercing through it’s core. The perfect place for your salt to be poured. Open it wider, dig it deeper, make it hurt so badly until I regret knowing you. Until I hate how much I love you. All this baggage weighing down my heart pressing its wounds wider until blood flows down. Destroy this heart just a little more, if it is really what you wish. I will always love you with all I have, but if you continue down this path, do not be surprised when someone else saves me the time. The day my heart heals again and its scar sealed with a lover’s kiss. The day our love is past. The day I tell you what I think at last.