Will I ever meet the one? Is there “one” for me….
I hate myself for giving is a chance. Although it made me who I am today. I hate myself for believing your tall tale lies of always being there if I needed you because when I did, I was left with echoes of our unfulfilled and apparently meaningless interaction. I hope I never see you again yet I browse to see if your doing OK. I’m dead inside once again and I suppose its better that way. Whose to listen to one more girl complaining about her unfulfilled desires. I feel worthless, thrown out like a used rag. Insomnia laughs me in the face and I must be up in 2 hours in hopes of persuing my dreams. All of which you are weaved from and all of me unpinned from your vision board. All that remains is loss and a foul taste in my mouth. Have a good life. I hope you make it big.
The last couple weeks have been a daze. I’ve been in places I never imagined were in me. Lost in the maze of my mind. Your flame in me extinguished. Darkness. No guiding light. No more creation. Back to the numbness I know so well. So cold.Farewell to my star and your dreamsicle fantasy world I had but a glimpse of. Adieu to you one more day and the sweet fields of rainbow gumdrops and cotton candy clouds.
And after boiling the eggs, you stood at my doorway handsome as ever with your cool blue gaze. I always acted unaffected by your looks. I handed you the peeled egg and looked up at you and that was the precise moment you fed me the biggest lie you yourself actually believed. You swallowed me whole and i resisted, but your words still echo…unfulfilled.
I wonder if Im going to pass out…no no it was just a little heart flutter
Ill miss you forever
How could I be so threatened by mere words on a paper that you probably wrote so long ago? With people you no longer talk to and feelings you more than likely no longer have? How can I be so insecure when I am here now and thats all that should matter. How can I be bothered when I also have past lovers and many journals filled with love and hateful words. Why does it feel like a knive through my heart when I think about you being in love with another? Is sharing our past really worth it? A past that hints to out present that it wil never add up.
My pen name is KnivesandTears. Think of me as a culmination of every tear YOU have helped me weep. Think of every tear you have made ALL the women that have crossed your path shed. A salty story told within each drop that falls on my journal. Tears… you can call me Ms. Tears I suppose. The knives you ask, what are they for? Security. Cold, sharp, dangerous tears. I Wet, pain-ridden, longing knives. Sharp tears and salty knives. Tears that can slice right through your facade. My heart bleeds in silence no more.
You once layed on me and cried for what seemed like hours. You showered me with your tears. They slid down my cheek and onto my bosom. I layed there on the couch, the same couch that later symbolized our demise. I gathered all my strength to refuse you. I lost. We walked hand in hand, tip toeing through the house and to the guest room floor. We made love, so warm and passionate. The warmth subsided as it always does with you and I was left painfully on a hard, cold tiled floor and you fast asleep. A picturesque moment embodying the cold silence of our estranged love affair. There on the cold floor layed out was our fraction of time together, along with the thousands of sharp tears you helped me shed.
Knives and Tears