I know I’ve been a liar, and I know I’ve been a fool, but I’m banking on your intellect and your infuriating calm to validate my efforts. I know what it’s like to love someone who doesn’t deserve it, ’cause they’re all you’ve got. To take down the ceilings and light the walls on fire just to see them burn, to love for the sake of feeling just a little less alone, I can’t understand your sense of shelter. I am, but a swarthy and incensed stranger living in a loud and contaminated wild. But, If we admit that human life can be ruled by reason, then all possibility of life is destroyed. I just don’t understand why people, why every fucking person is so bad to each other so fucking often. It doesn’t make sense to me. Judgment. Control. All that, the whole spectrum. Well, it just…
Never try to apologize for what is done
I can no longer endure the sadness of another betrayal
Making the deep invisible wounds reappear
Claiming another emptiness in me
Telling me to curse, ending in regret
Pushing my self-esteem lower itself
Into complete oblivion
Overlooking such truth that I am worth more
Than I superficially seem.
Irony flatters the way of your existence
Creating the illusion of a home
You can never return to in light
The promise of sanctuary fades
Just as you looked past the acceptance
Of the imperfection of a love in the shelter
Trusting to rest a heart
That is defeated with discouragement.
Unconditionally, hatred and shame welcomes you
Back to the mirage of a hopeful love assumed
From the lover slowly dying with grief
Threatening to flee from the world
With such terrifying conclusion
Of their agony, for the sincerity of fidelity
Crowding their sense with the opulence of contempt
Sealing, signing its end with your unforgivable treason
The ultimate clearance of your redemption,
passing as your repentance.
You’re an act too late to become a savior
Neither a plea nor a bargained self-sacrifice
Can ransom the very foundation of your happiness
No matter how you try to bring back what has been lost
Time is no longer your dependable alliance
But it is the worst friend you’ve ever had
Committing the same treachery you’ve done
Denying you of another chance to make things right.
Second chances are the luxuries of the privileged
Discriminate of the offenses made
Yours are no longer a work of dissatisfaction
But an act of defiance of a powerful rule
That struggles to untangle itself in the center of chaos
To embrace every flaw and the search for good
When that alone is ignored and overlooked
Many times until you can no longer measure
You never really deserve to receive it after all.
He sang me a lullaby, wishful that he may enchant me with that comfort. Offering that much solace to at least shield me from more pain. Yet I was too afraid too listen, too restless to even pause.
So I ran as far as I could. Relying on the idea that it will be much better reciprocation of the love he offers. Because I knew I could only give him much more pain if I continued to feed on what he offers, disillusioning myself that there’ll be sincerity in the showmanship.
I give much applause to the effort she takes just so she could redeem herself. It’s a pity she could waste all her time knitting this tapestry of lies so she can manipulate people into liking her or be with her. It’s amazing how she can twist tales for pity, for some sort of concern for her well-being, under her so-called selfless disguise to care for another being.
She watch herself
fall prey to her own trap
going further down the spiral
of tall-tales she so carefully
took time to spread.
Aiming to be victorious
to forge friendship
under a cloak of concern
for the well being of the other.
Down she goes
Into the spiral of lies she orchestrated.
Unmasked, looking in every direction
A pedestrian crippled by
revelations that she thought
she can get out.
Struggling to find redemption
Seeking the solace of the lies
She buried on top of the junk she offered
Finding herself drowning in pitiful shame
Rage consumes her
Trapped in her own deceit
Spinning another tale
That she thinks will save her
Like the fly caught in a spider’s web
Only the web’s her
She clamors for attention
Taking every bit of morsel
of pity she can have
out of the false face
she so consciously portray
Only this time,
miscalculated the people
who she each made a puppet of
Now that she’s been outsmarted
she still clings on to the very pedestal
she thinks she own.
Her own demons
continuing to haunt her
Not letting go,
Thirsty for companionship
Only there’s nothing left
she cling on to the
only the grapevine
she so painfully
and that even in itself
is no more.
Never mind. Truth is better left when you’re still young enough to mend the holes it’s ripped. Never mind why I did. Or didn’t. All that matter’s is the finish. Because as time goes on, ends are all that we have left, all that we have. They pick up like raindrops in a bucket. Then we empty it out and start again. Sometimes I think it would be nice to be fragile. Then maybe once in a while someone would be gentle.
No one thinks too much about the stones they kick as they’re waiting down the street. No one worries thgey’ll get broken. Where they’ll land. What they’ll hit. Just because the outside is hard they tend to assume they won’t be damaged. But more often than not, that hard outside is there because what’s underneath it is much too soft.
to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you’ve held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, how can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.
– Ellen Bass, The Human Line