Creative Writing, Momentary, Poetry, The Fine Line

Behind Closed Eyes

tears on my pillow
pain in my heart
caused by you

Her words ring loud in my mind as I think about you. Emotions pour forth under my closed eyelids, soaking the pillow on which my weary head lies.

I’ve thought about us, almost daily, through and through. The notion of our unspoken love summoned to come alive but still, until this day, no words have been exchanged and thus my heart continues to cry.

I cannot laugh, I cannot eat, I cannot sleep. Yet I close my eyes. Only as a means to find your face again. But in all my trying I only find that I become Frankenstein! I create a face that is not yours. I create a face that belongs, a little, to all of my lovers; in whose arms I’ve lain to take away that pain that is your absence. I create a monster.

I close my eyes and share moments with you that you will not remember; to force back tears, yet still I cry, for my love will forever remain tender – for you alone, for you right now but you will never know.

I’ll let him go
This time
I will.
I’ll let him go
This time.

The song I sing each night as I make-believe I sleep. I let you go for  mere moments as I travel to the dimensions of dreams. Dreamland we called it. You remember?  The place, each night we’d meet.

While I’m there, sojourneying through this love, I see you clear; as bright as day, more beautiful than a thousand doves. A symbol of freedom, my dear. My one hope now, in all of life, is that of you I might dream and dream forever.

Oh my love, I wish you knew the light you bring to life. But you never will, for I won’t say until the day I die.

*

I’m asleep now and this way I’ll stay. In dreamland I have forever locked myself away.

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Creative Writing, Momentary, The Fine Line

Who Are You?

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You get home after a long day, an awesome day, just a day.

You look at me through the glass on our dressing table and you contemplate momentarily.

The face that was chosen to be put on that morning, did it fit the day?

If, upon reflection, you decide that your chosen face for the day fit, you smirk because you fooled all them mother fuckers.

If, however, upon reflection, you decide that your chosen face for the day did not fit, you frown because you’ve opened up space for speculation.

Either way you will pull off that face once the pensivity and the moment pass.

Sometimes, you will be gentle and prop the day’s face neatly on the dressing table, ready for tomorrow. That’s when you’re happy. But those days are rare. Most days you rip the face off and throw it to the pile. The eight of your faces crushed and battered in the corner.

When you shout at us we hate it, but we do not complain because we know you hate it more.

We have lived with you this way for four years now.

We miss the days when it used to be fun. When you would wear us and love us and we’d all equally be apart of who you are. But now we lie, hopeless in the corner of your soul. This darkened room. There’s never any light any more. And the glass we see you through is crumbling.

We’ve been open with you about who we are and how we are feeling. Consensually. We hope it introduces a glimer of inspiration for you to be open with the world about who you are; who you really are.

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Moi, Momentary, The Fine Line

En mí y en ti.

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When two souls meet and then they collide
It is symbolic, they’ve realised;
One soul sees the other in their inside,
The universe had conspired to bring life
To a moment that might have died,
Faded in the memory.

You can tell when this occurs, you can see it in the skies.
The universe always stirs
The colours the moment desires.

But only after the lights in the sky,
The Big Dipper, The Questionmark, The Kite,
Has burned the moment and memory into

The night

Unfolds like layers of music, Harmonious and Melodious
That’s the name of these two
Who recognised them selves
En mí y en ti.

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Creative Writing, Momentary

The Poison, Drunk

They poured the intoxicants down their throats. White hot chemicals, cold to the touch but volcanic to the jugular. They noticed no changes as the sun went down, but when it had dissappeared so had their rationale.

In sweat the toxicity appeared to be leaving them alone. But really, the chemicals defied gravity, the chemicals splashed a bit around the brain, the chemicals justified going insane.

Temporality. Temperamental.

Occasionally one of them, one of them would drown. The chemical current would become more than a bit of splashing about the brain. Rather, it would pull the brain under, indefinitely.

Then it would have to be drained, people would come to drain the brain. To rescue the one who poured perhaps too much of the chemical intoxicants down its throat.

The people who would come would be qualified. They would look down on the one. The one, who would be covered in food from earlier that day and the acid that dissolved the food, the food they ate, would be lifeless. Noone knows where the soul goes in that time, but they would be lifeless; legs twisted to the side and bent at the knees, bloody perhaps; arms splayed out all over a street, with head unrecovered.
The one would need to be returned.  Recovery. Position.

The one might be lucky, facing the sea of Death and avoiding oblivion or the one might be unlucky and facing the sea of Death unsteady and falling fourth forever.

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Momentary, The Fine Line

Future

“I don’t want to think about any of it just yet, to be honest,” she said, “I just want to find myself in each moment.” She didn’t say goodbye, she simply shut down her mind and her laptop, turned off the stars that lit up her bedroom and crawled in between the freshly laundered silk sheets. Perhaps it took her two hours to fall asleep that night, but she slept beautifully, naturally. It was a first.

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Momentary

These Seconds

Together let’s make the past and the future unimportant. Let’s feel the presence of this present time and bask in the moment, letting life stand still for us, as we revel in all the blessings and the omens.

We are opening our eyes right now for now. We are travelling through time never chaining our minds to what was and are not squeezing our hopes into what might be. Because everything was and anything will be. But this is now and it is the only thing we have. Rejoice with me. This, this is what we can be certain of, this only and nothing else.

Occupying these seconds trying to piece together your memory and my memory and all their memories of what was is only forlorn. No moment of the past can be truly reborn, not in any existence. It can be questioned and abashed, that such a story in your mind never really played out. Every word uttered and every gesture made can not ever grace the space of now. Not really. You need nothing now that you have already used, it played it’s part in your kismet and it wants nothing but to be left alone in the time it was.

Occupying these seconds with dream upon worry, and hope upon fear, wondering where you might be in the next moment. You tell yourself your life is building up to something great. You say one day you will be content with all your nows because you will get to where you are meant to be. When in reality, God willing, you will get to that moment and you will find you are still you; life is still life.

You still think backwards and you still hope and worry forwards, irregardless of all that you have built up. You, again – 25 years later, tell yourself that your life is building up to something great. You say one day you will be content with all your nows because you will get to where you are meant to be. When in reality, God willing, you will get to that moment and you will find you are still you. You still think backwards and hope and worry forwards, irregardless of all that you have built up.You, again – 55 years later, tell yourself that your life is building up to something great. You say one day you will be content with all your nows because you will get to where you are meant to be.

This narrative continues on and on stringing itself through your life as long as it might. And then suddenly, usually without any warning and no space for thought or reflection it all stops.

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Creative Writing, Momentary, The Fine Line

A Moment

For a second, just one, I was not concerned remotely about his thoughts. In that moment I was no longer wandering, wondering in my minds unfaithfulness. It was my own thoughts I had to battle with. My thoughts that had been indefinitely lost and indefinitely entwined with his, or the possibility of his.

I never knew, because the very words I once was so intimately involved with had failed me. I had no trust in them and they were messing with my heart.

For hours I would sit still, and ever wander through every possibility. In unconsciousness the day would unfold before me, my mind always asleep to my reality. I was an insomniac also, ever wondering. Pondering.

Then I would wake to my reality. When I would rise I would find that I was down. Way down. And I would have to set about climbing. Although, when I would rise and find that I was down I was disinterested in climbing. So I would sit and ponder, once more. At some point in the midst of that I would succumb to doing it all over again. Never knowing really and never intentionally.

That’s when he began to fade. No longer did his thoughts protrude into my mind. Neither did thoughts of his body against mine. If they did, I did not notice. I must mention, however, that this is when the pain of it all became my passion. The moment I was no longer entwined inside his mind I was alone in my own.

I was down but I was free. I breathed deeply and made a habit of it. My heart slowed a burned with heat. It was fabulous. It was fabulous.

And now, although the darkness of this depth surrounds me, I can breath into my mind whatever it is I wish to. And for a moment, just one, that is exactly what I will do.

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