He was lost to me now
In time and distance
A memory I desperately
Wanted to relive
Or maybe just a dream
Dancing on the edge
Of my heart
I closed my eyes
And heard the sound of his voice
Calling my name
It was all so vivid
I couldn’t tell
Where imaginary began
And reality ended
Once you accept
That not everyone
Will be happy
In their life
To be able
Shades of gray
Tinge my hollow eyes
My heart cries bitter tears
That refuse to bleed
And there is an
Where the sad used to be
I softly whispered, “Where did you go?”
To the sleeping ghost of a man beside me.
He was all but gone from me now.
The only thing left was the actual goodbye.
He had been leaving for a while now,
It was a long time coming.
Still, I was wholly unprepared
For the ache in my heart
And the hole in my life
That had yet to appear
But had already consumed me.
For now, I would lie next to him
And welcome his warmth.
And take this one last chance
To remember all that might have been.
Lies turned into good intentions
Are still lies
Into my soul
I tried to ease your pain and
You turned instead to the bottle or
To the bed of a dozen nameless,
Faceless women who could do
Little to soothe the parts of you
That needed healing
I sat curled up on the shower floor –
The darkness broken only by the faint light
From a crack in the door –
Until the warm water turned from cool to cold.
There were still pieces of sadness and shame
Clinging to my skin as I reluctantly stood and
Turned the faucet off, my body dripping regret,
And grabbed a towel.
I think I would rather be alone.
Alone is painful.
Alone is empty.
Alone is hollow and desolate and endless.
But not alone and hiding who you are is exhausting.
And not alone and pitied by those who know is shameful and humiliating.
Yes ~ I think I would rather be alone.
My old friend you’re back.
In such an unwelcome way.
Taken up residence once again
In my heart and in my head.
My casual smile belies the bitter anger
Rising in my blood.
I had come so far.
But we all have our limits.
Invisible tethers designed to keep us
From straying too far from our destiny.
And that’s all it is after all ~ destiny.
My life is a lie
I am a façade
Peel back the layers and you will find hollow emptiness
No core, no seed, no evidence of any being
Without the masks I’ve carefully crafted for myself, I am . . . not
Sad souls speak no words.
A Short Story
Lucas walked in the door with a smile on his face carrying a large bouquet of white and pink lilies, the fragrance of the blooms tickling his nose. They were Sabrina’s favorites. “Good morning sweetheart. I decided to surprise you and drop in early. Beautiful flowers for a beautiful lady.”
Empty hearts beat loud
A beacon seeking something
To fill their hollow walls.
When lovers turn into strangers, the universe releases a sad sigh and extinguishes a star.
My heart aches and there is an overwhelming emptiness where the sadness used to be.
drip from the canvas of my mind
and pool on the surface below,
my life a rainbow
on the sidewalk of my soul.
Emotions in blood stained letters
Spill onto the fresh white page
Breathing secrets unspoken
Hidden truths whispered in words
She tried to open her heart and let them in. But she had built the wall deep and tall and strong. And the harder she struggled to break it down the more she feared the pain of rejection. The thing she wanted most was the thing that would destroy her. So she closed herself up and locked them out and continued her solitary journey in silent still loneliness.
The sadness has returned. That old familiar friend. Uninvited, unwelcome, she sits with me and whispers into my ear about all of my failures and all of my fears. She tells me of the things I cannot do and the things I cannot be simply because I’m me. She smiles her sly smile, knowing I believe her lies. Because I have to believe in something. And she knows it isn’t me.
In that moment, she gave up. The light in her eyes was slowly smothered. She accepted her fate, that cruelest of mistresses. Hearing the voices echo in her ears, taunting her, mocking her. “You don’t have it bad, you ungrateful bitch. You should be thankful.” She sat in her gilded cage, freedom an elusive dream, and wondered if you could die from a broken heart.
Writing frees me, not being able to write confines me. The simple act of putting words to paper, feelings strung together in letters and phrases, is a catharsis that I’ve grown accustomed to. When I go too long without being able to write I feel the weight of my emotions from deep inside, crushing my heart and soul. The quandary is that often times, it’s the same emotions that keep me from writing.