I think it might be time to move on
- Locked due to inactivity on Aug 4, '16 4:27pm
Thread Topic: I think it might be time to move on
-
I'm afraid of kids too.
-
Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are
with a scarlet comparable to the depths of the setting sun
blotching out your features
and leaving no traces of humanity
but the lovely sight of wide eyes,
terrified eyes?
No?
I'll be the first to say so.
There's a depraved grace to the
artful way you move your limbs
when you try to push me back,
kicking and screaming,
anything to save yourself.
There's a glowing glory to the guttural growls
and pitiful whimpers,
like a chorus of death
that sings to me and provides
a beat to cut to.
There isn't much I enjoy more
than seeing you bleed out,
like chipping away new paint
to reveal a masterpiece shining with ancient wonders.
There isn't anything in the world
that could change my mind
when I've decided I want to know
exactly what your heart would look like
beating in my hand.
There isn't a force strong enough
to get in my way
when the red takes me again
and makes me want to start again.
There is little that means more,
little that compares,
nothing in fact.
This is the art of destruction. -
Waking up to see the sun,
staying up just to see it go.
Fireworks light the lovely night.
Fireplace to chase away the snow.
Mommy holding you in her arms,
sister teasing but never mean.
Brother ready to hold your hand.
The warm sort of family theme.
The morning calling you to your feet,
all the things that light a life.
You'll never even feel a thing
cuz daddy birthed you with a knife.
~MT
12.18.2013 -
"It doesn't hurt."
There comes a point in life when these words lose all meaning and begin to simply take the place of company rather than relieving or denying pain. Curled up on the couch alone, they're whispered with the utmost care and treated as mutiny, snatched back between the lips if anyone wanders into earshot. Can't have anyone seeing that feeble mess of bones and bruises. The leather is cold beneath a body burning with new wounds and blood pumping fast in a heart that could give out any day. It crashes against the tearing flesh and fills it with a chilling kind of calm, somewhere between numbness and death.
"It doesn't hurt."
There hadn't been any particular trigger, as usual. There was never anything there to send them over the edge, but they always seemed to find the way, especially where there was vodka or mention of social class involved. The lights started going out, the only indication of quiet to come. The night was the only time the battered, shaking body could lay still without fear of more pain. Lights out, one by one, and they were like a countdown. The house has gone silent, save for the occasional creaking of springs in an old mattress heard through a thin wall.
Don't go to sleep. You have to contemplate for a while. You have to drive yourself mad before rest can come. What else could happen? Feed the paranoia. Don't let it die down. The snow long predicted by the weatherman could come and school might be cancelled. The walls could collapse and leave nothing separating you from the monsters. The cracks in the ceiling might open up and swallow you.
Working yourself up, and the shoulders, already pressed with an unmistakable burden, begin to quake and give. Keep going. Trace every possible line of every imaginable angle. The rain could set off another bad mood. The teachers could notice the marks again. Your friends could leave you to your blackened islands and broken bottles. He could get thirsty again.
Losing your mind, and it's all over now. It's time to feed yourself another lie to lull you to sleep and neutralize the throbbing in your head and hands.
"I'm fine. Everything's going to be fine." -
"Join us."
No thank you.
It's New Years Eve.
I know, I know.
Let's all be together.
"Why are you so bitter?"
"Come over here with the rest of us."
It's New Years Eve.
Why am I here
with you?
I don't like you.
I don't want to stay.
But I am bitter.
That's all.
It's New Years Eve.
Draw me in close.
I choke.
You don't notice.
I am here,
and it's New Years Eve.
No.
It's New Years.
Why am I still here with you?
Why am I in exactly the position I started in?
Why am I sitting still,
sitting on the curb,
sitting at your feet
with my eyes outlining every firework
and avoiding the faces
lining up behind me?
Why am I still shifting on my feet
with those clawed hands draped over my shoulders
wondering exactly what I'm doing
letting it go on?
It's New Years.
"Join us."
I think I'd rather be alone.
I'm so bitter.
I want to go sit quietly.
I want to sit by myself.
Happy New Years to me. -
Well that just looks forced as hell. :I Have to work on that.
-
Death is not beautiful.
Death is not subtle
or graceful
or peaceful.
Death is horrifying.
Death is cruel and
ugly and
selfish.
It only wants the people
no one wants to let go of.
Thats why it took you. -
.-. Geek, you're really worrying me. We need to find you a hobby.
-
Take to the skies with winged minds.
You're all free-
how lucky that there's nothing anchoring you
to the ground.
You've forfeited your reason
in favor of blind faith,
and that's excellent.
I'm glad for you.
I'm cold, however.
While you're warmed in the light
of the one you praise,
I'm in the dark
and wondering what the hell you're looking at.
I only see an empty sky above my head,
and I'd bet it stretches on forever,
into an airless void,
and nowhere out there
will I find my salvation
or the ability to believe in anything
but the things I can see.
I guess I'm a sinner,
and I alternate between being horrified
by myself
and not giving a damn what they think.
I battle with myself over whether
I should cry or stand tall
because there's nothing inside me
guiding me to follow the right path
and there's nothing above me
shining light down unto my eyes
and whispering answers to my prayers.
Don't tell me I should listen.
Don't tell me to go read.
Don't tell me to have faith.
I'm lost
and you're making it worse.
~MT
1.21.2014 -
"How was your day?"
I sat on my bed, cradling the phone against my ear with my shoulder. Running my fingers over the sheets, I stared blankly at the floor while I listened.
"Very average." came my sister's response. Her tone was cheerful, almost proud. I smiled to myself.
"Me too. But I'm going to the dentist tomorrow." I whispered excitedly. She chuckled.
"I'm sorry." she said.
"You're welcome."
"Guess I'll buy a lottery ticket in the morning."
"You're gonna share, right?"
"That would make it a good day for you."
I bit my lip.
"Right."
She exhaled softly, a sound of gentle apology.
"I'll be late again for work on Friday."
"You don't have to-"
She chuckled, cutting me off.
"Don't worry. I have a feeling I'm going to come into a bit of money in the morning. Good night."
The phone clicked as she hung up before I could argue, and I was left once again in the silence of my room. I threw the phone on to the bed to my side and let myself lay back and study the ceiling. It had been an average conversation, for the most part, but still, I couldn't help but feel bitter because of it. Up until around age nine, my sister and I had both been pretty good at playing ignorant to our strange circumstances. If we told anyone what our lives were beginning to look like to us, they laughed it off and called us superstitious or nave. The condescension was enough to drive us mad, so we stopped telling anyone and just learned to live around it. I think I can probably tell you. After all, I'm only writing this. I'll probably never see you in my life, so even if you think I'm crazy, I'm not going to have to hear it.
My sister and I are twins, both age twenty-six right now. We don't look much alike, but people have always said they can't tell us apart. It's amazing how few people know the difference between identical twins and paternal twins. Sorry, that's irrelevant. Now I'll get to the point- our affliction. You see, since we were both able to walk, my sister and I have noticed a pattern. When one of us has a good day, the other has a bad day. The events go hand in hand, the good directly proportionate with the bad. If I found a nickel, she lost one. If she tripped and fell, my teacher forgot to check the homework I didn't do. I once broke my ankle in a biking accident. She met her best friend of three years at the hospital. I got accepted into the college I wanted most. Her friend moved away and lost contact.
Once we'd decided this was a lot more than just coincidence, we both agreed to make all of our days as average as possible so we couldn't hurt each other. Every now and then, one of us intentionally messes something up as a treat to the other. Our lives are a bit boring, but the system works. Neither of us has been maimed by a bear yet.
There. Now you know the backstory. Le's move on. I don't want to dwell on this for too long.
*****
"How are you today?" he mumbled the words around my cheek as he pecked at my face with his gentle lips. I smiled wide, pushing him away playfully.
"I'm average, as always." He pulled be back toward him, holding me close, and frowned into my hair.
"You're right. You always say average, don't you?" he pulled back a bit and smiled warmly at me. "I'm gonna make today exceptional."
I started to grin like an idiot at that, and thus had to look away as quickly as possible. The floor was looking nice today.
"No, I'm fine with average. But thanks."
"Tsk tsk. Average isn't good enough. Don't worry. I've got this."
I didn't argue anymore, but made a note to myself to spill some wine at some point tonight. He took my hand gingerly in his and led me to his car, a relatively average vehicle, just my kind of thing, and held the door open for me. I got in and smiled back at him as he shut it and got in on the other side.
"You wanna pick the station?" he asked, gesturing toward the radio as he buckled himself up. I nodded and smiled appreciatively. I channel-surfed for a few seconds and left it on a hip-hop, rap kind of station. It was terrible, and that was just right.
Earlier in our relationship, he might have made some comment about how this music didn't seem to suit my personality, or eye the radio as if to question whether I was really leaving it there. But he and I have been together for a long time now, which is saying a lot. All of my previous boyfriends had broken up with me on account of how boring I was, although they always seemed to insist that it wasn't me that had the problems, but them. This one, this boy. He's stayed with me for two and a half years. He not only put up with me, but actually seemed to enjoy my company. I've found that, in him, I'm more than content. I'm happy. That's exactly why I can only see him once a week.
We spent the evening wandering around the city, stopping every now and then to go into a store and look around like we planned on buying something. Once that failed to entertain us, we found a relatively high class restaurant and got a table, at which point I decided I desperately needed to do something to make this night less wonderful. We sat down and I kept quiet while he ordered wine and some kind of decadent fondue. Or maybe it was soup. I don't speak French.
He starts to make general conversation, which I only half participate in, and we end up in an awkward silence until the wine arrives. The glasses have already been poured, which I think is odd, but what do I know? I rarely go out to nice places like this. The waiter leaves, and there's a moment of silence.
"Aren't you going to drink the wine?"
I look up at him, find him smiling, looking like he'd still want to be here even if I pulled a gun and threatened his life. That made it a lot easier for me to reach for the glass and tip it over with a dramatic gasp of fake surprise.
He jumped up on impulse, gathering the napkins from under his silverware and taking some from the tables next to us in a desperate attempt to keep the red wine from spilling over the edges of the table. I sat there, hands in my lap, staring at the table and blushing heavily for the commotion he had caused with his panic. I hadn't expected such a loud reaction. I hadn't expected to find all of these people staring. I also didn't anticipate finding that beautiful diamond ring sitting in a puddle of wine on the table. I tilted my head and reached for it, picking it up gingerly and examining it.
"There was a ring in that wine." I pointed out, holding it out to him with a blank expression on my face. He paused in his fussing over the spill, looked himself over, and sighed.
"Well that didn't go like it was supposed to." he muttered, then looked up at me and chuckled. I felt my eyes growing wide before I even comprehended what was happening. He set the soaking wet napkins down on the table and dropped to his knees beside me.
"Oh no.."
"I think we've been going out long enough now, don't you?" he said with a nervous chuckle. He stared at me for a second, then started. He held out a hand. "Do you mind if I..? Here, just-" I realized he was asking for the ring, and set it in his hand. He grinned. "Sorry, nerves, you know. Um." he straightened up as much as he could, broadening his shoulders. "I wanted to ask if you would marry me. Please."
His eyes were shining in the lights hanging above my head, giving them the appearance of a liquid sky, and they reflected everything back at me. I felt the tears in my eyes, but they were the wrong kind of tears. This wasn't fair. Couldn't I accept this? This one thing? Honestly, what's the worst that could happen to my sister? I didn't know. How could I measure how much I loved this man? No, I knew. If I married him, this man that had come to mean so much to me, there was no telling how much pain could be inflicted to my sister. I felt the answer I wanted to give him escape with a gust as I breathed out slowly, met his eyes, and -
said, "No."
*****
"How was your day?"
Our standard greeting.
"The worst day of my life. If you didn't know yet, something really beautiful is going to happen to you sometime soon."
"Oh no.. What's happened to you?"
I sighed, made myself choke back everything that wanted to flow from my mouth. I wouldn't unload my burdens onto her.
"I don't want to talk about it. You have a good day tomorrow. Good night."
I hung up without another word.
*****
"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
I've never dropped a phone so quickly in my life.
By the time I picked it up again, she'd already went on.
"Hold on, hold on. That squeal was too loud. I didn't catch any of that. Start over."
"Oh, sorry."
She paused and giggled madly on the other end for a moment, and I let her. Her cheer was all I could have right now.
"Oh, it's perfect! I'm in love!"
The momentary relief of her happiness ebbed immediately, and I felt a burning in my throat as the words dragged the deepest form of distress into my soul. It had been a few weeks, but the pain was still raw in my heart. And now this? A love for a love. That was just cruel. I made myself smile, although I knew that she couldn't see.
"That's wonderful. What's his name?"
She told me, and I felt something in my chest turn to ash. That was my love.
"We met a few weeks ago, see. His girlfriend totally led him on, like they've been going out for a few years, and she acted like she loved him, but when he proposed, she turned him down and just left him. Stuck him with the bill for everything, too. Isn't that horrible? I mean really, it's just downright cruel."
I felt a pang of guilt. I had done that, hadn't I? At the very least, I could have paid my half.
"Yeah, definitely. She must be heartless." I agreed unenthusiastically.
"Definitely. But anyway, we've been seeing each other for a few weeks now, and I think.." she took a deep breath, as if she were about to reveal a huge secret. "I think I love him! He's the one!"
I wanted to tell her. I really did. Maybe then she could at least not brag about it so confidently. But she was so happy. No, I kept my mouth shut. I listened to her rattle on about how many children she wanted, what their names would be- oh, isn't that one Russian?- and I kept my mouth shut and listened to the sound of threads tearing and heartbeats falling away.
*****
The ceremony was beautiful, to say the least. The cake was beautiful. My sister was beautiful. My love, he'd gotten over me, even come to find it a fun game to pull my sister into his lap and kiss her softly when I was in the room, and he, too, had evidently found it appropriate to keep quiet on our history together where my sister was concerned. He looked perfect in his fancy suit, and when the priest asked anyone with an objection to their union to speak, I held my tongue and smiled reassuringly at my sister's doubtful backward glance.
When the wedding had concluded, the new couple stuck around a few more hours to be showered with well-wishes and advice, and then disappeared off to their honeymoon. At that point, I was free to excuse myself, also. I had no place in this chapel.
*****
It's been a few years since then. I've not seen much of my sister, but I guess that's what I bargained for when I rejected him. She was happily married, and I was barred from seeing the one I most wanted most to hold close and ask for reassurance for a problem she would never understand. This was my retribution.
She emailed every now and then, sure. Petty conversation, really. How's the weather where you are? Have you seen the movie? She'd stopped asking how I was. That was okay. She knew I would never say I was "alright" or "average" as I used to. She'd married the love of our lives.
*****
I couldn't believe it. I was shocked. I was horrified. I was furious.
"Why didn't you tell me?" I hissed at her. She didn't answer me. Tears stung my eyes once again as I lurched forward and took hold of the edge of the coffin to steady myself. I couldn't take my eyes off her. She was pale, her skin radiating cold. She was still. She was gone. Though the makeup covered nicely, the bruises were still clear on her hands and face, and they infuriated me more. How could I not have known?
Because you thought he was perfect.
I hate myself. I let this happen. I should have guessed right from the start. I'd assumed the sadness I felt constantly, the loneliness, the emptiness, was my mirror to her happy marriage. Instead, I was alive, unharmed, and she was gone.
The funeral passed quickly, unlike the wedding, which had seemed to be suspended in a single moment in time, lasting an eternity and threatening to steal the rest of my life. It was quiet. She had lost contact completely with everyone else in her life. No one came to make tribute to her memory. No one seemed to be crying but me. A few older women introduced themselves as neighbors, placed heavy hands on my quaking shoulders and assured me she was in a better place now. I heard those same women going on later about how they'd advised her to get away from him, how they'd known this would happen, and did you see her sister? Oh that poor thing.
I went home that night and layed on my bed alone, staring at the ceiling. She was dead. Like, really dead. Not just asleep. Not just away on vacation or gone from my life, but gone from the world. This was, by far, the worst thing that could have happened to the girl I'd grown up with who'd loved life so much. And that meant the best possible thing was going to happen to me.
I smiled to myself as my eyes began to burn again. I stood up slowly, feeling my stiff knees pop and shudder under my weight. I wasn't ready to be standing up again. Looking like a zombie, I wandered into the bathroom, staring into the mirror.
"How was your day?" I whispered to the girl there.
"It was the worst day of my life." she whispered back, and I watched her open a medicine cabinet and pull out a transparent orange bottle. "But my sister died very recently. So I know something good is about to happen to me."
"Oh. I'm sorry."
She screwed off the lid and smiled reassuringly at me.
"Don't be. The best thing ever is about to come for me."
I tilted the bottle to my lips and let myself swallow down all of its contents. I gagged on them, and, leaning down and opening my mouth below the faucet, washed them down my throat before I would let myself start sputtering.
"Are you okay?" she whispered to me as the coughing fit came to an end.
I nodded violently and took a long moment to choke down a sob.
"Yes."
She bit her lip.
"You don't look so good." she said. I noted that her lips were becoming discolored, a deadish kind of mauve rather than pink. Her eyes were glazing over and her hands were shaking.
"No.." I murmured. I was dizzy, light-headed. The sadness seemed to have been lifted right from my skin, like being cleaned in holy water, until I felt nothing at all. I smiled at myself one more time, feeling the hands that seemed to be supporting all of my weight slip off the counter as everything dimmed. "I think I look perfect." -
"Society has brought me down."
you tell the world, tell your friends, tell yourself.
I don't think you know what you're talking about anymore.
I think you're still caught up in your past,
back when you were always being oppressed.
Back when someone was always out to get you.
Back when you were happy to showcase your scars and bruises
and your broken bottles
for the sake of expressing "individuality".
Sure, of course you were depressed.
Well, what do you expect?
You victimized yourself.
You had an intimate bond with pain
long before you were old enough to understand it,
spent long nights in it's bed
drinking the water it brought for you.
You laid back in the depths of your mind
and surrendered yourself to sad thoughts
in hopes of finding something solid amid the sinking.
Your dreams were all in grayscale,
a terrific monument in honor of your great escape.
You thrived on self-pity,
and when you realized others would hand you their hearts
you used that too,
and you overdosed on it,
You shot falsehoods into your veins
and told yourself you were never beautiful
to bring tears to your eyes
because crying made you feel alive again,
feel okay,
feel like you had an identity.
You are your sadness.
You are your grievances and your anger
and your careless nature.
You are your daddy issues
and your lack of ground to stand
and your own mentality,
and it's all there's ever been.
No wonder you spent years drowning yourself
in reminders of everything that hurts.
You've got bullet lists on your wrists
of everytime you thought you'd cut yourself
just to see if anyone would look.
But everything has changed.
Can't you be real now?
You have.
You are.
You've done childish things,
acted on thoughts you made yourself have
and you've made lasting impressions
on people who will never love you again.
But you are not the things you've done.
You're different,
not from everyone else,
but from yourself.
You are separate from what you were.
You shed that skin and you wonder
why you ever wanted to be that in the first place.
Pathetic little girl,
growing strong from the basis of your nightmares,
you are not who you once were,
and one day,
even I will seem to you like
a hypocrite and a liar.
Dark little thing,
hide in your corner
and wallow in your own self-hatred for now,
but know that you're still new.
Your skin is cracking
and you're just so afraid,
but it's going to be okay,
it's going to get better.
You can't live forever
breathing bitterness instead of oxygen.
You can't carry on for the rest of your life
trying to be a rebel.
Your time is worth so much more.
I've gotta start keeping better track of these -
Youre not a werewolf.
A werewolf can change.
Youre not a zombie.
You dont have the brains.
Youre not a vampire.
A vampire can bite.
Youre not a dragon.
A dragon can fight.
Youre not a sociopath.
A sociopath thinks.
Youre not a siren.
Sirens dont sink.
Youre not a serpent.
A serpent shows grace.
Youre not a witch.
A witch knows just what to say.
Youre not a demon.
A demon knows Hell.
Youre not a killer.
A killer plans well.
Youre not a goblin.
A goblin has teeth.
Youre not a villain.
A villain knows when to flee.
Youre not a monster.
Nothing to make us afraid.
Youre only a human
with no hope to ever change.
Pages:
- 1
- 2
This thread is locked, therefore no new posts can be made.
