PART MY INSIDES. All that had stopped suddenly came crashing down. The light refocused. I was left in the dark pulling my ribcage apart.
You
My eyes have gone dry and my hands have become numb. The sign that another winter has come.
I cannot erase your face from my mind after all this time, and I’m tired of making these words rhyme as I try to declare that I still care only to be met with a cold stare shared with cracked lips and shattered hips. You’ve made me cataleptic.
Look what you’ve done. Another winter has come and my hands remain numb.
So you want me to lie and say that I have tried? I’d rather hide than allow these feelings to subside. As far as the rest of me, it has died, not to your surprise, but my guise remains intact with the image you saw before you turned your back.
Look what you’ve done. Another winter has come and my hands remain numb.
But do not feel as those I’ve exposed, for when they ask who this is about I’ll, once again, play off their doubt although I know, by now, they’ve figured it out.
How to Lose a Girl in 10 Ways
I never meant to hurt you before deserting you into the world that rejected you without expecting to accept the neglect of unleashing a child into the wild system of liars and lovers and thieves and mothers longing to discover how to start a heart torn apart, but it was the way you knew it was true that I really loved you otherwise the years of the tears mixed with fears and ‘Hello Dear’s would only be a facade such as the God you prayed to hoping I'd stay with you through and through the dark and the light and the regrets and the spite on the night that I took your hand and promised you I would never leave and you believed, but I deceived because you and me were never meant to be one of the some of the many of the none who will pass with such crass and beautiful syntax containing ‘I love you’s and ‘I miss you’s and ‘I want you’s and ‘I need you’s.
To summarize, love is an idea, not an emotion. Choke on the words.
Heartbreak Lake
The day my dog died my father took me fishing. He drove for what, in the mind of a six year old, felt like days. This wasn’t the first time we’d gone fishing, but it was the first time he took me to this location. I asked him why we couldn’t just go down the street like we normally did. He told me this lake was special, but it would take some years to understand why.
It was known as Heartbreak Lake. The Native Americans created it after the invaders stole their land. It was sacred - hidden. That’s why our journey took so long. The remaining natives gathered at Heartbreak to live their final days. Their tears collected and eroded the earth, which eventually met with rivers nearby. This brought fish into Heartbreak and allowed the natives to live out their lives in peace. When one died, the others used the heart as bait. This tradition continued until only one remained. No documentation can be found regarding the sole survivor. To those who believe in the legend, the final native’s heart broke so badly, his tears dissolved his body, and he became part of the lake.
My father told me this story to make our drive appear quicker than it actually was. When we arrived, he told me to pull out the piece of my heart that broke for my dog and use it as bait. By doing this, I would be able to turn my pain into something useful rather than dwelling on my sadness. I did as I was instructed. I pushed the beating sliver through the hook then watched it disappear into the salty water. “Now we wait,” my father said.
As I grew older, my problems became more complex. Neither my father nor I were ones to share heart to heart talks, but we had this lake. If a problem overwhelmed me, I would simply state as such, and we would drive for hours in silence. I would thread the broken piece through and wait.
Now I sit at Heartbreak with the final piece. I told you I’d save this piece for you, that you’d always have a part, but I cannot disobey my 20 year ritual. I pull out, push through, and cast. Like fishing, love is a game of patience. I can do nothing now but wait.
Perfect 10
I don’t know if it’s the insomnia or my borderline personality, but watching you disintegrate as you lie next to me in bed makes me realize how beautiful you never were:
A pitted brain leading to glossed over eyes looking inside of a diminishing nasal cavity connected to a blackened mouth swallowing pills down a blistered trachea past a half collapsed heart into an eroded stomach before allowing your worn patellae to assume their favorite position.
Thank goodness you have that insipidly impenetrable skin to encase all of these minor flaws.
Thank goodness I’ve trained my vacant eyes to bore holes through your cracks causing you to leak a trail as you walk away.
Now I sit here with my face momentarily illuminating into sepia hues against a grey screen as I flick the Zippo.
And I will sit here as I ignite everything around me to generate heat I could not, otherwise, afford.
My heater will be my past set ablaze. My night will be my last in this maze. My morning will be a struggle out of the haze. My life will be reset in a daze.
Conspiracy Theory
If I confess to the mess I created by hands far from blessed would you still admire or would the admiration expire? If my solution was to disappear with the fear that the end for us was near would you still look in the mirror waiting for the time that I reappear or would you cast out those memories discarded like used batteries in a toy that the boy no longer enjoys?
If I cannot bring myself to leave, will you believe that nothing is quite as you have perceived in regard to me? And once the truth has been revealed, can I count on you not to conceal the one fact, the one real?
No?
I, then, suppose that the truth can never be exposed, for your perceptions and neglection of the boy with the toy in the mirror have blinded you with fear of a solution that appears to be walking the line of admiration and annihilation. The caster of the disaster escalating to a surprise of a demise unblinding the eyes of all who questioned the protection of my reflection. For I never mentioned my intentions in hopes that this intervention would help stabilize the dimensions you've found your trapped in. So claw at the surface until you have convinced yourself of life's purpose to pay off your debt and when asked..tell them we never met because your theory is for the weary and will not change the fact that you.. cannot.. stop.. loving.. me.
I'm, Like, SOOver You.
I refuse to be a casualty in your hedonistic war of calamity. This time I'm equipped with the ability to break down your message of scurrility.
I have what it takes to hold my head up high.
I have what it takes to look you in the eye.
I will stand on the front lines fueled with provocation. I will not back down until all that remains of you is enervation.
I have what it takes to tear your world apart.
I have what it takes to piece together my heart.
When you crawl to me with tears of dejection, I will hold up the mirror displaying your reflection. And when you raise the flag declaring my victory, I assure you, you will be discarded history.
I have what it takes to rip your soul in two.
Now I know what it takes to be over you.
Dust Jacket
I resent what you've done to me. You didn't knock or ask to come in; you crawled through my window and watched me sleep. You saw me without my defensive artillery. "Good morning, I have to tell you something.. I'm in love.." My heart raced. "..with a prince." My heart stopped.
I haven't heard from you since that day. I know at one point you remembered and smiled before he asked what you were smiling about. You said nothing then kissed him and said "I love you." I've been drowning myself in papers and ink trying to transcribe everything I've wanted to tell you since that day in hopes that I'll get over you. It hasn't worked.
I'll write a book about how we fell in love and lived happily ever after. You'll see my picture on the back cover with the synopsis before putting it back on the shelf because it's too boring. You'll notice I've let myself go. I
had no desire to search since I found you. They'll walk past me on the streets and discuss the devastating effects of true love. I'll write this story a thousand times never changing the ending because, at some point, I'll believe it.
I Love a Girl with a Sense of Humor
“I wish I never met you. If I never met you, I would never have to miss you.”
He smiled her favorite smile, left upper lip turn in, bottom lip pressed tight against top, eyebrows slightly raised.
“Don’t be smug,” she said to the smile that filled, and broke, her heart.
“It takes a second to say hello. But if that hello meant something, it will take an eternity to accept the goodbye.”
“What can I do to make you stay?”
“Let me go.”
She turned away. He moved closer to her. She spun around and smashed a vase against the side of his face. He staggered back then fell to one knee. She took the poker from the fireplace rack and drove it through his right lung. He slammed to the ground gasping for air, his blood becoming diluted in the emptied vase’s water.
“Your eternity begins today, asshole. Accept my goodbye.”
Painting by the Genomes
She unplugs herself from the outlet and is faced with a blank canvas. She wearily lifts the paintbrush and inspects its bristles. The toe is drowned to the heel in black paint. A series of lines cut across the canvas’ white body. Roads intersect. Routes detoured to dead ends. All these lines representing the many paths she’s taken, been led astray, derailed, retraced; but all paths are her own.
After the brush’s bathing, she chooses red. Blots splash against the canvas then streak across the blackened lines. Some streaks cut corners; others bring life to the dead ends. She’s loved and lost. For those who said they would always be there but never return. For those who proclaimed their love to find it was unrequited. For the one night stands and the long-term comforts. For loving when love seemed impossible.
Tears glaze her eyes then fall, but the sun vaporizes them into kaleidoscope patterns before they reach the floor. The more she paints, the more cracks on her heart heal. Betrayal, regret, compassion, art - each finding a place along on a path.
Eventually, no part of the canvas is left void. She steps back and admires the masterpiece only she can appreciate.
I stayed plugged in watching her dance with life’s colors. Drained, she reached for the outlet. I unplugged myself and held a mirror in front of her face. All the impact splatter of dried paint flakes reflected off the mirror like a prism.
She was the masterpiece.
And there we remained, disconnected, admiring each other’s canvas.
Love Hurts
I don’t know if it’s the blood on my face or the tears in my eyes, but in this light you’ve never looked so peaceful. Knowing I was the one that gave you this peace allows me to feel some relief. A release. And, to think, you told me we’d never spend another night together alone. But I always get what I want, and right now it’s just you and me. They’ll be coming soon for you, but at least I was able to accomplish something you promised me would never happen. You should really see yourself. You would smile. I know you would.
I don’t know if it’s the blood on my face or the tears in my eyes but, looking at you now, I realize how much I loved you.
007-373-5963
When he turned around to say goodbye, she shut the door.
I went three rounds with The Sandman last night.
I held my own the first round. He landed a few shots, but I managed to dodge the direct blows. I received a star after delivering a cross to his body, but time expired before I could do anything else.
The second round was tougher. My trainer told me that he would come out firing. I lacked the speed I had in the first round, so I had to block more. The Sandman threw uppercut after uppercut knowing that my hearts would eventually run out. After trying to defend myself from his barrage, I had nothing left. I pressed start, but he swerved out of the way in a mocking manner. My hands dropped to my sides. All I could do was dodge and hope he couldn’t hit me.
My face lacked the confidence it had in between the first and second round. My trainer yelled at the left side of my face, but I only heard a ringing that slowly numbed my body.
The bell rang.
I walked to the center of the ring. The Sandman knew I forfeited when I looked at him with despair. He landed two consecutive uppercuts. As I went down, I saw the referee run from the side of the screen and begin his count. It was over. The pain was laid to rest.
True Love Does Exist
Tear me in half; I was never whole.
Push in your hand and remove my soul.
Rip out my heart; squeeze it dry.
To make me blind, let me cry.
Tell me the truth then cut off my ears.
Hold me close so you can feed me your fears.
Pry open my mouth before your bite off my tongue.
Now I’m everything you've ever wanted..
..deaf, blind, and numb.
My Girlfriend Can Beat Up Your Girlfriend.
The deceived slaughter the believed for the perceived abuse of the truth hanging from the noose resting on boards attempting to severe the chords, but the handle breaks enclosing the mistakes flooding from rivers into lakes like the emotions of a last kiss you shouldn't have missed, but how could it be so wrong if your heart feels so strong without wondering if love can conquer any of the above although you've never felt so right, and you're left with the sight of what just might occur blinded by false hopes and senseless copes written in a "good-bye" note sealed with bloody lips leaving corners ripped.
Analyze and interpret.
What's done is done.
Moving on is easier than moving back.
Cloudy with a Chance of Love
Love me today, for I may be the one holding up the sun, tomorrow.
Kiss me with passion’s power before I become devoured by this hour.
Remember the taste of my face as I can no longer remain confined to this space.
Sever the rope with hope a breath is left. The theft of death beat you here. Hold me near and hear me fade into forever.
Look out the window at dawn.
I will never be gone.
Voyeur
I walked past your house last night. The light was on. Two silhouettes danced across the curtain. I smiled to myself. You moved on.
When I got home, I found your letters. The way you wrote made me believe love had a font. I tried to trace your words in hopes of keeping a small portion of your love for myself. My hands shook too much. The paper became too wet.
I looked at our picture on the nightstand. Someone took it as we were walking away. Our hands fit perfectly together, almost seamless, like we were cut from the same cloth at birth…like one of those “Best Friend Forever” necklaces broken in half then reunited through fate.
I took your ring out of a drawer. You never knew about this ring. How I started working to pay it off. How I had to lie to you about where my money had gone, so it could be a surprise. Two paychecks went into the engraving alone—engraved using your font.
I replayed the proposal as my final thought. The sun melted into the ocean. The water barely kissed our feet. You said yes. I asked forever. You said yes.
I walked past your house again tonight. Two silhouettes stood at the curtain. One kneeled. The other held out its hand. The two silhouettes became one. The water barely kissed my cheek. You said yes.
The Girl Everybody Forgets to Love
I knew her once. That girl.
The one who could fit in anywhere like a piece of blue in a jigsaw puzzle of the sky. Regardless of her intricate shape, she would be accepted, welcomed, even needed. For without her angles holding the rest of the picture together, you’d notice her absence. But with her there, staring back at you through the blue, she’d simply blend into the scene.
That girl, this one I knew, she appreciated being accepted, welco
med, even needed.
What she wanted, however, was for the affection to lose its past tense, for it to carry over into the present. She didn’t want to be remembered; she wants not to be forgotten.
“How unfair,” you may be protesting, “that I must notice one piece of the entire sky!”
“How unfair, then,” I may reply, “that when she comes up missing, I must suffer your cries!”
“Surely there must be a way to appreciate the entire scene.”
“Surely there is no way if every piece has not been seen.”
“Fine! So that girl, this one you knew, all she wanted is what you’ve mentioned above?”
“No, my friend, all she wants is to no longer be the girl everybody forgets to love.”
Crucify
Fill my mouth with your cancer hoping the answer will fall like a call of hope then wash my mouth out with soap. The words aren’t clean or obscene or mean just meant to dent the armor. The longer we try the faster we die. My, oh my! What a fairy tale ending - the two lovers sending mixed signals. One takes the pills while the other pulls the trigger of the gun. Now we’ve having fun. Only the brave are buried in shallow graves. I placed a trash bag over my head thinking it would be easier to clean my remains from your bed. I forgot about the bullet hole, the entry releasing my soul, the exit draining blood all over your camisole. The results suggest you want an aRTist. Prepare yourself for the rest especially what happens next.
You see, the thing between you and me was more of an act for them to be an audience to. I constructed the stages and filled the pages with our dialogue. You were such an actress the lines turned into chapters, the chapters becoming a series of disasters, the ending being my laughter. Rapture will come and many will run but I wouldn’t miss the fun when the son of God rips the sinners apart only those pure of heart given a chance for an eternal start. You won’t find me on my knees begging to be freed. I’ve lived my entire life in hell another eternity won’t make my eyes well. Sell your vacuum cleaners next door. Boundaries are meant to keep us in line like we’re swine awaiting our chance to dine off their trash. I’ve seen how humbled we can be for some extra cash. Why would it matter if our mouths were full of the things not even our bladders could process?
Just consider it another test to be added to the rest.
Be Blessed.
Blood Oranges, Part II
My Abandoned Faith,
As you might have guessed, my last letter was no more than bald tires stopping on black ice narrowly avoiding any danger. Slick words colliding into page breaks, if that better suits you.
Since the date stamped on that letter, I have left our geographic mediocrity searching for an answer. What answer? Any answer. Unfortunately, I found little to benefit and even less to brag. I miss the welcoming below your sun and moon. The warmth, the tranquility.
I often question my decisions. Rather, the same decision made at different intervals. In my simplest estimation, you kill me. When the world pauses and we align, I lose myself inside you. Individually, I no longer exist.
This is where these words come full circle. I am a junkie, and you have devoured me. Take my absence as rehab.
I am ready to relapse.
Searching for the moon,
-GB
Part III: Us