Sometimes paper and pen capture some good memories.
Will this scar? Will this stain?
Triumph marked by the thought
– the regret? – of a mistake made.
Will it burrow? Or will it fade?
Price of the struggle left on skin
hasn’t washed away.
Am I scarred? Am I stained –
stained with this remnant of red?
She noticed his hesitation. Usually, he would confidently stride to the empty seat in front of her, plop down and begin talking about whatever topic tapped his interest that day. Today, he hesitated – some internal debate holding him back. After a quick plan of action decided upon, he sat down.
“So, you made your decision,” she stated. “The one about me.”
“What makes you say that?” He’s still cautious. And surprised; she knows.
“Because I see it. You came here with the purpose of letting me down gently.”
“It’s probably not a good idea to keep doing this.”
“And there it is.”
He dreamt up so many different scenerios in his head on the way to the trendy coffeeshop. He expected this ingenue to be devastated, or at the very least disappointed; he expected the stereotypical reaction to a broken heart. (As if he could break it.) Instead, a small smile escaped her lips, her eyes softened; she looked accomplished.
She knows it’s a mistake, the direction she’s facing. She may not know exactly what will happen, but she knows it’s a dead-end.
She lies to herself.
She hears the warnings, sees the signs. But she’s fighting against them, against herself – the perpetual struggle between emotion and rationale (and she questions why the two always seem to be in conflict).
Will this break her? Or worse, will it destroy her?
The draw of the dangerous gained power this time around. And part of her doesn’t want to go the safe route. She’s afraid of the choice she has to make and afraid of the person she may become.
& —- //
she walks through the door
with life on her shoulders
and great expectations weighing her down
she’s suppose to smile
she didn’t know what things
were like outside her peripheal vision
and she closed her eyes
to the world beyond her window
she doesn’t want to admit that
she is a fragment of perfection
because she didn’t want to
disappoint [you] when she falls down
She heard that he died alone and she wasn’t surprised. He closed himself off from the outside world; no ties, no allegiances. He was alone, just past her reach.
And she wondered how he felt then. Was he scared? Or was he expecting it? With death on his heels, it was only a matter of time.
Now, she can’t help see the similarities between them. How she escapes into her own mind behind her own walls she created to keep others out. Would she die alone, just like him?
But a thought comforts her–if you die alone, are you really gone? He’s not gone for her. She remembers his smile, his jokes and laughter. Remembers the time they walked in the rain together. He may have been alone in death, but now, he’s always with her.
String together your beautiful words
and give me a rhyme to repeat.
Put in the background a melody
that I can sing through the night.
Write me that candlelight guitar
love song you once promised,
and I’ll try to remember the kiss
you left on my skin.
End of November
Last night I saw a star
dash across the city sky.
And I forgot to make
a wish for you.
But then I remember and
wonder if you’re still under
the same winter sky
that holds so many dreams.
The end of November
never felt so cold
as it does now.
Torturero: Part II
My cigarette smoke makes
your nostrils flare,
distracting me from your
I stare and wonder why
so much time was wasted
trying to be someone
I am not.
Your words always pierced,
your ears were always big;
there was always something about you
that made me scared
I started to resent all
that you seemed to be.
Was it because I
stopped worshipping you?
I will believe the lies
hanging on your lips
as you brush them
across my skin.
Don’t let me wake up
from this happy ending.
Sing me a fairy tale
to help me forget.
She turned around at the sound of the patio door opening and stared at him. He was a shadow against the background of the darkened room. As he walked towards her, she put out her cigarette to welcome the chance of embracing him completely.
“Will you dance with me,” he whispered in her ear.
“There’s no music.”
He let out a small chuckle and said, “We’ll make our own.”
His humming echoed in her mind as he led her around the area of the patio. The bright light of the supermarket next door highlighted them, as if they were in a spotlight. She quietly sang lyrics into the air, trying to capture the moment in her words.