The future looks like a black canvas waiting for me to be painted on; yet to be filled with magnificent colors from my palette of emotions. I am currently in a cynical state of considering that amateurish idea of without end. So many eras have passed; some old narratives seem to have amused the human cranium that such blissful endings do exist. In this pitiless world of impostors how can it possibly subsist? I feel sad to suppose that all elated feeling of pleasure will one way or another come to a tragic end. It proffers absolutely no console to hear foolish expressions of possibilities. In fact, this mere thought of indisputable reservation scares me. There are just some chronicles that I wish would never end. Schmaltzy stories I’d still want to feel thrilled after years of hearing them repetitively. Better yet, permanent love from the one I feel eternally bound to. And yes the future looks awful. Who will fly with me towards the sky? Paint with me this canvas of the heavens in timeless glee.
Just when I thought I’ve created my boulder of idyllic potency; the angry gods propelled lightning to smash every bit of my precious stamina. The nub within my quintessence has reached the climax of sensational damage; that every inch of my mortality had been murdered in numerous macabre ways. I have been identified as a big shot of succulent character; celebrity of adulterous women; damsels advertising corporal lust in the streets. I am a portrayal of the devil on lease; the angel tied with the ropes of deceit. Everything that surrounds me is a replica of that woman who stares back at me in the mirror. She hates me as much as I hate her. She is a product of much liberty; I am product of futile love. How sad they sing the song to the gods to have mercy on stupid Pandora. The creation of hope is a lie. Nor love. Women like me, to the society; we are incapable of sensitivity. We know nothing but to give temporary panorama’s of a blissful infinity. Often times, I failed to abide the law of wintry. So many times I’ve gasped the suffocating air of a fanatical genuine; that thing they call love. But here I am, on the verge of sacrificing yet my whole makeup to a fresh face of naïve serenity; to one boy I met along the filthy streets. Is it wrong to ask for love; to beg for it; to long for it like a hungry child? This is imprudence! This is sordid! yet I am famished. I placed the cards on the table. Some aged belief to predict an upcoming misery. I hummed a tune of some old, old love song. The candle flickered on one corner. The blade went through and through. Macrobiotic obsession of despair inflicted on the membrane of my shell. I heard your voice in a sing song. I mutely cried. You have failed the sagacity of my now failing system. The scheme you have shrewdly planned; brought my ruin. Who are you to judge me of who I am; you don’t know anything. Because lovers are like that, momentary pleasure that’s what you get and that’s what WE offer.
Im pouring out to the heavens tasteful tears of lost serenity.
The night appears more like stranger than a known friend.
Shades of dull grey flitted around my rainbow-colored dreams.
Ogres came to chase my pixies away. sudden darkness clouded my entire nature.
And I feEL like Im running on an endless circle of fright.
Spell-bounded by the wicked witch of loath and envy.
The quivering consciousness of seeing everything in a mess is maddening.
Her burlesque creeping my senses into a submission of defeat.
I saw thorns of roses binding you completely to her power.
And my shouts fell on an echoing silence as her facade turned into a face of my own.
The mirror of devotion broken into pieces. I stared at the shattered glass.
And I saw everything from a bottomless pit of hopelessness.
Wilted flowers on the ground. Her bitter perfume lingered on my senses.
The beauty of perfection ruined. A love as sweet as honey; now a mere recollection of what used to be.
And Im lying alone with my head on the pillow, my face streamed with sorrow.
Thinking of you. Thinking of us. Of what tomorrow brings.
With these demons lurking under my bed every time my psyche seeks tranquility.
And I wake; Panting, crying, screaming in recurrence.
I feel like I am soaking in this fallacy of silly devotion;a panorama of infinite love. As I write this figures down, I feel the need to release myself from this monotony of dying emotions. I looked at you today and I felt the cold rush of blood on my cheek. I felt your lips dry from love. Your vista that of a wilting plant. My psyche whispered to you the lonely cries of a prisoner in plea. You heed not her warning. I blew upon your face the serenity of my psyche as you sleep soundly for the night. Broken vows. Unsettled debts. Disturbed stars. And yes the smoke of malfunction came unto me, and has eaten my flesh raw. Oh yes. I do love you. But..now. I am in search of this waning diamond. I need to find my lost character. Look at me tonight. Look at me today. See me past the facade of euphoria. See me past my nostalgia. Now that rain has come, dark clouds covered the beauty of my Selene; And I do not know whom to turn to. Save me. I beg you. Shelter me from the drenching acids of perplexity and horror. Restore the pinkness of my parched lips. Breathe new life to my senses. I cling on to you my stranger. Cure me from this curse. I am torn in between two. I have tasted the poison. Come, celebrate with me. Come, fill me with your disgust. Kill me with no emotion. Tell me how bad you want me to suffer. Tell me how long I have to feel this addiction. Pardon my ignorance. Pardon my mistakes. Suicidal wish. Read me.
I went to the shoreline to watch the blue bearing crash into the sand.
The blustery weather skipping around me like a kid wanting to play.
Have you ever felt so unruffled amidst the deterioration of your nature?
So overwhelm by this emotion called love that you feel like your masking in bitter ecstasy.
I commit to memory this certain conversation we had back then.
About my coldness towards your stance of dedication to me.
And I cant help but question my own allegiance on this affiliation of constant bickering.
Really, I'd like to think of this as something typical but...
I dont have all the answers. And this sensation of despair and love is all I have.
This isnt even nostalgia. I am in a sense happy of something indefinite.
I feel it in my proclivity everyday. Like butterflies all around me. Pastel colors waiting to explode.
Or maybe this is just chimera to push myself to inscribe something forlorn when in detail Im really not.
I am happy. There's no rationale not to be. Life had been kind to me.
She gave me sweet breezes to get pleasure from. She sang to me tunes of optimism when I felt wretched.
I danced ballet with love. She took me in slow circles. She lifted me up to to the heavens. I was beseiged.
It's crazy, the sensation esctatic; I would give up everything before I'd separate myself from this euphoria.
Thank God for life and love. Thank God for bliss and despair.
I saw birds flying from across this fill of tears. I thought of you.
Then suddenly I felt your presence from behind me. I heard your voice in a sing-song.
Your propinquity took all the solitude away. Mutually we enjoyed the sensation of being parodixacally in love.
I've never been so grateful in my whole subsistence. Until now.
Im drinking blood. It's taste bittersweet and neurotic. Im dreaming of how it would be to taste human flesh. To pound on one's prey with no sympathy. Eyes burning from the sensation of want. Teeth sharp as that of the the king of the jungle. To haunt for that superstar and see her mad in front of you. Mad from fear. Mad from fatality. She evokes on her dread. The sight of her frantic; reminds you of lust.
You feel her eyes on you. Scared. Begging your amnesty. You smirk. You enjoy the leisure in front of you. You take in her last memoir. Those windows of her psyche. Those brown almonds, that cause your death. Her aroma maddening your senses. The urge to eradicate her; dominant with each passing minute. Her horror sweet. Her screeches music. This female like no other. Tonight, she shall be yours. Tonight she shall dance the rhythm of the dying.
Loud music playing it's last demonic tunes. The moon in it's grandeur. You saw her rapture as you drained her from the last splendor of mortality. Her body abating in your touch. You conquered her discomfort. You interacted with her psyche in the hours of darkness. She welcomed you with great desire. The waiting over. The longing fulfilled. Sinister lovers of time. And yes, the last drop of blood is mine. It's taste bittersweet and neurotic.