A selection of posts that didn't get finished or I didn't wish to generally post. Not proof read or corrected.
Tempt:
You see, to start, I’d like to apologise. I know that you’re
not aware of what I’m about to apologise for, but in a way, I know that you do.
We’re all aware, in our own way and worlds, so it’s about time that I let the
world know the truth.
I’m me, always will be, almost wasn’t but that’s because I don’t mind changing; if it’s progressive positive change. That’s what it’s about. At all times. Mostly. I apologise, to you, personally and ethically, as I’m tempted by you. I know, I know, honesty can be alarming, refreshing, adopting and warming. It can also be very, very scary. Come on, admit it, the words are hardly a shock when you’re you and I’m the person called me.
How about you face some honesty within yourself, for a
moment’s chance! Pass go, collect your pound of heart, go to my jail or simply
land on a square. It’s your choice as, if we are being honest, it’s either all
a game or something more. Serious, delirious, it doesn’t matter as this is what
it’s all about. The world is full of people that may, or may not, like each
other. To me it’s all about levels. You either get nothing, a charming smile
and a conversation that I’d like to escape, some of me or, if you’re that three
in a million, everything.
War:
“All I’m saying is that you have to eventually give in to
what you want!” Dez stood there, defiant, speaking to Sam who usually remained
quiet at such times. Shaking his head, turning to grab the ammo behind him for
his belt, Dez continued, “What are we doing out here? Breaking skulls, riding
the wave of shear madness? For what? You tell me Sam. You tell me!”
Sam, placing the knife into his boot’s holster, thought
about Dez’s words. He spoke the truth. No man was, as Dez said many times, an
island. Self-contained, self-serving and self-sufficient, while ignoring that
thought knocking at the side of his mind. He was lonely, he was alone, despite
the immense adrenaline filled day job that seemed to be consuming his every
waking moment.
Key:
The Long version:
There are many keys within this world, to unlock the safe
sitting over in the corner, behind the painting or cabinet. The shapes and
sizes, the designs, all made to make opening such places a mystery to some. To
others, that enjoy such things, there’s the mystery and knowledge of opening
said safe. The mystery unfolds, the notches click, the noises creak, the wheel
spins with each designated number.
Life can often resemble a safe, doors being locked, keys
thrown away, moments placed hidden beyond reach and more. If you really think about things, hold the
thought within your mind, the hardest lock should always, always, be between
the world and your heart. What lies beneath, the thoughts, the emotions, are
often tender, hurt, scared from the years of pain and tears. It’s no wonder
that many people quickly close their hearts. There’s fear, there’s rejection,
there’s the above pain and far, far more.
It’s horrendous, it’s tragic, that others often bare their
heart wide open, for all to see. I say tragic as that’s where the most damage
is caused. We all need a key, we all need that lock to protect ourselves but
how far should we go? Do we reach forward, with caring arms to embrace, while
holding everything back, or do we try to simply take each day as it arrives.
Only you, or I, can decide.
For me, I’m hesitant, wary, wondering what and where the
moments will take me. I’m not quick to love, neither quick to admit that I do,
but by the heavens above I’m quick to hold. I’m vulnerable, I’m easily hurt,
but quick to recover. I should have a key, but that’s neither here, there, or
important. You, however, are obviously important to me.
We reach forward with wide-eyed optimism, heart wishing to
smash through the iron bars partially raised to protect ourselves. I can
appreciate that; completely, partly, mostly, maybe even maybe. We’re all
different, despite all being hurt, or feeling pain and anguish. We’re human,
expressing most thoughts with such freedom.
What I’m trying to say, while ensuring I spend as much time
as possible adding more and more words, is that I like you. I appreciate you.
You have a very busy life. You’re dedicated and I respect that. Admire what
you’re doing and have done in life. You’re a Mother, a hard working individual
that deserves only the respect that she’s earned over the many, many years.
You’re a woman, feisty, beautifully sculpted, eyes of fire and lips of sin.
You’re what a Man rarely even knows he should adore.
With all of the words above, no matter what’s written, said,
done previously, I do, honestly, want the key to your heart. It’s a precious
and tender gift. It’s something to treasure and protect with all of my energy
and strength.
The short version:
Take me upstairs and let me... . We’ll bond and, eventually over the weeks, fall in love. Done.
They:
They say, those people, the ones that like to fade into the
background. Ever present, ever scolding, the snide remarks and side glances.
They’re amongst you, the I, the me and you within our lives. Evade them, ignore
them, if you can and when you see fit.
They say that everything should be taken with moderation.
Then why love without fear, or hesitation? Should we listen to the baffling
dreams and normality of the many designed to silence the few stars amongst us?
I say no, never, ever forever, the moderation of our lives be damned and
forgotten.
They say, that it’s the punch you don’t see, that knocks you
out. I beg to differ as I cry you that deep river, as the punches could be
staring you in the eyes and yet, despite this, they still destroy you.
Random:
There are many, many ways to live your life, with angst, anger, the negative
views being explored by many and more. We choose, each day, in each way, to
live our lives the way we wish to do so. Some explore, some develop, with most
stuck within the transitory space of the day to day. It’s what we do. It’s what
we know.
There are many people that heal, that actively find the path
of freedom, the rhythm of their own lives becoming an essential part of their
growth and status. They’re the special ones, the peacekeepers, the serene few,
that only wish the best for you and me. I’ve known them, even embraced them,
only to let them float away as my own consciousness broke in two.
It’s a tragic world, a suffering world, where the memories
haunt and the words repeat. Again and again, each day, each morning, the noon,
as well as the night, we pierce our own hearts with the words we really should
leave behind. The past, the future, both objects of desire, betrayal and
longing. Apologise to the universe, say the words out aloud, hoping that the
words reach their intended destination. Find peace.
Find… love. It’s the most important feeling within our
single, solitary, momentary lives.
Candle:
I can feel the heat, around me, holding me, taking care of
the mental bruises exposed from the recent events. Each moment, each word, held
together with the thought of seeing you again. I know it’s idiotic, almost
senile, that I think the way I do. You cannot hold me, expose me, or stop the
coming days and thoughts. It’s life, it’s present, the seconds that threaten my
very sanity.
I have cried. I have shed those tears, in private, on the
subway train, while walking and right next to your arms. Life bores me, ignores
me, as I bathe within everything you are. Maybe I’m not normal, possibly
forgetting that you still hold a part of me against those lips of yours.
I gave far too much. The usual and typical story of the
modern day. I craved you, desired you, wanted to have you in so many ways and,
upon the day that you finally let me indulge you with my fantasies, it was
almost as if you knew exactly what I wanted. I remove the word ‘wanted’,
replacing it with ‘needed’.
It has been fifty nights since we last met, to exchange
those heavy kisses that you pressed against my body. You thirsted, you
excelled, and I matched your desire with ease. You asked me, you begged me, to
express myself so many, many times, with my smile acknowledging your wishes. We
moved together like we were dancing within the soft sheets. But fifty nights,
apart, abandoned, has damaged my very understanding of your words.
We spoke, we expressed, we exhaled all of our darkest,
deepest wants from each other. The simplicity of words, the honesty of basic
desire, all brought together as we did the very things that came naturally.
Your skin, against mine, holding me, guiding my arms around you
Cured:
Standing there, admiring, watching her, he viewed the way
she moved and looked. She was splendour itself, that magnificent crescendo that
filled his heart, body and mind with such tremendous thoughts. Then, of course,
there were the feelings. Those riotous moments, where he could swear that he
could so easily lose control. He was, above all, her man.
He didn’t truly care about the day to day, the sustaining
glass houses that they all lived within, as she was absolutely everything. His
focus. His worth. He could, possibly, find another, ten others, a hundred more,
but there would be no use to such things as she just knew what to say. How to
say it. With a smile, with savage eyes, a just tongue, or even just a silent
look. She was, to him, the half of a complete world.
She was standing just across the street from where he stood,
looking through a shop window, minding her own business waiting. Waiting for
him. He wasn’t late, as he wouldn’t do such a thing, but arriving early
afforded him a chance to see her in a different light. Beautiful, serene, the
power within hidden for none to see. He knew her, wanted to know more, with
each day bringing forward a new reason to smile.
The years had flown, moved away with the clouds of time.
They’d flourished, learnt from each other, enjoyed each other and, above that,
simply helped each other. The kind words, the expectations seldom appearing,
the respect flourishing and more.
She was wearing a dress, not too tight, above the knee with
sandals. Apparently, to his delight, this was the current fashion trend of the
current year, month and possibly day. She had that vibrant flair for her
clothes, matching, with his ever-approving gaze. He’d even, at times, offer
positive suggestions for that ever important three colour rule. He got it. He
understood these things, as much as he could.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: only a member of this blog may post a comment.