Used

Placing the lipstick against her ever so slightly raw lips, she pressed and moved its delicate shade. Slowly, surely, with the skill of a thousand impressions made upon the softest tarpaulin, she finished inscribing the colour. Done. Over with. Finished for the day.

She stepped from the bathroom, picking up her skirt that was thrown across the hallway in that moment of rushing, beating, heated foreplay. Looking quickly to her right, she caught sight of him, lying there, on top of the covers. She adored his body, that cheeky round backside of his, as well as the rest of him. She smiled, nestling herself into the skirt. The blouse, clean, white, hanging from the doorknob, waited for her attention as she reached behind. The bra snapped together, as she jostled her cleavage into place. Nearly done, slowly moving forward, as she stood in the doorway collecting her blouse.

Once again, with wide eyed wonder, she looked across his body as the blouse flowed over her. Each button, receiving individual attention, in order to not look at them again. Flicking back her hair, removing any strands from under the blouse, she continued to work her hands through her hair as the seconds moved.

She walked into the room, bending over, to kiss his cheek. He lifted himself, ever so slightly, as his lips found hers. She kissed him, holding his lips against hers for an extra few seconds, ensuring that he understood that he meant more to her than he, ideally, should. He pressed his lips to hers, his pleasure and smile being felt by the fleeting emotional moment.

Moving away, she whispered to his ear, words of returning and for him to be okay. She turned, to walk from the room. Done. Over. Gone. For now. The moment sedated for another few days. A few moments later his door shut, as she walked towards her car. Her friends, her beautiful friends, did not agree with the way she lived her life. The thoughts and their words resounded within her mind, as she reminded herself of how unhappy they were. Settling for less, for the moment of a lifetime’s similarity, the fire long gone from within each of them.

She’d been taught to deny her requirements, to obey, to fit in, to elude the trappings of having what she wanted. She’d tried the standard life, the usual method of living, which simply did not work for her. The family, the kids, the defined and refined statutory way of existing. She’d had the children, desired the partner, but realistically realised that finding such a person would take time, patience and annoyance.

Opening the car door, she hesitated, looking back towards the house. He was, possibly, good for her. He knew which buttons to press, physically, including the words to use when required, with his body fitting hers as if they were meant for more. She shook her head, pushing away the notion of leading a normal life. She’d been there, done more of that that she’d liked or allowed, with her own destiny being firmly under control.

They’d said that he was onto a good thing, getting the best of her time, seeing all of the smiles, the laughter and, of course, having her body upon him in the most illustrious ways. Her friends seemed to be unhappy for her, despite her smile growing after each visit. She felt alive. She felt her heart burning within her chest, the type of burning that didn’t include anguish, disappointment, worthlessness or anger. They’d said, over and over again, that he was using her, taking her for his own seductive needs.

As the car started, the engine purring to life, she closed her eyes as the thoughts of the last few hours flowed over her imagination. They simply didn’t understand, her friends and family, as she knew with every fibre of her core, that she wasn’t the one being used.

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8

The figure eight. Never ending, circular, binding a person to a set path that repeats again and again. He’d told her, said to her, brandished his words with earnest certainty, to which she pushed aside and gladly ignored. He’d warned her, chastised her obvious thoughts, but that was a worthless exercise.

Lying there, wrapped within his soft sheets of pure fabric, she felt comforted, cushioned, held so tightly by the fake assumptions she’d created within her mind. She’d hold onto anything, everything, if he’d let her, but that wasn’t for her to decide and she damn well knew it to be true. She’d tasted him, felt him pressed against her, above, below, behind or on her knees, it mattered not. She simply wished for more.

This was a drug, to her, and he knew it. If someone asked her to walk amongst a nest of vipers, she’d decline the salacious offer and envelop herself, once again, within her boredom. This was the very reason why she found him so very, very tempestuous. He walked into the room and the very air seemed to stop. She’d heard a few stories, over the years, of old wives’ tales concerning such men. They existed to tempt, to take, to quench their own inner demons of greed, debauchery and wanton neglect.

If they were true, to be taken as fact, at least this person wished to warn her. Amongst the deep kisses, the heavenly wishes, he wished to warn her.  Within the moments where she felt her body lose all control as he moved himself within, again and again until she could hardly speak, he wanted to warn her. From all the sordid seconds, where he’d used her lips to satisfy all the lengths he could fathom, he truly tried to warn her.

He’d growled, bruised, bitten and held nearly every inch of her body. If he were the sum of all her life’s sins, then he’d have consumed her very soul and washed away every deed contained within. He wasn’t evil, apart from the way he looked, whilst sitting across from her at his small table. Even the way he drank his cup of tea, as he looked into her eyes, made her think that she was the actual drink. He’d finish whatever he was doing, standing there with absolutely no shame or reservation, presenting himself in all his glory. He knew what he was, what he portrayed within the darkness of her waking nights.

He’d once sat with her, the fleeting moments of conversation becoming forgotten memories, after he did his thing. He’d talk, for a few moments, asking about her day. She’d speak the words, he’d listen, but never return anything. He was a mystery, a moment that she knew may never, ever last. It wasn’t enough and that, as he’d tried to state, would be all she’d ever have. She’d proclaim that he was using her, just taking what he wanted and then opening the door for her to leave, but in truth, if she were to be honest, she wanted him to use her again and again if it were to be like this. It hurt. She’d long for him, during the calm days, waiting for the rampantly vagarious nights.

She wanted more, much more, but she was afraid that what she did have, would be taken away. She didn’t want normal. She didn’t want to live the same life every single day, despite the calm and collective nature of things. She wanted a lover, a person to truly find her buttons, all of the switches within, and to then press them until her lips literally trembled. But this was nothing more, nothing less, than that figure of his. Never ending, circular, binding a person to a set path that repeated. He’d told her, said to her, brandished his words with earnest certainty, to which she pushed aside. He’d warned her, chastised her obvious thoughts, but that was a worthless exercise. She was, would always be, that 8.

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Imperfection

Danny raised her hand, perplexed by the moment, as she finally realised that she was different. Alive. A being that existed and thought just like everyone else. But, as the thought bombarded her growing mind, she knew that she wasn’t quite the same as all the others. None of them were the same, in the exact meaning of such words. She had imperfections. Knew them. Thought them. Lived them upon each of her waking days.

She looked at the lines spread across the palm of her hand. Lifelines, crossroads, the individualism plain for all to see. She moved her fingers, watching as the lines folded slightly, compressing, as her fingers formed a tight fist. She was alive, living, a spectacle of two people’s emotional moment and purpose. Lowering her hand, she moved her face closer to the mirror, as her reflection becoming the all-encompassing view. She, according to friends, had a good face, a pleasing face, a face that would surely accomplish moments within her life. She’d heard all the words, digested their meaning, with most of them simply falling away to ash within her thoughts.

The negative, the harsh words, seemed to linger far longer than any positive connotations. She lived within a cruel infrastructure of small minds. The rampant devastation caused by a group, a person, a moment and more. Frail young minds, fighting to be seen, whilst desiring to fit in. The compromise, seldom actually working when faced with wicked minds and cruel emoticons. You simply could not be an individual, yet fit in, unless you sat upon the top echelon of status. The sadness, she knew that they probably felt sitting high upon their pedestals, seldom helped her own anguish settle.

She looked at her eyebrows, normal, standard, the actual hair upon her brows not yet replaced by any unnatural substance. Her lips, still their normal size, with only her ears being pierced. She’d smile, if it were not for the imperfections staring her in her own eyes. The purity of childhood, slowly erasing itself from her own thoughts, subsumed into the walking ways of her life. She looked down at the sink, wondering what she should change, of even if she should change.

No answer appeared, no solace arrived, despite the hours and days witnessing the people around her doing what they did.  The maze of life arising from nowhere, the confusion of not quite knowing which direction to point her thoughts and views, ever so slightly confusing her every thought. She’d heard the word anxiety, but this was different. Suffocating. It wasn’t boredom, it wasn’t a free-falling expression, as this was absolute, crushing, panic as to what she was. What she’d become, where she’d head in her life.

Her parents often looked at her, with their wide-eyed love and expression. They offered advice which, to her emotions, just seemed far too practical to such a person that wanted to cry one moment, evaporate the next, with screaming being the bubbling emotion just under her own skin. They’d stated, time and time again, that life would become harder once she ventured out, but not knowing what, or who, you were to become, stifled any logic that they seemed to constantly throw her way. Be this, be that, or be the other. Yet, when they’d stopped talking, all she needed was a hug and to know that it would all be alright. Maybe, possibly. Realism, understanding, no sugar coating was what she’d appreciate or, even, just some silence to allow her thoughts to think.

With a hand holding either side of the sink, she felt the confusion, anger, panic and solitude rise within her. She’d scream, at the top of her lungs, if the house wasn’t empty. The room full of people, despite her deep longing loneliness, never seemed to help. Instead, grasping her inner thoughts, she started to breath. Controlling her inner monologue, she held herself together.

She would be whatever she would be. She’d think whatever she would think. This, above all, was her life and thankfully, she would listen, she would integrate their suggestions and words into her thoughts. On the other hand, she knew that she’d probably never do anything they said as, above all, as she’d just thought, this was her life and hers to control. She’d allow her emotions freedom of expression. She’d permit the others to raise their harsh words upon her delicate ears. She’d understand, that when the lights turned off at the end of each day, all of them, every single person on this world, had their own torturing thoughts. Just like her, their imperfections were open for all to see, no matter how much they tried to hide, fit in, or submissive themselves. Without imperfections, the world would be a very, very boring place and, if she were honest, the very word itself held the wrong connotation. Imperfections were, realistically, the things that made them perfect. Each and every single person upon this world.

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Chains

The chain, dangling as it did, nearly reached the floor. Heavy, thoroughly constructed to hold more than the current weight, as the small sized wrecking ball dragged along the ground. This item, the implement of a mind in turmoil, would be used for one specific task and one task only. Destruction, devastation, destroying anything that managed to get within the chain’s thrown distance.

He dragged the ball, effortlessly, behind him, with a certain length of chain wrapped around his arm. His arms alone, if needed, could strangle a man to death with ease and yet, he still chose this item above all others. He neared the house that he once called home, that majestic place that held him within the warmth of his lover’s embrace, all those years previous. His heart started to pound, as his sight caught hold of his destination. He loved this place, adored the moments, yet needed to do this for his very sanity.

The entire world, gone to hell, yet his one thought remained here. There was no sanctuary, no solace or serene embraces left alive for him to hold onto. The world had seen fit to remove them all, one by one, despite his vivid demonstrations and efforts to hold them close. He’d heard all of the words, explored them, with his sanity starting to edge away from him as the months vanished. He was once sane, understanding, yet the world simply wished for him to change. Violence, the vulgarity of the male nature, finally releasing itself to the moment. He’d had enough. He’d heard and witnessed enough.

He'd known no words, of slander or pain, until the torture they’d chosen to throw his way. He tried to help, to assist, to understand, yet the others only wished to inflict drama and pain. No more. No less. This was his moment to finally let go of his bonds upon this frightening world. He would destroy, he would relinquish the bonds that restrained the animal within. Today, upon this day of days, he would be all he was meant to be. An animal. The majestic tolerances, finally erased and evaporated, by the saline words rubbed into the open wounds surrounding his heart.

The house, upon him, was now in front of his very eyes. He glanced at the windows, with the glass strewn across the ground. Broken, discarded, each shard reminding him of each chance to help and never hinder, thrown away as if it were nothing. He had protected himself but, unfortunately, it was often far, far too late. The moment, gone, the damage, done, with hope rising after the very understanding burned itself into his subconscious. He was, for no better word be found, knowingly broken. After all of the effort to resolve, to fix, he’d felt the cracks start to form and his energy wane. Sick, tired, no longer wishing to share his thoughts, he’d turned to the physical strength of life, instead of the mental. He would break and he would suffer, but by the very grace of his fists, he would survive and no longer be thrown aside.

He grasped the chain, his mighty arms flexing, the tight motion moving as he lifted the thick iron ball with its chain. With one small motion the ball flew into the air, spinning around and around above his head until, when ready, he directed the swing towards the house in front of him. The chain moved through his fingertips, allowing the ball to travel further from his frame. With a smash, it struck the house. Shards flew, the side of a window frame snapped, and a small hole appeared.

Slowly, with focused force, he pulled the chain until the ball returned to his side. Again. Once more. Over and over again, he threw the ball towards the house, until a human sized hole appeared along the brickwork. From his side pocket, he produced a small amount of explosive charge. After this day, he knew, that he would never be haunted by the years of words and moments. He would finally, easily, walk away from the mess and torrid disturbed lashings.

The timer set, he threw the item into the house and turned to walk away. For a second, he hesitated, turning his head back towards the house. The moments. The experiences. He smiled, despite his mind being the way it was, as he knew that there would always be moments other than pain. His head lowered, as his eyes removed their focus from the house. His tortured mind, wishing to think, to return to solace and understanding, pushed his idiotic heart aside as he continued to walk away.

There would be no return to this time. What once was, would never be again. He accepted that. Would have once nurtured the moments, if it were not for society’s way of blaming everyone for anything and everything. This was why he was here. This was the very reason for his way of thinking, if he’d call this moment thinking. The house, behind him, exploded into more pieces than he could ever count and, at that very moment, that second, the wrecking ball metaphorically released him from the very chains that had held him in place for the longest, most torturous time. He was, finally, free.

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Planet

I’ve been here, since the dawn of your time. Walking amongst you, breathing the same air as each one of you. Tainted by your imaginations, your machinations, I’ve smiled and cried at such events within this time. Now, upon this day, I’m struggling as I can see my future.

I’ve witnessed the birth of a thousand sparks, the death of a million memories, as well as the moments that scared and scarred my very skin. I’ve seen all of it, everything, every dream, every shattered embrace and more.

I’m now within a place that I thought I’d never reach. The dissolution of an entire race, coming to an end, to awaken towards a new environment and emotion. You’re changing, becoming something different; be the moment good, or even a hesitant bad, it shall come to pass.

Within moments, the second that I could interject another wavelength of thought, I’ve gestured the will to change the path for all of you. Destiny, on the other hand, cannot be denied. Whom, or who am I, to state any objection? If a man, woman, or whatever you seek to call yourself upon this very day, seeks oblivion through whatever source imaginable, then so shall the moment commence.

My interjections, notwithstanding, shall never be entered into any conversation, past, present or future. My role, my entwined conscience, is to watch. You shall vanish, fading into the very energy you once arrived from within. The two, can become the three, no matter the consequence, situation or selfishness. Life continues, as shall I, as your smile vanishes and your very warm touch crumbles to nothing.

You are, above all, vacantly obsessed with wealth, fortune and the looks and views from another. Trapped, within a storm of your own making, never to be free until you open your fist that’s filled with gasping pain. Self-worth, the indulgence of your pride, being the un-doing of all accomplishments.

Hold each other, embrace your fragilities, and hold the hand of a person that needs to be held. The accomplishments that could be achieved are near limitless, if only, for a moment, you’d all work together to become something more. Rise, stand, open your hearts to each other and embrace the very notion that you are all connected. Each one of you. The dilution of travel, the gender of becoming nothing more than one.

I hear each of you breathing, expelling your very emotions over everything you touch and inhabit. Like a disease, you could all cure so many ailments if it were not for the divide. Segregated by lines, colours, ideologies and other facilitated understandings. Two arms, two legs, one heart, a mind of thought and lips of emotion. This and this alone, is the only understanding that each of you require.

Nothing more, everything less, the understanding of life and how transient it is. Believe, in yourself, understand the others around you, appreciate and never demotivate. You can all be so beautiful. There will always be differences, which should only be held close. This makes each and every single one of you unique, as well as wondrous to the imagination. You strive to be accepted, which leads each of you to comply, to be segregated, to be manipulated by the items and thoughts we reap.

For me, for each of you, strive, grow, become, resist the temptation and stand tall with every single person around you. I need you to change. I have seen such beauty within, around and upon me. I’ve felt your tears touch my skin a trillion times, the silent, painful, breaking of a person amplified over so many seconds, over so many moments and hours. It breaks me, hurts me, with my own anguish becoming nothing more than the sadness I can no longer tolerate or accept.

I do not wish to hurt any of you, as you are my children. Born from me, the very air I create giving you the life needed to exist within your own small spaces. Widen your view, open your ears and hearts, engage the power that has been suppressed from the teachings of other and strive to understand. I am your planet and I am in pain. Listen to me, before the very day, you’re removed from me forever. I will die, one day, from sun fire or the frozen emotion of space. Until then, each of you, all of you, can find another path, to save my very life.

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Cold

The cold clambering frost tried, as much as it could, to move into her blanket but it was no use. Her heart, still beating, managing to survive most of life’s harsh words, kept on pumping the way that it wished to move. Each beat, powerful, defiant, no longer willing to withstand the bitter and cruel world outside.

She’d withstood, endured all the damned idiotic pain within her world. Empowering, lasting, embracing her pain and often suffering emotions. She held the blanket closer to her body, feeling the warmth and grace of its tender inflections. This was her safe zone, her place, her mood for the moment that ensured her safety. Words, above all, often knew a way of working their way through any and all defences.

She’d heard all of them. Many of them. The put downs, the reasons, the fault to which she often unknowingly took the blame. She was this, maybe that, as her mind and emotions simply agreed to make the words stop. No matter the bruises, the verbal or physical, she knew that the images and respirations would endure. She carried on. She always would.

Sipping the small cup of hot chocolate, closing her eyes as the warmth entered her body, she reflected upon her life, her world, her emotions and more. This place, this moment, was one of those seldom found explanatory, exploratory, escapes and sanctuaries. She smiled, as her eyes opened to the world in front of the window. The icescape world, the beauty of white, the purity and refresh of the land, calmed her. Although she didn’t adore the cold, she surely embraced a scene such as this.

Her self-confidence, ever so slightly shattered, with the various words and deeds becoming her norm. Reprogrammed, re-purposed, to ensure another’s emotional vacancy remain intact, she’d learned to finally say, ‘no’. She’d pushed away the moments of pain, to deny his pleasure inflicted upon her with harsh abundance. He was skilled, acquainted with the verse of words that escaped his mind, with his heart probably being left alone from a young and tender age. The spoilt spoiled person, wreaking havoc upon another.

Each time she’d tried, she was set to fail with his type of support behind her. She felt her own self-doubt infect, reaping away her energy to succeed within her life, unable to find that simple little belief that she needed. She’d watch others thrive or, even, smile as they did the simplest life tasks with ease. The self-doubt turned inwards, focused her thoughts into the cold, chastising melodramatic drama of angst and tears. She was, to her own eyes, worthless.

The cold followed her, calming her inner demons, until the day she finally started to listen. Each word, analysed. Each circumstance, reflected upon, until she finally and dramatically said one simple word, ‘no’. Other words were eventually raised from within her inner monologue, ‘no way’ and, ‘no chance’. She started to rise. Slowly, surely, each step upon the icy ground moving her forward.

Upon a cold day, a shallow day, void of emotional connections or sympathy, she finally said what she’d wanted to say for the longest of times. She calmly explained, exclaimed, that she was no longer willing to endure the pestilence of another’s failing emotional mind. She proclaimed that emotions were gentle, sympathetic, tender and kind. She stated that feelings were precious and that they were to be cared for, held, and embraced with the most tender kisses imaginable.

She, this person wrapped within the warmest blanket, had finally escaped the emotive ups and downs, with one brave, final, emotionally vacant explanation. She stood. She left. She moved forward but would never, ever, forget the cold she’d endured year after year. She, again, smiled, knowing, realising, that she’d finally and bravely, found her own cold safe exterior that would protect her precious, burning, healing heart.

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Think

I think of you, in those small silent moments, when life manages to give me a second’s rest. Your smile, your face, your warm voice that used to hold my hand no matter the occasion, place or time. You were always there, even when I was bare, lost, emotional and hiding. You, above all, understood me.

I think of you, when I hold my emotional insides together with anything, everything, that I can find in that minute when I’m lost. All the strength, all that passion within me, expressed from the years of your silence when you wanted to say so much, but said so little, with mountains crashing into small hearts at the thought of your sadness.

I think of you, when I just want to give up. To throw myself to the ground, proclaiming that I’ve failed, forever more and the day today. You’d never let me fail, you’d always wish for me to stand, as that’s what you’d do. That’s what you’ve done, over all the years and abandoned fears held within. Your courage, that steadfast resolve, meant more to me than you will ‘never’ know.

I think of you. Often. Always. Forever, until there’s no-one, or nothing left, to remember you. There’s no doubt that I’ll see you again, one day, someday, with the moment of my own eyes closing for the last time, being the next time I smile. I’ll see your face, hold your hand and give you the biggest most amazing hug that I’ve saved.

I think of you, the same way that we all think about that loved one that’s no longer here. The person that’s loved us from the very second we appeared, until the moment we held your hand on that final day. Two times a day. Three. Maybe four. Possibly even ten times. Twenty, it matters not, as you’re always there. Each time I place a foot in front of my other foot, I think of you. It’s inevitable, it’s impossible not to do so, as I am, and always will be, made from you.

I think of you.

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