an alternative to ennui
Tag Archives: life
Sun on my neck,
Warm and comforting.
It was a long winter –
I feel the tension uncurl beneath my shoulders,
Like a shawl I drag it from me
One light quick tug
It floats away.
All worries float away,
Basking in that warm glow.
All the while I think of you.
How great it would be to share this with you,
So I call you.
The magic is disrupted –
Fragmented by the artificial, cold ringing
I immediately regret it
This is mine to cherish alone.
Not alone, but without you
Without another voice
Save for the songs of the birds and the wind in the trees.
I’m not good at writing when I’m happy. Maybe it’s because I use it as an emotional release for all the tension and anger I feel. But doesn’t that give such emotions more power and control? Why don’t I write when things are good and blissful and I feel so full and content? Will it dispel these beautiful feelings I feel?
I realize I have no one. I lost my best friend when I ripped out his heart and fed it to the wolf. I keep thinking the wolf is domesticated and won’t hurt me. But the creature snarls every time I get too close. At 12:10AM I have no one but myself. And she’s poor company.
On December 30 you told me you were thinking about me. On January 24 you didn’t recognize my number. On February 10 you messaged me for the last time. It’s June and you don’t answer me. Ever. I wish you could see me. Maybe then you’d care. Sean, I think I’m going crazy.
I’ll never fight with you again. I’ll get a noose tattooed around my neck. The more we fight, the more knots it acquires. So that when it looks tight and thick, I’ll have chocked myself into being good.
March 24, 2017.
I can simplify anything. Overly complicated issues are a product of irrational, emotional people – they cannot see the way amidst the fog. It goes as follows: matters of the heart are complex and emerge from a sad place. You can romanticize longing and that feeling after sex when your worries melt away and all that you see are those brown eyes filled with… something. Begging me to know what that something is. But all I see is sympathy and compassion. Otherwise, everything else is enveloped in a thread-bare blanket. Mislead, I believe in its false protection and warmth. For that blanket is falling apart before my very eyes and I am too stubborn to let it go.
One day –
you will cease these false promises.
One day –
I will stop believing.
One day –
we will make it.
One day –
you will let me grow.
One day –
I will learn to.
One day –
we will be happy in our quiet tranquility.
Creatively jacking each other off,
I saw them demonize the intellectual –
the rational, the sane.
All that matters is Art,
and with that comes suffering
Only from darkness can creativity reign supreme.
The paintbrush caresses the canvas,
The pen strokes the paper,
all trying to get each other off.
These phallic instruments clutched tightly in clenched fists,
Vigorously pumping away
and what comes is —
What fucked up / sad / insecure place does this stem from?
To speak on things which you don’t understand.
Creative merit isn’t doled out by those with rough hands,
Nor by those with degrees,
it comes from people who want to do it.
Almost anything can be Art,
but it all boils down to intent –
why have you the right to express your contemptuousness
on what an individual finds valid and valuable
to tell a story about.
A brazen, blazing passion
igniting such codependency
that they burned all the same.
By stoking this love
it had become as volatile as an inferno
threatening too much, they ended it.
Naughty little rendezvous
in the embers of what was
but ultimately, it needed to be tamed.
Put out before it devoured too much
for it had
it consumed his heart.
Fiery tempers and hot words
a jealousy that bloomed
and turned to ash.
They built a pyre
to sacrifice such sweet nostalgia
leaving behind an echo of incandescence.
Now he’s drowning his sorrows at the bottom of a bottle
swimming through salt and gasoline
such fervent ill-thoughts.
He lights a cigarette
and watches the smoke twist and dance –
There’s no extinguishing this bond.
Oct. 10, 2016.
This is a new kind of love.
I have experienced romantic love once before –
A pale, bony hand gripping my heart.
This physical manifestation trying to choke the beauty out of it,
Making me shudder violently with the pain of unabashed emotion.
This caring too much is driving me crazy.
My head taken from my shoulders and battered around like a fucking baseball.
My whole body disintegrating around me until all that’s left is my heart,
Pulsing with the illusion of us together.
I know you’ll choose her.
Every fibre of my being says so.
And yet, I still wait in anticipation hoping it could be me.
But would I really want it to be me?
I know it’s a complicated situation,
But would I want to be chosen between two?
To be chosen amongst millions makes me feel unique and special,
But to be chosen against one is…
Well, it just is.
And that sucks.
I love you and I want to protect you.
If that means doing as I am now, so be it.
It’ll be hard to see you with her,
But I’m stronger than I look.
Ultimately, your happiness outweighs mine.
I deserve nothing.
As we embraced,
You put your hands on my waist,
And I felt myself sink into you.
My body responds to your touch –
striving for that electric pull,
Floundering under the weight of memory –
rose coloured and golden,
I want it to be pure.
We are submerged in comfort and nostalgia,
Thrashing against chains that bind us,
Enslaved by this false Love.
You press your mouth to mine,
Sharing in the same substance that keeps us alive,
Can you tell my tears from ocean water?
The pressure builds,
My mind cloudy with blood and water,
And you like that it’s slowly killing us.