Old Times’ Sake.

If you must act so insolently

Just because my blue skies

Are now grey thunderstorms

You cannot bear the sound of,

Please continue,

Only remember that even today,

If you were to hand me a cup of poison,

I would gladly drink it for old times’ sake.


Painting: “Sophonisba Receiving the Poisoned Cup” by Rembrandt.

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Guilt-ridden Hallucinations.

The other night my dear, as I lay down to sleep, this heart of mine stopped beating for a second or two as your image burnt through my mind and your laughter haunted my ears; I wheezed for breath but it felt like my throat had constricted until there was no passage for air.
I coughed and coughed in a desperate attempt for air until scarlet droplets covered the white-tiled floor by my feet and my head felt as light as it would whenever I breathed in your scent, it felt like the guilt of your death would finally crush me, but just then the door burst open and he rushed in, worry evident in his familiar pretty eyes as he took in my tortured state, blood painting my lips red.
He helped me to my feet and then to the bathroom with a firm and gentle grip, and handed me an aspirin and a glass of water after I had rinsed the blood out of my mouth, just like you always did.
There was an uncanny similarity between you and he, I saw it in the way he took the glass from me and set it down on the side table, little too close to the edge, before following me out to the balcony and in the way he swatted the lit cigarette away from my lips and crushed it viciously under his heel, directing a disapproving look at me.
I couldn’t take it anymore, the similarity, it was too much and I started laughing.
I laughed and laughed and laughed, and it was the laugh of a crazed mind, a mad woman.

You would not stop torturing me from even beyond the grave itself, it seemed.

Handle With Care?

I’m scared, I’m scared and I’m confused and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know who we are anymore, I don’t know who I am anymore. My bruised knuckles feel foreign and so does the faint beat in my chest that rises to a crescendo at times, I’m losing my touch with reality again. The days drag on and they intertwine with nights like two lovers on a Saturday morning, impossible to tell apart. The thunder feels too loud to my fragile ears, and sunshine too bright to my eyes; the only thing constant in all this is the peace rain brings.

A lulling,

torturing,

unattainable peace,

because the chaos inside is too wild to be contained.

Oh, if only you could feel what I do, you’d treat me with a lot more care, my dear.

Please.

Please don’t let me fight all my demons,

Alone,

And please do not try to fight all your demons,

Alone,

Because neither of us is strong enough to

Survive the fight,

I swear I can’t take anymore

Sleepless nights.

Can’t you see, I’m already

Falling apart?

Only a day without you and

It’s breaking my heart.

Of A Writer And Her Obsessions.

I am awfully obsessed with tragedies for someone who looks so happy, and I am equally obsessed with being the tragic heroine of my own story, starring solo in a modern tragedy, so much that I will go to any lengths to turn a story into one.

I am a writer and a lover, and today, let me tell you about my darker side, and about the damage that I cause.

I will love you helplessly, a slave to my heart, and love you to the very core of your being with every heart beat.

I will love you but until, oh just until you start to take my love for granted and then I will love you some more as I fall apart myself, enough for you to fall down even deeper into the rabbit hole of your delusions, so far down that you wouldn’t know the sun from the moon, you won’t be able to see either anyways, and right when you start to take my love to be a part of your being, something as you as the air you breathe in, maybe just as vital too, I will leave.

I will leave and it will be your fault, and I shall pin the guilt and blame like beautiful ribbons and starry badges all around your neck, and over your shoulder and under your arms, I will pull them tight until they constrict all movement and make even breathing difficult, until your eyes water simply at the most fleeting thought of me.

I will set fire to both of our insides, and you can try to put it out all you will, darling, but you can never extinguish a flame this arsonist has started, and you will be the vile villain, the one who broke my heart and threw me to the wolves while I act my part of the perfect victim, heartbroken beyond thought.


Image taken from here.

The Search For Madness.

“It was a hot summer night, right in the middle of July, the day I decided to run away.
I’d had enough, you know? Didn’t want to be pushed around by anyone anymore.
I knew what I wanted in life, I knew I was different, and I was ready to go satiate my wanderlust, find my destiny.
And what was that?
It was to look for madness.
Pure madness.
The kind that is untouched by greed and untainted by grief.
The kind of madness that is alluring and heartbreaking at the same time, the madness that exists in the stars and in the stargazers, in the moon and it’s worshipers, the kind that only increases with the coming dawn, fueled by the golden of the morning.
The madness of the waves as they reach out to kiss the shore over and over again, of the ocean as it tries to caress the moon in vain.
Sweet madness, filled with melancholy.
I thought I had it all figured out, how I’d catch the morning bus out of that sleepy old town, off to big cities and adventures in the pursuit of madness. But the stars has their own plan for me, because sitting in the long green grass of the park I had played in all my life, I found you.
Eyes closed but facing upwards, you were the definition of peace; you looked as if you were a part of the grass and flowers itself, rooted to the ground and so, so still, but then you opened your eyes and I fell headfirst into their grey chaos. Your expression held such agony, it clenched at my heart, and yet I was mesmerized, enchanted, cursed, unable to look away.
That night, I went looking for madness and found it.
But what I didn’t realize was that madness could ever be so beautiful, so dangerous, that madness could ever be you.”


Image taken from here.

 

 

An Ongoing Roller-coaster.

Little do you know
How I adore you
Until you turn cold
And all my affections,
Drowned in melancholy
Disappear,
Until you talk to me again,
And I’m a pathetic babbling fool;
Love struck,
With my awful jokes
And unbearable puns,
Unable to gain control
Over these pesky emotions.

And little do you know
How absolutely I despise you,
Until you talk to me again,
And all the loathing,
Washed away with euphoria
Disappears,
Until the next time you’re cold,
And I’m a pathetic babbling fool,
Crying my eyes out;
Hating myself,
For not being stronger,
Despising you,
For being your cold self.

And then I am
All run out of steam,
Emotionless
All at once,
All you are
Is but, a muse
And I, a writer,
On a mission;
To show the world
What I see.

An ongoing roller coaster,
A never-ending ride,
Of high and lows
And repeating loops.
I, for one,
Never had much patience
With either,
So I wonder how long
Before I decide
To end this ride
Before I can
Take no more.

Sweet Oblivion.

Kiss the bullet, load the gun,
Shot to the head, looks like I’m done.
Crimson splatters the wall behind,
A final torture as the memories rewind.
I see me, I see you,
I see how it all started too,
The abrupt end to a fairy tale,
The moment right when we hit the rail,
I was naive, to believe we would last,
Ever more naive, to think I had your heart,
We lost touch, you kept me at bay,
For my folly, I had to pay,
Haunted by ghosts, day and night,
I slept in hopes of ending my plight,
Only, that you plagued my dreams too,
You pushed me off sanity, into madness blue.
My demons all awoke, hungrier than ever,
They grew up strong, fed by my despair,
But today I’d had enough, I took back control,
Pulling the trigger, I let the memories roll,
Till the reel had run out with a last explosion,
And I lost myself in sweet oblivion.

Madness.

He was mad
But not in the way
That he needed to be
Kept locked up
In asylums
No
His madness was his beauty
And it was the kind
That set fire
To a frozen world