Deaf

If it were easier to let go, I would run and never look back. Allow my train to derail, leaving life's tracks. I would start anew in a country unknown, just to feel my heart beat again, to know that it is not made of stone. But you make it so hard to leave your pretty eyes, the thought of life without you, makes me want to cry. I would sob for days, trying to atone for my mistake. I always run back into your arms that never fail to shelter me from harm. I might be called a coward, weaker than most because I stay with you. But the ones that call me names, have lived their lives in glass houses, decorated in shades of blue. I cannot express how lonely it feels to be depressed, how you ignited the spark that set fire to my heart. You are the summer breeze that cools my skin in the scorching heat, the missing piece that makes life's puzzle complete. The water that hydrates when I am slaked with thirst, and the number one that always strives to come first. We may not match or be alike at all, but you balance out my discrepancies and add cushion to my falls. You support me better than anyone has known how to before, you have restored my will to survive, my spirit is not restless anymore. You know me inside and out, even when I am filled with doubts, your love remains pure and always devout. Your hand's print always remains, in my own, even long after you have departed. My lips are now stained by your kiss, as I am always questioning whether this should have ended before it started. I can feel your heart beating through your chest, I hear every whispered word you say whenever you are stressed. I am unlike the others, I never look before I leap, always unconcerned with what is within the norm. In my world, proper is an endangered word. Happiness can come later, I would much rather be excited and thrilled, for all that we have to look forward to and the home that we will build. I do not care for fancy things, just someone whom I can grow old laughing with. We will sail the seven seas and then climb the mountains high. Still, I wonder whether I should have ever said goodbye, to those eyes so pretty, that fill me with such glee because it is unfair to drag you into my misery. I can no longer pretend that I still love you as much as I did on day one, but I can definitely say that your warmth fills me like the sun's. Your vibrant aura offers me a sense of comfort and security, but it is still unfair to selfishly remain, just to avoid feeling lonely. One is the loneliest number, and I have experienced it all before, but I still think it is much worse than feeling tired and ignored. I cannot change the way I feel, or turn back the hands of time, but I can guarantee that I will love you as long as you are mine. We will go to the opera, and speak in languages of love that we have never understood before. And when the sun has set, we will find shells along the seashore. This reckless love has stood the test of time so fine, ignite it and it might explode like turpentine. I can no longer deplore that you are the only one that my heart will ever beat for, your name is embedded deep within my chest, and I promise to show you that together we are deafeningly blessed.

Chaos

Sorrowful and sadly sailing through a sea of my own despair, melancholy misery makes me miserable beyond repair. On display, caged for the world's unkind scrutiny, all the world is a stage, its actors changing as I challenge its hypocrisy. Like a sideshow freak, exiled from a life of being weak, I was the brightest and most vibrant bird of paradise in life's bountiful boutique. Don't speak, listen with your heart and with your eyes, to the tremors terrorizing this territory and tearing it apart. The show starts, as I am caught in the sky's rapturous downpour, stinging my heart, as the rain forces me to wait in vain. I have been castrated, an emasculated man that is now a mouse, you realize that this house was built on lies as you douse me in gasoline. No longer thirteen, I must fend for myself in a world illuminated by secrecy. Everywhere I look, hope burns discerning concern that is never returned, like the impoverished that plead to be fed but are misled by corruption that gnaws at their wallets and feeds on their souls. We live in a world where a man would sell his mother to be compensated with her weight in gold. The story unfolds, as futures flicker faintly as whole families only feel remorse. Addicts anticipate assistance but instead they grab the reigns and ride the white horse. What was once plentiful, bringing pleasure to the masses has since been meandered, disparaged, distinct between the classes. The rich earn more, as their stocks continue to rise, as forest fires burn, fogging up the night's sky. Blurry and unclear, I can only see in blacks and grays, running for cover as I cry because the only world I have known is now ablaze. Penniless peasants pray for a day to come, where they no longer have to harvest their crops that prick their fingers, forced like Hansel and Gretel to rely on mere breadcrumbs. Refused entry into the kingdom of Heaven until we become as gentle as children and as innocent as lambs. Always twenty one grams heavier in our stony hearts, that yearn to depart, smartly refusing to feel pain's endless campaign. Sanity becomes obscure, as we fall further from grace; embrace, repent before our lives are spent, working for the man that is solely motivated by monetary gain. Damaged disdain drearily dishes out dread into our brains, down the drain we go, as we are flushed from this rotten place. Replaced by inhabitants that will be kind and not ungrateful, filling the Earth's cup with love and not all that is distasteful. War waging warriors were never the way it was intended to be, we murdered mother nature, tore her heart out of her chest. Mayans predicted this, yet we could barely resist using our fists in the attempt to disprove that pacifism could have resulted in ignorant bliss. We flooded the world, and have created a watery grave that can no longer sustain life. I can see through to the end of my tunnel, and the light therein will surely free me from my abundant strife.

Arctic

I anxiously awaited the return of the trust my inconsiderate acts had dissipated. Jaded, I fell from the sky like the most pathetic shooting star. You were the most noble king by far, like a majestic butterfly, I clipped your wings and caged you in a jar labeled by my deceit. I was your Idi Amin, as I robbed you of your civil rights, and made you shiver through all the sleepless nights. I was the thorn that pricked your finger when all you wanted was to kiss a rose. In the throes of love, you were blind to the venom I hid from you, like the meaning of words left undefined. I protected my own heart and kept you confined. I cheated and then resigned, played the victim as I insecurely proclaimed that I refused to remain a pawn in your wicked game of Chess. I should confess that I watched you undress, naively removing your layers of mistrust. I am ashamed to admit my undeniable ability to commit, even though it was you all along that brought beauty to my life. You painted with vibrancy on my body, slaying my strife. Reds and greens, and aquamarines, so vivid and enchanting. You introduced me to colour when all I had known were blacks and grays, portrayed a world devoid of pain when all I had known was sorrow and gloom. I locked you in a room and made you sleep from toiling endlessly and pricking your finger on my cursed and vile loom. You were in bloom but my dead weight made you wilt. Spilt your blood, then drowned your hearT in my melodramatic flood. You assumed it was a disaster natural, but it was all planned, like the birds and the bees by which you were conceived. Relieved, now that you see the wickedness that I concealed. Your wounds will eventually heal while my stubborn pride will always feel, resentful for having loved and lost. Thrown into the fire, like a penny tossed. Engrossed in you yet subdued, made obsolete like the silent era film star upon the invention of sound. I am lost again although I was once found and homeward bound; certain that your Mona Lisa smile would make my world go round. Our fortress was sure to fall as it was founded on frivolity and lies. Candy coated, yet bittersweet, delicate and fragile like your heart's tender beat. Now I am forced to accept with insurmountable guilt and pain, that the coldest winter weather will forever remain, giving me chills and freezing my bones yet it's still insufficient recompense for the emptiness of being all alone. Spring has never sprung in my subzero heart, the Arctic's hollow winds despair and tear my world apart. You should have listened like the others from the start, and ran faster than your legs could bear. Instead you risked it all and took a chance, stared into this Medusa's eyes. Nefarious misery loves company to warm its frigid heart, pierced by my dart, you will eternally remain the most cherished prize of these opaqe, yet sullenly conniving eyes.

Disease.

There comes a time in all of our lives where we must decide to flee or fight. I fought so hard and gave you the stars, stole the sun's light from wide and afar. I made amends, disassociated myself from idle friends, but in the end, dissonance reigned triumphant as the sole trend. Now I flee, create oceans where there were none before. Your opinion of me is sad and oblique, I know my worth and have a lot more in store. My future will be filled with kings and queens, I will be royal as I am majestic in my own right; blind in regards to you, but I still have my sight. You robbed me of the years in which I could have made my own mark on this world. The wasted time is equal to the oysters that failed to deliver pearls. You were the straw that broke this camel's back, under attack, I regroup and long to paint you black. Ebony like the heart that hides within your shallow chest, possessed by the demons of my past that puts you at unrest. Your presence in my life was similar to that of the most sombre crow, always failing to follow your own advice, the rules that you would dictate and bestow. Like Marilyn Monroe, my life was cut short by your endless scrutiny. The irony of it all is that you and me could have been a masterpiece. Van Gogh's brush strokes could not paint a vision quite as bright, until you hid me from the world behind a veil, and clipped my wings as you envied my gift of flight. Choking on the truth, I struggle to regain the self that I lost in the fire. My autonomy gone, I contracted a social disease, yearning to be desired. Empty now, as I poured myself into your trough, I cough, wheeze and huff in protest as I have had enough. Married young to a tyrant that dictates when I sleep and eat, I hang myself from my white flag in silent, grotesque defeat. I would much rather take my life in my hands and walk the street than continue to be the malodorous stench that you excrete. You treat me like the backdrop that merely sets the scene even though I played the lead to your mere supporting role. I refuse to be consoled by your hands that lack hygiene. Obscene and crass, you continue to harass and eat at my self-esteem; like the most torturous dream, you made me wake up in a sweat, praying to God to help me forget. You forged my name, pricked my finger then let me silently bleed on our brand new life. Damaged now, I pick up the pieces of me that rotted from my own self-pity and neglect. Bathed in disrespect, I hide my face in my hands and avert my gaze, avoiding the media as you accused me of murdering our love. Push turned to shove for the last time, your supreme reign is over, I am your last war crime.