1825.

Like water, you slipped through my fingers as I remained transfixed, knowing that I was changed forevermore. The sand in our hourglass had run out and thus, so had our time, as I still anxiously await the day that closure finally washes ashore. Some days, I cannot put into words how much I miss your breath against my neck or the way that you would save me, whenever I found myself shipwrecked. On other days, the electricity between us would leave me shell shocked, and feeling less lost than found, as I plead for my own salvation, hoping I would find the strength to abandon our battleground. Our holy lovers' war had left us both bereft, as we tried to catch our breath and circumvent our inevitable deaths. Stop loss syndrome as we both returned to our respective lives alone, attempted to survive, with the hopes of making it on our own. You took the road less traveled by and diverged creating your own path, as I started to repeat patterns that I should have buried in the past. Drugs and alcohol again became the friends in whom I would endlessly confide, as I repressed my emotions further, refusing to swallow my petulant, precocious pride. Nonetheless my heart thawed out, no longer Arctic icy anymore, as you helped me set fire to my fears, quickly becoming all that I could adore. I naively confused you for the cure to the cancer that ate away at my confidence, saw you as the solution which resulted in my sad dependence. Now that I have grown, and see that we were never suited for each others' tainted thrones, I harbour no hostility, and attempt to end my callous desire to clone the scent of your cologne. It really is better to have loved and lost, and similarly more preferable to have fought the war and paid the costs, than to never have loved at all. I am thankful that I did not remain oblivious and know what it feels like to have someone attempt to tear down my many walls. Even though there is still shrapnel buried in my bruised and bandaged heart, I would do it all again, just to hear your references to Descartes. With wounded wings this war has broken down my door, if all is fair in love and hate, why are you still impossible for me to abhor?

Red Riding Hood.

It is time to wake up and accept responsibility for your life, high time that you stopped pointing the finger and picked up a knife. Cut away all the vines that delude your judgment, and clear out the fog that conceals the truth from your eyes. Self-righteousness has always been the cause of your detriment, confess to your sins, or drown further in your endless lies. You are the difference between a boy and a man, as you manipulate reality to benefit your conspiratorial plans. You are always prepared to offer unsolicited advice, although you react with ire when others resort to the same device. Avoidance, your greatest clause, should have been listed on your contract when I signed up, instead I was forced to tolerate the passive aggressiveness that would fill, and thus overflow within my cup. Your ignorance once redeemed you, as it seemed like innocence instead, until I realized it was all a game, and that you were playing the fool, as if your brain was dead. You always refused to reap what you sow, placing it upon another's back as if it were their burden, go ahead and take your bow, the show is over, watch out here comes the curtain. You still compete with me to this very day, assuming that you will somehow come up the better man, although you may look better on paper, you are merely the Montreal to my Cannes. Drink freely of me, as you always do, knowing that I can handle it all; keep providing others with false security, sycophantically, but do not be alarmed when they are not available when you fall. I can only wish you the best in future endeavours and hope, and pray that I can wash my hands clean of you for good; you were the treacherous wolf that attempted to outwit, outsmart, and outplay my knowing, effervescent Red Riding Hood.

Shipwrecked.

Ice cold isolated inferences ignored by both me and you, resulted in the resignation of our hearts, as they split, and cut in two. Separated now, we are forced to accept our own unique worlds. Yours is filled with wonder, while mine keeps failing to deliver pearls. My lonely kick start heart keeps waiting for someone to come and take it by the hand, to pull it through the darkness, and to lay with it in the sand. With my future still unplanned, I continuously seek out others to turn it around, as I lose my footing, nearly tumble, slip, and falter, hoping that another will bring me back to solid ground. Anchoring my ship to prevent me from sailing out into the middle of the sea, I incorrectly assume that happy is a state of mind that does not exist independently inside of me. Without you, my heart is colder than the Arctic where it may as well have been conceived, but with you, it refuses to thaw, remains as cold, and is still ill-received. Bereaved, I prostrate to the Heavens, asking why each boat I ride in gets wrecked and washed ashore, why they always seem to hit invisible icebergs, and sink to the very bottom of the ocean floor. Titanic ailing orifice that pours my emotions out and unto you, it becomes no secret why I always end up alone, and rather subdued. Wilting wailing flower that I become each time I pick myself up and fail again, makes me wonder if the fight is not worth the fall, and if all this sacrifice is just in vain. All of the rivers, lakes, and seas have tried to tame the wild that occurs naturally within me, hedonistic until the last drop, I laugh harder, and turn it all into a game. Yet I still try to call all the shots, and desire to keep you around whenever I yearn for the warmth provided by your body and its flame. Passion seeps through my pores, poking at me until my vessel overflows. All I ask is for you to rescue me from my eternal suffering, and the violence of its throes. Pleading for the soothing rain to come another day when I am more prepared, I know the universe has a sense of humour as it would rather see me in despair. Alone, but never lonely, I need to wait until the opportunity comes knocking once again. Until then, I will remain focused, and devoted to maintaining a healthy relationship with myself, and becoming my own best friend. No mater watery graves, or drowning deaths, they are now ghosts of my torrid past, the tempests, and tsunamis of temptation, and truth will hopefully be best if saved for last.

Black.

The black torrents wash within me and I watch my light darken, I have used up so much energy in the fight that I have no resistance. I can see waves of black cascading through me in streams. I can see pools of darkness forming as my thoughts circle inside my head, my worries they are storming and desire to fill me with the utmost dread. The ebony's essence streamlines my dreams, sending me flying further into the deepest depths of the dark. My charcoal childhood was always less than chaste, as I searched high and low for a cure that would prevent my life from turning into toxic waste. No lights or sounds surround me, as I face my innermost demons and search for a friendly face, or nuance that will help ground me, and bring me closer back into myself. I can no longer live a life of knowing that I am merely settling for second best, so I cover my paintbrush in the whitest paint, ivory dances and sings as it tries to wash away the darkness that I have faced. My canvas is testament to the trials that I have endured, the whites that purify the black, and self-consciously create greys hoping to hide the error of my ways. I fail to connect to the human that lives inside me, pay no heed to the mind that the universe has granted me. I was meant to live for so much more, but I lost myself, time and time again. As I crawled through the shadows, all I searched for was a friend although I failed to realize that the love I sought lived inside me all along. I have always been better at offering others advice than taking it when I need it the most, as a result, I have become an apparition, I have become another jaded ghost. I call an ambulance after shooting a flare high into the sky, hoping that I no longer have to listen to misery's most sullen lullabies. It whistles wildly, and lets out the most piercing screams as it careens throughout the streets. Dead man walking, that I am, I give in to the darkness, and accept my grim defeat. Black, the colour of my heart after you cut off its circulation, broken,I am no longer open to happiness, I have become an empty vessel filled with nothing but degradation.