The Land of NeverWas

Where all the "Might Have Beens" live

Archive for the category “relationship”

abyss

time can seem to crawl no more slowly than when you want to hear from someone. a second can seem like a decade. a minute a century. an hour; eternity. days passing by is a time frame too terrible to bear. every tick and every tock of the clock echoes inside of you like an earthquake shaking you to your very core. nothing could speed up time again like a word from your lover. but silence reigns and time still oozes on. uncertainty keeping you constant companion. you know there will be a breaking point at which the time stream will return to its normal pace, but it feels like you will never get there. it is like swimming toward a surface too far away and your lungs are beginning to burst for want of air. if only you could break through that surface and take in a lungful of her and never have to plunge back down into the watery depths of her absence ever again. but that is then. for now you must make your way breathlessly through the murk. that dark hole she has left. that abyss.

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glimmer

in the dark
i see a glimmer
but it is still awash
in uncertainty

in that light
within that glimmer
glows a tiny spark
of what i hope might be

in due time
i hope the glimmer
will allow itself
to gain some clarity

but until then
i’ll watch that glimmer
from a distance and
hope it shines for me

uncaring

today i don’t give a shit
about any of it
let her run away
make her mistakes
and when she’s on her knees
with her heart full of need
it won’t be because
i gave her pause
the thing fell apart
because she lied to her heart
and the cold she is feeling
while there she is reeling
was there all along
but she felt it was wrong
to admit to herself
so she put it on a shelf
and there it is staring
back at her uncaring.

thoughtless

10 o’clock
i bet they’re fucking right now
(stop)
his hands are all over her
she’s got herself wrapped around him
(stop it)
wonder what’s on tv
maybe she’s watching tv too
(stop doing this to yourself)
lying there half asleep
thinking about me
(stop)
no, i doubt i cross her mind
she walked away far too easily
(stop it)
in a few days i’ll be a vaporous thought
adrift on the winds of yesterday
(stop doing this to yourself)
ah, i need a drink to numb the pain
no, alcohol is like ingesting liquid depression
(stop)
but fuck it, who cares
i sure the fuck don’t
(stop it)
just like her
oh god, she’s going to marry him
(stop doing this to yourself)
i need a tourniquet to stop
the flow of thoughts
racing through my head
not to mention the gut wrenching
pain, that has to
(stop)
(stop it)
(stop doing this to yourself)
i need to find a way to stop
thinking
please let me find a way to become
thoughtless

salvation

that was close.

fuck.

you almost had me.you almost pulled me out into the light.i almost let you.luckily you let me know i was imagining things so that i could fall back into the place that is most comfortable.the black cold void.it’s peaceful here.and i can concentrate without thoughts of you swirling around making me do stupid shit like smile and daydream.too distracting.i have work to do.things to take care of.i don’t want the turmoil of salvation.i don’t want the vulnerability.too much uncomfortable happiness.thank you for reminding me of this.thank you for making decisions for me.thank you for knowing what i wanted instead of letting me decide that for myself.thank you for not really being my salvation.

fuck.

that was close.

run

run
run like
you never have before
run as if
behind you is a snarling carnivore
don’t look back just
run
run until
your lungs feel like fire
run because
that monster of desire
will crack your bones
and you’ll never
run again
run

emotional suicide

i want to commit

emotional suicide

i want to kill

these things inside

not my body

i don’t want to die

just for these feelings

to fuck off i insist

drown them

choke them

slit their fucking wrists

whatever it takes

for them to go away

and to never return another day

void

void

no more

the rock will set

the stone will fall

the iron will encase

the thorns will protect

the ice will numb

time will dull

no more

void

Fuck My “Beautiful Heart”

“You have a beautiful heart”, she told me. I’m not sure why, since it made no difference.

But, you are about to slice it into tiny pieces.

“I’m sorry I have to cause it pain.”

Then don’t. Stop right now and don’t say the words. Not those words. Say the ones that will keep it beautiful.

The thing she missed, the thing she never seemed to understand was that she made it beautiful. Really it’s a scarred up ugly old thing. A beast that she touched and, like a miracle, all the scars went away and it was as fresh as the day before it fell in love for the very first time. Before that first girl dug her claws into it and squeezed with a vicious little smile on her face.

From then on, I knew that love was not a game I would win.

Everything has been completely backwards. When I loved I lost and when I didn’t care they were all over me. Why in the hell was it like that? The only conclusion I could reach is that romance, like everything else, had been dumbed-down. Instead of words written straight from the heart, the effort of letting Hallmark speak for you is all that a man needs now. Buy her a card hundreds of others could buy, grab some flowers that will die before the week’s end. Clumsily compose a few words that were aimed more at creating guilt and manipulation than passion. Whatever. It’s an “A” for effort even though it’s the emotional equivalent of a burp. I was left in the same dust as Shelley and Lord Byron, despite my being alive now. And the little ashes of me were blowing away in the wind.

She stood there and looked at me, what she felt in her heart at that moment as enigmatic as the Sphynx. A mystery that I would never solve.

“Well, later, I guess”, she said quietly, then turned and walked away. With every step, as she grew smaller, I felt my heart grow smaller. It began to fall in upon itself and then implode. I was left confused and bewildered by her leaving everything she professed to desire. Generic: 1,350,072 Genuine: 0.

Hello Emptiness, my old friend.

“I knew you’d be back”, smirked Emptiness. “You’re such a fool.”

I knew Emptiness was right and vowed to never again tear myself inside out for anyone. I would bottle it all up and never take the cap off. There was no vessel out there worthy of pouring myself into after all. I was tricked yet again. I saw crystal when there was only plastic.

Yet, I also knew I was full of shit. Deep inside me there was still that tiny small ember I can never extinguish. One that still longs for the breeze that will fan it into a flame yet again. I even hoped it would be her, that a sudden epiphany would strike her heart down like a bolt of lightning and bring her back to me, electrified by the realization that only wrapped in my arms would she feel the passion she was looking for.

But reality set in. “Later, I guess”, she had said but it felt more like goodbye.

So regretfully I turned my eyes away from the spot where she had disappeared and thought bitterly to myself –

“Fuck my beautiful heart.”

Smokin’ Cupid

I knew I was in trouble when I saw that Cupid had traded in his bow and arrow for a bazooka. Fuck. And I had just bought that armor plated vest.

” Well screw that little fucker”, I thought,” he’s not getting me again.”

So I shot him first. Double barreled blast right in his fat little face. And that, your honor, is how I killed love. It was self-defense. Him or me, and it was never going to be me.

Burn

Yet again. Here I am. Slouching in a darkened room staring out at the heartless black of night. Stars twinkle. Cold light from the moon falls through the window. I ponder the ridiculousness of where I find myself. Questions race through my head. Unanswerable questions. Or perhaps the answers are too horrible for me to acknowledge. So I pretend they are unanswerable to avoid looking them eye to eye. I take out my heart and hold it up in the light of the moon. Twist it, turn it. Admire the scars I have built up over the years. The scars that give truth to the idea that love hurts. Someone once said “You teach people how to treat you.” I understand. I’ve taught people to treat my heart as a target for claws and blades, slings and arrows. Whether intentional or not they’ve raked its tender skin so often it can barely be recognized through the scar tissue. Time may heal all wounds but the scars are a mother fucker. I know that I have put it out as a target and by doing so I have given permission to fire. You’d think it wouldn’t feel anymore. You’d think it would be numb from the constant chafing. And perhaps, hopefully, it will be after this last time.

I sit it on my desktop. Then I reach in to the gaping hole that is left and I pull out what I feel for her…I reach into my head and I pull out the memories, scraping around to be sure and get every last scrap. Nothing can be left. Nothing. It must all burn. I sit and stare at the pile of uselessness that sits before me. Every sweet word, every wasted gesture. I hold my hand to my mouth as I ask myself again and again and again why none of it mattered? Why does it always happen that I want to give it so badly and so freely but it is never taken in a like manner? Appreciated, yes. Remembered, yes. But never reciprocated. I am a brightly lit being, consumed with fire, a conflagration that will only take the fuel of her heart to turn from blue and cold to red and hot. Perhaps that is why she shied away. She feared being consumed by a wildfire she had no idea if she could control. I suppose I’ll never know. I can only wonder at the smoke I see from afar as she fans her own fire, attempting to coax the ragged embers and green wood into a roaring heat. In time, in time. Regardless, her back is turned away from me as she concentrates. I’m not even casting a shadow for her with my radiance.

I strike a match and hold it out towards my little pile, ready to say goodbye as I turn it all into ashes. Turn, turn, I send silently towards her with all my might, hoping desperately that she will stay my hand, because I know that I really want to keep it all inside of me. I don’t want it to burn, but the blue flame hurts too bad. I can’t go on being consumed by cold fire. I have nothing to hold on to. No burn of my lips from her hot kiss, no searing of my skin from the heat of her touch. One last breath.

She will not turn.

Suddenly, I laugh at myself. I realize once and for all I am the king of fools. No, the patron saint, even the God of fools. I deserve a place alongside the rest of Olympus. My own mythology. There Aphrodite will laugh at me for all eternity for daring to think that I could ever find the one I was meant to burn with. I am not blameless. I have turned away from others who did offer me a flame. I haughtily decided that they did not burn brightly enough. That will also be a part of my story. Forever searching, forever not seeing those who deserve for those who do not deserve. It will make fine theater but I wonder if those who come after will truly understand the misery of that existence. I hope they learn from it because I doubt that I shall.

I touch the match to the pile. It burns slowly, as if as reluctant to go as I am to say goodbye, but soon there is a pile of ashes. I scoop them up into the palms of my hand and carry them outside. I look up at the moon. She looks back at me, cold and uncaring, but I am used to that. She holds no pain for me. We have an understanding the moon and I. I hold up my palms and open them slowly. The breeze catches the ashes and takes them away. Not far enough I know. There will be ashes for me to tread on until time finally buries them under the dust of its passing.

I watch them fly and turn back inside. Already I can feel everything I took out of me growing back to haunt me yet again.

Galloping Toward Futility

I’ll pull tight the reins of my heart and no longer let it run free and wild across the meadows of love. It has ran its course, and worked itself up into a breathless lather, chasing the wild ride of happiness. Now it is time to take off the saddle, brush it down and then set it out to lonely pasture. There it will rest and graze and perhaps raise its in head in remembrance whenever it hears the pounding of hooves off in the distance as others fly by – joyful and free.

The Claustrophobic Feeling of Space

All I can give are words.

No touch.

No kiss.

And the words that I can give may only be read instead of heard. But if my words might entangle with yours, as if they were our surrogate bodies, and get to touch, feel, and take in the scent of you that I can only imagine, then I send them off gladly. I will try not to be envious of my words as they bask in the glory of your gaze. I will hope that they flow from your eyes to your heart and there inscribe themselves so that you may carry them with you wherever you go. Carry them like a book of love that you can open and read whenever you need to feel the warmth of knowing someone out there is thinking of you.

But, will your eyes ever meet my words or will they exist here forlornly while you pass them by unknowingly? Will you ever know how the sight of you launched a thousand ships in my heart only to have them crash against the reefs of time and distance, where I am left with the wreckage of  ‘If Only’? That time, that distance, that space, as vast as it is, closes around me until I can no longer breathe and only the softness of your lips can bring me back to life.

random bits of passion

Lips meet…eyes lock…skin on skin electricity…heart pounding… she tastes and smells so fucking good…it’s almost a dream-like quality that you are lying there naked with someone you have basically been obsessing about for a time..

you want to kiss her from head to toe and enjoy every goddamn second….get lost in her hair…entangle your bodies and hold her so close it’s like you are trying to merge into one being…. you try so hard to memorize every touch feel and sound…or freeze time….

but you can’t..and being only human there must be an end.

Love is the cruelest drug of all

For it is only love that can directly pierce your soul. It shoots through your veins giving you a rush of ecstasy unlike anything else man could manufacture. You feel as if you could do anything. Climb the highest mountain, cross the deepest oceans, conquer the whole fucking world. The sky’s the limit as long as that needle is tapping the vein. Then when it is taken from you, it leaves you shattered and shaking, trembling and sleepless, needing a fix so bad you feel as if there are red hot pokers applied directly to every nerve ending in your heart. You would do anything to get it back. Lower and debase yourself, if only, if only, the dealer, the object of your affection would spare you just the tiniest fraction of it. You know you could get by another day if, please, please, please, she would spare you a word, a touch, a kiss. But no, and time goes by. Gradually the addiction begins to subside and the pieces of your life fall back into place. But like any addict, you are never truly recovered, and there is always the next dealer out there somewhere, lurking. Waiting to whisper in your ear “You want to get high with me?” And all the past torment forgotten, you smile and say.

Sure.

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