It shines – reluctantly
Gold piping around edges
curved lines:softened by the glow
mesmerised red eyes
drawn like moths
to a wide open plain
visible and raw
for all the room to see
with a limited time
patches of rainbow fog
just another symptom
A way not to see
the blindingly obvious
I know it, yet I cannot seem to stop it. I sit and I feel it slipping away from me. My get up and go has got up and gone and I have no idea how to find it again, or know if indeed it is still out there waiting to be found.
In my thoughts I am a pioneer, I swoop and soar and plan all things which I could do, list all the things I should do, hide from the things I need to do – yet still I lie.
Curled up in a fortress of quilt whenever I can get the chance, if ever I need not to be at work and sometimes when I should be somewhere else – i lie. Hidden behind walls and I lie, in bed waiting, waiting for something unknown.
I am tired
My bones do not want to move today or ever. I do not want to drag my carcass out into the unfriendly world where it has no relevance, no meaning, no joy. I feel guilt for all of the things I am missing out on, feel bad for those I am letting down, constantly but still I cannot seem to force myself out. I dont know what I want but I know it isnt this – I am a waste of life in this state. Not living but simply existing.
The only thing that brings solace is sleep. I feel I could sleep forever and feel happier lost in dreams for life only brings cruelty and sadness.
He was never mine not really, not where it mattered.
For the most part, I am a shareholder. A greedy coveter grasping a ticket, a little piece of him that I believe is mine, until the next time. The next spin of the wheel, eagerly watching the bounce, wondering where the white ball will land, wondering if my time is near. Alas, lady luck was never a friend to me. And so shall he be, forever more on the move,free to roam to whichever ever table he pleases. I can but sit and watch agog whilst the women sigh and feign over him. My stomach knotting to see blood red fingertips brush his skin. My scorn rises as perfumed beauties fawn and blush to see him pass by, they even lean in to smell his sweet scent at times. my discontent clearly shown, I cannot help it.
He is not mine any more yet once he was and I am loathe to forget. The night we shared on the poker table, I recall the revelry in his caress. How I would pull him to my lips with each jubilant squeal. I remember the fire of anticipation before we touched, our first meeting of indecency, our indiscretion of sorts.
Our last meeting was so long ago yet still I yearn for you, still I sit and watch you work your magic on others, hoping one day your delights will come back to me. praying for a day you will return so I can love you better, and not let you slip so easily through my fingertips..
He leapt from her arms, conscious of time fading. He took one last look at her smiling face between his palms before planting a soft kiss, then he ran. He didn’t look back: a clear image in mind. He ran towards his scowling fiancé who was waiting, tickets in hand.
Sometimes I feel I would eat you alive
Merge my face into your supple chest
and blend our bodies together.
To peel off your skin
make you into a coat
So I can wear you all day
Entwine limbs and lungs,
solder lips and tongues.
Press my bones against yours
until the imprint is visible
for all to see,
to show you just
how deeply I am into you
Check out NaPoWriMo for the original prompt and find more great blogs
“I hate endings. Just detest them. Beginnings are definitely the most exciting, middles are perplexing and endings are a disaster. . . . The temptation towards resolution, towards wrapping up the package, seems to me a terrible trap. Why not be more honest with the moment? The most authentic endings are the ones which are already revolving towards another beginning. That’s genius.” ― Sam Shepard