When they've found someone to go home with
At the back of some line
Forgetting the words that I thought
Would lay me down to sleep,
With someone my soul to keep
And the further I climb
Into some state
I don't want to play these games
And yet, they're the only games to play
I'll edit later
I'll write now
And subvert some piece of myself
That I thought was myself
And collapse into words
That stave off some lack
That only plagues me when I'm here
A catch 22
That lives here too
And makes the minutes seems slow
Slower still when I break off
And shield my face
A half blush
And half pleading
Two halves to a whole
Of one half, split from the beginning
To walk forever
Stupid dancefloors in search of some
I wrote about midnight
About a lack and about to go home
But I stayed for five minutes longer
And I waited by the bar
To make some small talk
To glean some hope or at least some denial
And then someone else was there
I won't say "you"
Because I'm drunk and because that means my attachment is both disingenuous and frighteningly real
And because of that
I'm four hours late
Left to walk home after a kiss and hours and another kiss
I'm allowed to not know who I am
I'm obligated to perceive the present
Without attachment to the future
And I hope that I forget any mention of "you"
In the morning
When you made clear I should call
That you are just you
And that I shouldn't be too me
I hope that I remember this
I am disappointed that your lipstick didn't stain
It makes me look stupid when all I'm doing is making an effort
To talk to you
To be you
To make more memories
Until eventually I get annoyed at myself
for wanting to talk to you
you don't see
the worth in me
how much worth
I see in you.
You used me like a puppet.
And for some sick and twisted reason, I enjoyed it.
I would look up and see your blonde hair tied in a bow,
And your rainbow colored fingernails all a-glow.
Your hands were all over my strings, lifting and pulling.
I liked the way the strings dug into my flesh, pulling out blood and tissue from all my open wounds.
I loved the way you made me prance around,
The way you made me jump up and down,
And the way you let my body fall across the ground.
You carelessly flung my body around for your enjoyment,
And for some reason,
I loved it.
You used me like a puppet,
And I enjoyed it.
Because for the first time in my life,
I actually made people stop and stare.
Once a little boy woke up scared,
crying and calling for his mother.
Once an adult man woke up scared,
crying and calling for his lover.
For the boy there is no answer,
his mother is just never there.
For the man there is no answer,
his lover being just thin air.
You see the little boy is now a man,
who only ever wanted to be loved.
The adult man was the little boy,
who only ever needs to be loved.
So put your arms around the child,
show him love and teach him joy.
And put your arms around the man,
remember, he really is just a little boy.
© Pagan Paul (28/01/17)
Who needs contentment.
Let's burn this fucking house down
so our skin swelts from the heat
and our egos can cry for our lost possessions.
Who am I without my Things?
Who is Sisyphus without his boulder?
A man now content with only himself?
I didn't want to feel like this again.
I didn't want to attachment issues to come back.
They are my worst fear, and I dread they can make 6 months snap just like that.
My room seems so quite.
I have my music on full to block out the silence.
But these thoughts and these feelings are wounds and penetrations that are nothing more than violent.
And I'm overwhelmed by longing sensations.
I'm suffocated by numbing lacerations.
My skin is burning from the loneliness that is suppressed deep inside my stomach.
I sit with my plush animals so close to me, pressed upon my chest.
But when I hug them, they don't feel like home to me.
Though I promise I'm trying my best.
They are the issues that could ruin everything.
They are the thoughts that keep me up at night.
They are the anxieties and horrors that leave my throat feeling tight.
I'm holding back tears and I'm trying to stay calm.
But this is the after math of years of trauma, that leave me dreaming of only your arms..