July 6, 2012

"Blind Sea"

Marked, said to be,
I'm losing you, slowly,
but surely.

Fallible, it seems.
Love lost, unforeseen.
Tell me, now,
not knowing differently.

Horizon line, in all is bent.
Hand imprint on sand.
Tears sent out to sea.
Captain this ship.
Its capsize was meant,
to be.

Fire works,
as an opposing element.
Overhead, wind sweeps the air.
Pulling apart; distressed, the flare.

Beautiful is the night, at its
darkest shade.
All is still, beckoning for a whisper.
Then the deck overflows with heat.
Bodies never felt are touched,
communication brought with it,
a raid.

One can only hope to keep dignity.
When people panic, you see
their true colors.
The Captain rests with his ship.
The others, have others.

*Do you remember drowning?

Racing thoughts are not an
internal contradiction.
It's not crying while laughing.
It most certainly is not an inept,
young adult that describes
their mood-swings as being "bipolar."
Don't fret,
because I will explain,
in depth.
At this given moment I can list pages upon pages of what it isn't. And that's the point, maybe, considering that these racing thoughts have created enough points to produce a stippling picture of an overall paranoia.

Four days into this headache, an unattainable inquiry is not reason.
It's not reason.
Not reason.
Not reason.

At this point in my life there is nothing to achieve by convincing strangers of my sanity. No matter how many times I may try and blink a person away, it just leaves me with tired eyes, and in the end, less credibility. I'm gasping for air with a plastic bag wrapped around my head, praying that my body can find peace and not twitch. But I'm fooling myself, like a friend, your friend. One that exclaims love and intimacy, but is given a kiss on the forehead, blocking my third eye.
Then after a tumultuous day of unknowing and racing thought, I'm left in a neurotic state, waiting for a cool down period before I'm left
toxic and unwanted.

I'm sorry for whatever I did
to make you not care
I'm sorry for whatever
made me disposable
I'm sorry for
everything I did wrong
I'm sorry
I wasn't good enough

I'm sorry
I'm a horrible person
I'm sorry for
failing you
I'm sorry for whatever
made them better than me
I'm sorry for whatever I did
and am apologizing for.

No
You say "you don't know her
She's brilliant
she's understanding
She's the best person I've ever met
she's my hopes
my dreams
(gone)"
A fantastic character

I hate to always be the bearer of truth,
But, I've read her cover to cover
She's shallow and superficial
She puts up a facade of a unique individual and yet she's just within the boundary of normalcy.

I've examined all of her (superfluous) pages of work
And they only skim the surface of humanities skin
Circling around the moles and scars that pucker truth-
Brail for the the blind

I've dug deep within her words and read between each space bar
And there lies no feeling- no emotion...
Sheer unintended apathy

Still-With many attempts:
She doesn't capture the essence of regret or sorrow
She merely spits at its feet
And it shows
Because the pain she displays vanishes
From her readers
From the pages
From the words
From the letters
From the simple spaces
From the idea itself

And yet this somehow captivates you
Yet unbeknownst to you- you are not regret, nor are you sorrow,
You are simply embodying what she barely grasps in hopes to find what lies beneath for yourself

But you're burrowing into someone who hasn't yet lived or loved-
Who can't describe the burning bubbles that pop in your eyes from the tears of contempt
Who can't fathom deflation of breath in your shallowing lungs, nor the dam constricting your veins' blood at loss

She can't break down completely with you dangling along
So
She
Keeps you just within reach to describe something she encounters
Something she caused
Something she can never embody  because  her "emotions" are a half lie:A secure defense
For power over others