If I was the only reason for you to stay clean, what does that make me?

I feel like I was a rule you wanted to break. A chain for you to pull on.

I wish I could have been the difference I needed in you. But there's no reasonable way for me to hold myself responsible for your change.

Heaven and hell both know you would rather leave than be responsible for mine.

So in what fairness is it that I take charge of your life?

I cannot be the cure for your lifestyle. I cannot be held responsible for your sobriety and your relapse all wrapped up in one resentful package.

I wanted so badly for us to share our growth. But the expectation we both set for each other now seems like it was rooted in desperation and spite.

Wasted life like mine trying to be the splint you use to graft your life together and hold it fast while you grow, feels like a fence trying to stop a tree from expanding.
Stunting your growth and breaking me in the process, to no avail.

Bark engulfing my time-fragile frame of linked cage, hopelessly there to keep you safe. Your strong life breaking and bending my twisted metal body, determined to taste the poisoned stream on the other side of my weathered wire you see so clearly as prison bars. Awaiting my mistake as to justify a sip of the lethal spring so close to your roots.

I so desperately have tried to keep you safe from those toxic waters you are so dedicated to live by. I've tried, and I have failed, to be the source of your change.

My broken and mangled wire will lay to rust on the river bank, while I watch your roots soak up the volatile liquid you so desperately seek. Then shrivel up and rot while my brittle iron oxide body hopelessly decays and cries rust atop your dying trunk. Wishing something had been different.

You didn't choose to live so close to the water, but I chose to make one last stand surrounding your body like a prison of demands. It isn't your fault that your here, but it's my fault for thinking my life could stop you.

-RÆ

Chemical dependency, with a side of intimate conductivity, followed by romantic conspiracy, turned to emotional connectivity.
without for-sought thought, proceed to three years of Hot Love turned to three months of Cold War.

Violent codependence, bandaged by hopeful commitments, failed by unchecked addictions, and annunciated by priceless resentments, punctuated by lost trust and an honest compassion.

Fight tooth and nail for higher ground, feeling faithless and unforeseen worthlessness.

Realized lack of influence, led by justified relapse, a broken heart or two and a few weeks later, loneliness earned and hopelessness learned.

Try to scramble back to the to the idea of the connection once perfect, now weathered and tired, filled with tired resentment, and unresolved disagreement.

Love & Lust, into Trustless Treason.

I will stand tall against the machine of time's toll on love, tears in my eyes and fear in my heart. Why should I back down.

And why should I not.

I would rather be trampled with suffering than choose one and regret either.

One lover's stand off.

One lover's lament.

Stuck in the middle of this heavily trafficked highway, feet shoulder width apart, stuck in concrete, committed to resistance.


-RÆ

And the old Clown demands a sad goodbye in a way you can't deny,
And it turns out your the one who feels bad because you were both young Clowns together.
But now your all grown up and your fear of being dragged into old nonsense is forcing you to say goodbye.
Again.
"Goodbye." not "See you later," because you might not.
And the old Clown emphasizes your departure and your mutual goodbyes because he's not afraid of dealing with the way things are now.
He knows he probably won't ever see you again,
And he's realized it's not his choice even if it is his fault.
So he has a smile on his face and looks you in they eye and says "Goodbye."
You respond with "talk to you later"
And you know why his silent response is so loud in your head only.
And it's because you feel bad.
Not because it's your fault but because you know that he knows you won't risk being a Clown again, at least not with him.
So he looks you in the eyes with warm, comforting, open eyes chilled by remorse.
You try not to look at them again because regardless of how warm they are,
And how comforting they want to be,
The chill in those eyes pierces your heart and makes you feel like bursting at the seams with why's and how's of why your not Clowns together anymore or ever again.
He sees your pain more then you know,
Even tho you don't notice he's looking at your feet when you look up again. Only to make you comfortable.
And he would choose to make you comfortable by averting his warm empathy cooled by years of tolerance rather then force his warmth on you and risk burning you,
But only because he knows he can't comfort you anymore.
So he averts his eyes and doesn't look back.
The old Clown hopes you noticed.
He hopes that you know why he acted the way he did.
But not because he wants you to feel as bad as you do,
But because he wants you to know he's not the same fragile clown he was.
He knows that he wants but does not need your help.
The funny thing is that you were the older clown,
He's not the same young Clown you knew,
And he's just changed the way he perceived his life, and done so without actually changing his environment. And he kinda thinks you did the opposite,
And he feels bad for not helping you.
Just like you feel bad for not helping him now.
But all he really wants at this moment,
Is for you to know he doesn't need help anymore
And he won't ask.
Not because he doesn't want to be your friend again,
But because he knows he only makes you uncomfortable now.

Look me in the eye when you wish to address all of these things we've chosen to press.
Square up to my face and say what you pray to side-step.
Promise, im impressed.
Don't avert my gaze,
Brace against this void and stand strong-lipped.
Don't disgrace your anger by giving it up too quick.
Simmer your objective into the right spit,
Launch it in my face as if I might quit. Tell me off,
Show me how,
I may be loud-mouthed but I can't live Without loving you now,
So show me how.

Don't test these waters,
I'm colder than poisoned ice cream. You may think I'm quiet or misunderstood,
But I'm just observant and there's nothing to miss,
You merely don't understand.
Standing by unnoticed, watching the clowns fool themselves into flaccid conversation and loud misinterpretation.
Sure I believe you,
But you don't believe in anything so why would I listen?
I may not be big,
but I'm heavier than you expect,
once you get me rolling,
no stick stone or concrete embankment can foil my momentum.
Be warned before you flip my lid that you can't flip it back.
It's a promise
a commitment to my affliction that I don't want you to forget.

Potent rage fumigating my body with a ****** sunset orange,
lapping flames at the feet of the audience anticipating a conclusion I can't see fit.
Fumes second-handed to those close and cornered,
feel the ugly crude oils of my livid pain boiling against your pricelessly soft smile.
Heat blistering your lips,
Dulling the love of your flawless frame.
I wish I could love you without melting you down like the last candle there will ever be to keep this old clown warm.

Sweet pink pixie stick of a voice,
laced with a slick oily awful sedative.
Seducing our divine imperfect and organic lives with a painfully unattainable sleek plastic appeal.
Sell me their ideals,
Buy into their thoughtless religion of never ending want with unrealized need.
And explain to me how we are better off.