i hate writing about the things you did to me because as i'm sitting here bleeding out from the wounds you plastered on my skin treating my body as if it was your personal practice canvas, you are going about your life as if you didn't permanently make my mind so ******* fragile
so i refuse to bleed your name through each and every one of these pages i refuse to let you think after all these years you still have power over me
I sat on the edge of the lake on the biggest rock by the shore. Midnight was the clock, starry the sky, frozen was the earth. I looked up from below and saw Orion's Belt. The stars on his hilt, to the twinkling lights of his bow. I could see them. I could see all of them. In that moment, I remembered something. A poem he said he'd written for me. He'd called it Orion's Belt. I remember what it was like to be his, but I remember so much else now. He's a liar. How much of what he told her was true? All of it? Maybe; none of it.
All these years and you still don't trust me. You're so quick to believe him. That was always his trick; his false sincerity. He should own up to it.
With our heads over the starboard of the boat trip we took taunting tropical storm Fay on the port and our dresses in the wind. He watched from the captain's chair, pistol in his hand. Salty seas hinder our vision of the man in the watchtower turning him into a blur on the vast expanse of grey skies and rotting wet wood.
Angry crew-children with their bodies touched, banging on the stained glass door to his room where the little girl looks through the marbled blue with tears on her cheeks. Laughing at the confrontation, sent back to work.
Gathering lobster and lost time, both of them scream in the boiling ***. Escaped breath from incestuious embraces return to lungs and we find out that we can scream too, the boiling *** is overturned dripping off the starboard where we stand.
Lightning bolt touches the flag above his head causing chemical reactions to develop into a spark. Flames at the back engulf the wheel the children blister their hands grasping onto the lines as Fay rolls through, lightning after thunder rain never ending. Chaos perspiring on the ship he calls the battalion to secuestrar the children.
The battalion is overturned at the punch, bruise left on grey skin. Captain blubbering with lies the fire heat on his back. Rotting wood is burning, we cover our noses with bandanas and letters marked for Groton. The tide rises waves overtake the port, splashing onto the starboard where the victims jump into the black water uncertainty chilling them.
Swimming to Key West with the dolphins on our back the fiery ship burns in the distance the captain tied to a chair of ******* and lines untouched, denying allegations until his heart is charcoal and all that's left is a charred body smelling of ****** and aftershave. The starboard side is empty causing imbalance to the ship.
Dripping tears and sea water, walking through the streets, we lower our bandanas and hold the letters close to our hearts. Searching for the sun that will lead us home.
They drop like flies I tell ya- can't contain the pressure, eruptions fused by anger; frustration... but rather than seek an explanation, the assumptions over take them- everybody suffers now. . . what an awkward situation ?
to partake in such petty things . . is to deny the soul and its awakenings . . a waste of time and energy I tell ya- and there's nothing worse than feelings hurt, ignorance, and being a ****
so have patience, be kind, remain strong, and put the past behind, always move forward, and seek truth for there are many possibilities within our youth to learn from, and be living proof that this too shall pass
There's so much more to life than broken hearts and senseless strife...