every line of words
you shared with me.
left waiting in a room full of people.
unaware of what i was anticipating.
it was a dull fun
pretending i was enjoying the night.
i wish you were there to accompany me.
occupied with excuses and a false amusement
left wondering why i subject myself to this,
i leave your empty response unanswered
hoping you might notice.
in reality, i am just screaming inside.
i met my soul mate last night
he introduced himself as the perfect mix of drunk and high
a crumpled cigarette hung loosely between his lips
as he intoxicatedly fingered his lighter
i gently replaced his hands with my own
lighting the cigarette with the flick of my thumb
"a beautiful girl who lights my cigarettes?
they said death would come slow
but they didn't say it would come
Multicolored strobe lights flash in my eyes.
Burning deep in my cornea for a moment I cannot see.
Disorientated, gripping tight of the banister next to me.
But in my state of delirium I accidentally brush against your hand.
My throat is dry and my hands are shaking.
My heart feels like its about to crawl out of my throat.
But I'm perfectly sober, I decided not to drink.
Why am I feeling like this.
Then I look across at you as you beam a cheesy smile,
and I look away in fright.
As your eyes glisten I realize,
It's because of you.
I never thought I'd feel like this again and I swore to myself I wouldn't.
5 years older, living multiple cities away.
This is a bad idea Evelyn, but my brain doesn't listen.
Music so loud that I'm scared my ears are going to bleed.
Sober in a night club full of intoxicated teens,
my friends are dancing promiscuously.
But we're just stood to the side.
And we laugh at the situation,
we complain and roll our eyes.
You're the first person that I haven't compared to him.
When I'm around you I don't even bother to think.
As you grab my waist and pull me onto a sofa,
I laugh like I used to, I laugh like I'm suppose to.
I thought that I'd shut myself off from the world,
that i was destined to live being only bitter and cruel.
But when I had to leave, I didn't want to let go.
And I guess though I don't want to admit, that is a sign.
Maybe I am worth some form of happiness.
Maybe I don't have to make myself isolated and alone
And when you called me cute I didn't even think to yell,
I didn't retaliate.
So thank you.
Pastel frosting spells out the word, and it's decorated on every balloon in the small room. There's smiley faces and the sound of noisemakers that seem to grow louder with every step. There's presents upon presents upon presents filled with everything that one could have ever wished for. There's even a chair for the luckiest child. It was the perfect party, suited for the perfect child.
There are no readable words in the other room. Barely any light escapes into the room, or out of it, for that matter. It is eerily quiet, as if this room and the other room were not in the same house. Every once in awhile, the only noise heard is a very slow dirge, but the source cannot be found. The only thing in the room is an empty casket, to be used by the luckiest child. It was the perfect party suited for the perfect child.
Open the door to the room I cannot enter;
let me feel the wind chill from your quickness,
let me swallow down the taste of your exclusivity
and get drunk on this bitter hope I have.
Let it hit me hard in the face like walking from the door of a bar
to the winter outside,
chest full of whiskey and heart full of sadness;
let me fall on the floor in front of the room I cannot enter.
I’m bringing my own drinks and drinking them straight,
like whiskey cutting my throat like cigarettes cutting my lungs like sadness cutting my heart –
oh wait, I’ve said this before. Are you bored of me? Am I bored of me?
So what is this anyway? It’s a party!
A stream of songs and happiness and sloppy kisses in bathrooms that I haven’t showered in,
a high school reunion for me and the nostalgia of feeling something.
Why am I not invited? Why am I not invited?
Would my worthlessness poison the punchbowl?
I didn’t get the memo about the dress code being a genuine smile but the hostess called Pity let me in and the security guard called Ignorance looked the other way and I wonder? I wonder? –
What is my name? When will it become what I want it to be?
They’re playing a party game of changing names.
I’ll slip on the skin of whatever is left behind;
adopt parts of other people into myself and see if I can bluff the right password to enter the room I cannot enter.
Sometimes I’m in the kitchen just outside the room I cannot enter
and people pass by me on their way to refill their drinks.
Sometimes I’m sat on the concrete steps outside
fiddling with my lighter in the wind
and watching Ignorance trip over his feet so as not to catch himself in my flame.
Let’s play party games!
I know a good one, where we all put on party hats and pretend that we’re happy;
but I lose that one, you’re all happy. Why are you all happy? What makes you happy?
Let’s drink! Let’s drink until we forget that we’re not happy! But you are happy. Why are you happy?
I know why you didn’t invite me to this party.
It’s because I’m boring.
You want to listen to music and dance,
you don’t want me to click pause and use the microphone to softly speak poetry,
you don’t want me to sway between life and death; that’s not a dance you know.
I’m standing on the precipice of a song,
listening through the thin walls
to the eternal party that I’m not invited to.
And if I die now, there’ll be nobody to discover my body;
they’ll all be drunk and at the party,
and I’ll drift away,
a little soul with a little hope left,
wondering if heaven is only a room away.
She is a moth to flames,
fluttering so beautifully.
The night's light sparks her heart,
pumping doses of adrenaline.
Music booming, cocktail burning;
an Orange Twist in her hand.
Hey baby, can I get you another?
Goddamn! You fine as hell!
Hey cutie, wanna dance?
Yes, she is a moth to flames,
always fluttering so blindly.
Vodka scalds her tongue and down her throat;
confused yet she twirls in the blaze.
The strands of her life unravel into
another unfamiliar home,
with another unfamiliar face.
The smell of white lies lined across the table,
a familiar friend to ignite her heart's beat.
Its the Time. Of the year
to bring out the color
And start the flames
And use the cutter
The jubilant air sacks will float
Its finally the day that cant be late
And family and friends Are all around like a coat.
Let them sing their joyful song
But i wont sing along.
Luckily this is only a daylong.
Theyll have colored thorns on their head
Family and friends are. All ready to be fed.
The colored bread is ready to play.
People will even give me a box
On this special day.
Everyone will laugh and say yay or maybe hooray!
What a wonderful reminder celebrating,
A year closer to death.
Spring is coming here real soon,
but the snow it came here late,
for the tiny buds in early boon,
it's a shame they'll have to wait,
Confusing is the forecast,
so some may never bloom,
as a crystal blanket now lasts,
and the skies are colored gloom,
covered still in white- all glassed,
an still such dangers loom,
Yet as the waiting blossoms urge,
I see a hopeful lil little sprout,
I see a poking head- up serge,
relieving me of any doubt,
As the Winter Snowdrops splurge,
an the tallest one to shout,
"get up and grow"
"I mean c'mon
c'mon you must know-
it's our time to let it out!"
"C'mon Winter Aconite,
Robin Williams said?"
"Spring is Nature's way
of saying let's party!!!"
So come on then,
let's go up now an make
a lovely little bed,
they'll be plenty time to sleep again,
when we are all so slyly,
Ma Cherie © 2017