A long time coming*
Blurring the lines between what is real and what is fake, i think of you when i am dreaming awake. There is a man in a chair, within his hands he holds a gun, he wants a show, to show you, you are the one. He has 6 bullets, in his hand and his time has arrived, he awaits for the moment, love and death marry at his side.
He sits with his back to me, his shoulder is a blur and shift, i reach out to him to reassure him, and my mind starts to drift. My thoughts of you are not the only ones, i do not want to sit here watching you cleaning your guns.
I know my darling, that time has been hard, i know that at times i wish my heart was your bodyguard, i know you have seen things, that we both cannot of speak, my own heartbeat, is torn, its mouth is wretched and weak. I hold in my hands everything i thought i knew, i hold in my hands my love and memories of you, though they are marred from my own distaste, from my own assaults and my own bruised face. I watch him sit there and stare at the sun, i watch him sit there, on his lap is a gun, and i am real, am i real, or am i fake, i cannot tell if you are dreaming or i am awake.
I know times have been hard my love, i know this, i know it to be be true, i feel, i fell, i ran away into the arms of you. My own weary hands hold a gun i am not sure how to shoot, but i sit by your side, as you clean your military boot.
There are times i know, they have been hard, my brain is heavy, my memories are marred. When death has come and death has gone, how can we be the ones to walk away and carry on? How can i marry love, and hold hands with death, my eyes hold secrets and i grieve quietly and bereft. I held his hand once, i held it ****** tight, i held his face, as he fell asleep into a dreamless night.
My thoughts are heavy, it holds this gun, it hears bullets whip past my face, i see his face as he sees the sun. I hold my hand out for you, as you sit in your chair, i want to believe you are no longer there, but you are sitting with your gun in your hand as you sit on my throne, and my hand cannot let go, it is not its own.
My heart beats wildly, like a bird caught in flight, and i watch and i watch and i remember how you welcomed the night. I cannot see if you are real or if i am fake, i cannot tell what i see if i am dreaming or if i am awake. And every day and every where this is life in my vision, and i battle it down, swallow this view with succinct precision, and everywhere i judge upon peoples values, my morals of this mans decision.
I held his hand, i held his face, i held his dreams as he wandered darkly, blindly to some other place. I wanted to put my hand on the back of his chair, and whisper in his ear, it is me, i was really there. I want to know if this was real, was it something i dreamt? Were my inconsolable tears worthy of their lament? I want to take his gun and empty bullets on the floor, i want to turn him around and push him towards the door, i want to make him see that i am there, that i was here, and that i care. I want to believe that there is some good, as he began to see the night, i want to know he was ok, that he was alright.
I am marred, and i am torn, i was a purist, and now i am darkly reborn. I am frightened as i feel this, this man, and this bullet, in my chest; i wish i was your helmet, your boots, your pressed love letters, in your pocket in your chest. And i am tired, and i am weary of carrying this man, it was not that way, it was not that plan. It was not explained, nor can be, there is nothing more left in him, than there is in me. And i walk on and as i do i turn my head to the side, i take his bullets and all the tears i have cried, i take all these nameless faces that i pass by in the street, and i want to scream at them, and fall down and beg at their feet. I want them to see him, i want to show him their pain, i want him to see he did not die in vain. But my mind is cluttered and thoughts are impaired, and i am fearful, and i am ******* scared.
I am dreaming when i am awake, because that is what we do when we give and we take. I am here, i whisper, i am here, i say, i watch him sit by himself, in my dreams during the day. I keep myself awake with everything i do, because my memories are riddled with red, white, brown and blue. Therefore dreaming is no longer a nightly passion, it is a daily occurence, it is coping, in a fashion.
And majestically i throw my love outward and upward into the air, to show that i was thankful and that i care, and i reach out my burnt hand to his shoulder, as he sits in his chair. Take the bullets, and fire, just one more time, let me hear that sound, that heat, let the clocks unwind. Am i real, or am i fake, this is a question that keeps me awake.
Drugged and alone, i lie and try to sleep, though you still sit on your chair, and i watch you and weep. I am love, for you, i am loved, for you, i am 6 bullets in your chest, i am your helmet, i am your vest, i am your blue grey eyes, and your ***** smile, i am those stupid jokes you told once in a while, i am your friend, your companion and your light and your life, and my promise is that i will one day marry death and fall in love as his wife.
Do not worry, empty your gun, death has come, there is no need to get up and run. I tell you this in my dreams, as i lie awake, for everything you are, that you gave, I will gravely take your chair and make no mistake, in being your last goodbye.
