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Wax Crayons
Contributed by
SensitiveSoAbused
on
Monday, 9th January 2006 @ 06:36:47 PM in AEST
Topic:
anguished
|
Flesh encasing cold tenderness
don’t stop
shatters and implodes
don’t ***** stop running.
To sit with blue hands
to stare at nothing’s growing pixilation…
***** this all.
Thoughts of you and past fantasies of realities
Tearing through my head and my heart,
Too young to imagine sun
pass into night.
Too cold to imagine melting
of my shattered form.
I’m collapsed and pitiful, as I always knew.
***** this encryption. ***** these ***** rules.
***** this as anything to be appraised,
Gold shall not come of death.
To hear you from your trembling lips for the last time.
To hear me not saying what I want
and shocked into disgusting silence for this circumstance…
Thoughts of you are tearing through my head.
Doesn’t it matter you’re lying in my arms?
It doesn’t matter you’re lying cold and stiff
in my arms your lips are blue.
Doesn’t it matter when we danced
in the rain I’m frozen to you,
to the wish of breath into your stiff figure.
You’ve died by my hands, and I see nothing upon awakening.
Not your sleeping form,
a corpse of my own making.
Repulsion unjustified, of myself now is logical.
You are gone and I can’t help but wonder.
Does it matter that you can’t even tell me to shut up
ever again??
Am I ***** strong enough for this?
i’ve movies of a historical archive
Playing, a warped record top a blackened tunnel with no hope of red…
Cast iron is cold and shall I go to bed and scream and tear my heart out?
Re-introduce my retired tool of whitened knuckles?
I remember well; I still have those pictures,
I feel a burning ripping slicing and my toes curl
at two millimetres to a certain relief.
When I look at it I see myself and not you.
As a fool and what’s to stop me
from and with a new blade?
Please don’t affirm my fears, for I can see
this as the irreversible cataclysm of an apocalypse,
a reaching with stretched arms and fingers
…as we swiftly recede to pained memories…
Will it matter in ten years with someone new
when I can only think of you
and wonder if you are thinking of me?
Do my manifestations hold anything other than panicked illogics?
(playing wax crayons that break…)
It’s me overreacting. It’s not the end of the world,
but I’m scared; Cerise, hold me somehow
with no words and point no fingers.
You are forced to hike your flowing ivory dress up to avoid the mud.
I’m hopping to try and navigate, to no avail. The ground is squishy, but we’ve just set the tarp and the sleeping bag and quilt out.
We sit in front of the glowing sunset and you cuddle into me; I pull the blanket close around us and under our chins, and smile at you softly. You smile back and hug me like the end of the world… I’ve got one hand on your stomach and the other is captivatingly tracing the delicate lines of your lips, the contours of your round little button nose, your eyebrows. Your eyelashes flutter and you gaze into the depths of my eyes and hardly breathe. My fingertips caress your cheek, and slip along your jaw line and over your ear, gliding through your long dark curls with itching satisfaction.
I lie back, and draw you onto me, where you cuddle into my body and tuck your nose into the crook of my neck. You close your eyes and sigh, squeeze me tight just to make sure the body you feel is real. My hand is around your waist and the other is still playing with your hair, running my fingers through it and down your back, almost maternally. You make a little noise of contentment and wriggle a little closer into me. I tilt my head to kiss your forehead, and you half prop yourself up almost suddenly, and affix your eyes upon me in undisguised wonder and bliss.
I sit up again, and you straddle my lap and slip your hands behind my neck, drawing them through my thick dark hair, still gazing at me. Your eyes travel over my chest, my arms, the curve of my neck, my jaw line… You linger a long while in my steely blue eyes, and then finally your gaze rests on my lips. Yours are quivering.
My stomach is flipping over and again. I am aware of the weight and warmth of you on my lap, your legs wrapped around me. Your fingers explore the contours of my chest and play with my shirt cuff, but your eyes never leave my lips. Very slowly and gently, savouring the moment, I kiss your forehead, then your nose, then your lips. I take your bottom lip in my teeth and nibble and tug on it gently. Then you kiss me. Like a breath of fresh air you wrap your arms around me and paint a masterpiece on my lips and beyond, in a consummation that steals my breath and leaves my heart aching for the lack of an end. You nibble on my lip this time, my earlobe…
“…I love you.” I say, almost a whisper, your trembling lips only millimetres from mine. You don’t say anything. Instead, you simply embrace me with all of your strength, lie me back and cuddle into me once again. Your head is on my chest and I am caressing your body tenderly.
Soon, your breath deepens, and I know you are asleep. I stay awake for as long as possible, to guard you and protect you, before slipping into a deep, comforting sleep of serenity to awake next to you…
There’s blood on the walls.
The jagged sound of your sobs as I hang up
from these rafters echo through my diseased mind
forever to tear me apart…
Never will I hear you scream or moan again.
Broken glass and razored metal shapes
a model of me to come.
I need stitches, but don’t we all.
I’ve died by my hands, and I see nothing upon awakening.
Not your sleeping form, but a corpse of my own making.
[2006-01-08 21:59:25]
Copyright ©
SensitiveSoAbused
... [
2006-01-09 18:36:47]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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Re: Wax Crayons
(User Rating: 1 )
by Former_Member on
Tuesday, 13th March 2007 @ 10:06:39 PM AEST
(User
Info | Send
a Message)
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| A very tormented poem. This was excellent! |
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