“Fucking fuck fuckfuckfuck!” He mutter-shouts to himself under his breath, “This is not going ‘according to plan’.'”
Too close. Fragmented faces following a gaze.
Too close! Broken and betrayed, belittled and dazed.
Too close. Distracted by the darkness; driven mad.
Too close! Picture perfect profile pulsates badly.
BACK UP! Back off. Back down.
Spotlight shining sends shimmering sparkles. Back up.
Radiant rays are rescuing ribbons, back up.
The mirror cracked just makes many moonbeams. Back up.
Illustrious luminations light fires, back up.
button encrusted, denim warmth-giver
no leather. no letter. no ring.
just a temporary gift to cut the chill
psychedelic, groovy foot-thumper
no mush. no promise. no expectations.
just an album shared
days roll into weeks; weeks — years; years to a lifetime.
and still I never could.
strangers become friends; friends — lovers ; and love is forever.
but I never could.
heart sends words; words — mouth; mouth stays silent.
because I never could.
I never could.
I never should.
…I never would…
silence to words; words to paper; paper to you.
strangers to friends; friends to strangers; then back again.
a lifetime rolls back into days.
And I Was.
One day we were.
And then we weren’t.
And I wanted to cry.
I still was.
But you were not.
And you became relegated to the recesses of my mind.
And I forgot to cry.
One day I found you again.
And we were again.
But you weren’t you. And I wasn’t me.
So we weren’t us anymore.
So I cried.
And I still am.
If you ask me how I’m doing;
If you wonder how I’m feeling;
I will lie to you.
I’ll tell you I’m fine.
Things are going OK.
I might hint at the truth of the matter.
I might stumble through my words.
I might give you a half-truth.
I might give you a non-answer.
But I’ll probably never tell you the truth.
I’m not fine.
Things are not OK.
I’m drowning in fear and worry.
You probably ask because you care.
But I am not capable of believing it.
Because I don’t care. So how could you?
We are all conditioned to hear these questions as small talk.
We are all conditioned to respond in kind.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Yeah, nothing much.”
Here’s the deal: “choose one Cure album, and make a story, using every track on it.”
And here’s my story:
*The kiss* is the key, but there is a *catch*, it could be *torture* … *If only tonight we could sleep*, then we would be rested for the journey. Your role in all of this is by far easier, *why can’t I be you* this time? I know, I know, it is all because of *how beautiful you are*. I’m the ugly one, so I get the crap job, I have to make my way through *the snake pit* and the other perilous tasks. *Hey you*, your task is *just like heaven* in comparison. *All I want* is a refrigerated suit for the next task, after all, you wouldn’t believe just how *hot, hot, hot* it is going through that oven *one more time*. You, you get to sit and just look pretty, *like cockatoos* on display. Licking the *icing sugar* off the silver spoon. The perfect job for *the perfect girl*. *A thousand hours* later, and all I can to is *shiver and shake*, and hope that this *fight* has been worth the prize.
As the inky cloud of death fills her eyes,
he is the last image burned onto her retinae.
In time, that too fades, and all is forgotten.
An explosion lifts her out of her grave
and returns her to the realm of the living.
princess, alone in her tower,
sharing her song.
those lucky enough to stop,
words strike the heartstrings
like felt hammers on piano wire,
infecting you with her song.
your song calls back,
and the princess listens.
for that brief exchange,
the tower dissolves
and she is not alone.