Tuesday, 07 April 2009

• A Few for the Road

  I didn't intend to post these. I'm actually surprised that they made it to paper, let alone the internet. I originally wrote them on my arm, with the intention of thinking on them for a time, then letting them go. But...
  
  A Few for the Road

  I.

  I'm so sick of being unwanted,
  But if I was aught else,
  Would I be satisfied?

  I'd rather my heart be anything but empty,
  Anything but broken,
  But if I had a few drops with which to fill it,
  Would they not spill themselves into the dust?

  I'd rather die than feel another (full) year
  Of pain unintended,
  But if I slew my pain, my self
  Would I damn myself to an eternity of death?

  I've broken my heart to avoid breaking others,
  More times than necessary.
  I hate to say it:
  I'd gladly break yours to avoid it.

  The reins are in your hands,
  The ball in your court.
  Grind me to dust,
  Or try to fill a shattered vessel.

  II.

  You the song, and I the singer;
  Must I flee, or may I linger.
  With my broken, callused finger
  May I touch and hold
  Your hand? And will you take the chances
  To improve our circumstances?
  Don the shoes and step the dances.
  I'll walk as I'm told.

  III.

  
  I'm no longer able to take joy in love.
  It's become an utterance synonymous with torture,
  And though I know it wasn't your intention,
  You've caused me a great deal of (premature) pain.

  Because you don't see me
  As I see you,
  And you don't see me
  As you see him.

  Because you don't say it,
  I know your answer
  To the question
  I've yet to ask.

  The unspeakable thought remains unspoken
  And nonexistent.

  Nobody thinks that thought
  Because nobody thinks.
  

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