Some-thing different that I' worked on.
by, 04-19-2012 at 11:04 PM (601 Views)
I just love working on different things It was going to re-written and translated, maybe turned into a book, until I noticed this icky cliche for me.
It's just a little thing for a friend, whom happens to be a girl so the whole writing thing was interesting.
Have you ever thought of a simple monotone fact as the one about how you exist. Loneliness, innocents, longing, and love, are what truly affects us.
As in any childs paradise,there is, the beloved toy. A toy that smiles whenever, and for what-ever.
A toy played with every-where every-time , the one toy the child sleeps with.
When that child is grown up, that toy becomes pieces, along side all the others. At first loves contact, the
child never lets the toy go. But as time goes on, it's thrown aside as if it
never existed. Even the memory fades.
What that toy felt, in it's bleak yet humble life and some-times eternal life is what some of us have learned to live with.
Never has she had the desire to reach this place. This lonely abyss that has been stained by her room.
Crude and venomous, it's now a trap for ideals, this self-pity is all that she feels in this space now. She wishes for calm.
For now, though she is as a super-nova in intensity and a black-hole in ominous, and as happy as grief. But just like the stars, it's just an evolution from the stage of a child-hood into maturity.
Awake now she is, to the smell of the abstract, the smoke, and the fog and smog. She smells now the incense attempting to smear the tabaco with-in her apartment and in her chest.
The weird man-made smell of a modern rising sun.
The memories of those hypocrites, and friends, those liars, and joyess people were now burdened with a dampening cold. No matter how hard she tried to think purely of them.
She was sitting on display, in a corner. Helping to fit the singing crickets into the atmosphere. Rarely, the soothing rhythmic singing, the uninterrupted concerto would be up-staged by the motors cruising down the street.
Memories of the simple routine of a limp world was plated in crushing in-difference which surged like cold static through her arms, as if a cold numbness sweeping towards her heart.
Discomforted she felt from this familiar nuisance. Closing her eyes, just hoping that all she observed would be mistaken and she would awake to full day, full I say of play-fullness and laughter, just like when we were young.
"Ok I must think, quick, my ears are starting to ring again, is this the sound of silence or the sound of hell, I wish I could scream so loud that it'll go away, forever"
Opening her eyes, with the desire to make it all go away. The ringing, the smell, cars, smog, and this hole in time that she has found.
"Ok, that didn't work, where are your right now, your wisdom, if you have any would be nice right now, it wouldn't be so bad for you to hold me, maybe your heart could beat loud enough to keep this silence out"
War mth becomes her as she begins to ignore the pain she herd in her ears, and yet this romantic crusade, is still with no direction.
She can't imagine his face, she tries to imagine his body, she feels a passion flooding her soul and absorbing everything that was so bad inside, yet she didn't quite understand it.
She had everything, and it wasn't as if it was all horribly destroyed.
It's just this moment now, in between yesterday and today that really amplified the missing piece of her heart.
"I must be living in a very tolerable ignorance, that's it! I'll just start being more open to things, that should do it"
Coming to terms with the regrets from naive mistakes, that we all have at least 2 of. Guilty she was of how she has no-one here now to tell her anything.
"Maybe, he's a girl, and she can understand me, but what color would her hair be?"
It wasn't a fantasy she was willing to contemplate right now
A few steps away, was the bed. Still awaiting, as if a toy whom begged to be played with. She laid down, wondering if she was alone right now.
"The door is creeping, I hear some whispers"
She didn't know what door, but some door in the house was next to people, people she felt were going to play with her.
And that it closed.
"What was that, who was that, what'd they say, was it Dad, was it a guest?"
"mhhhhiiihihiii, I'm obsessing over a frikkin door and some chatter"
The only thing she brought on upon her-self was self-pity. Now she was a lunatic staring at a pond grasping at the miss-directed image reflected by waters power, and eventually attempting to paint on it.
In her war-m silk pajamas, and her thick down comforter, she felt as if a queen. A content look drew wake, to waves of maybe eccentric with an air of sophistication upon her forehead.
Now she was a genius, gone were all the childish thoughts, and the innocence to conquer sins. A great pride over-took her feelings now as she felt superior to everyone in the whole world.
"Who else would've of thought, some-one naive and stupid, like me"
"I should, sleep, my hands are cold...remember those sweet war-m cheeks?, put your 'cold shaking hands on them, war m them, feel my neck, feel my heart"
Hugging herself, she gently caressed the parts of her that were the most longing for love as she fell, deep, and far into sleep.
"It's 5 in the morning and I'm still not breathing well, I'm breathing in and deep, I'm breathing out and short. It's hot under the covers, and my hands can't stand still. My eyes are closed and I'm almost floating, is that my heart throbbing so gently in my body? What would it be like to not feel, anything. To be rid of all these obsessive thoughts. But no matter how badly I want these things, my feelings will only grow stronger, especially my emotions. It's torture for me to get so sens---sseee---zzzzive."
(Where her last thoughts as she dozed away)
It's 6 in the morning and the birds are all painting the day. They sing of what we will do and who we will meet. But they don't just sing about us. If we could hear the birds and not just listen to them, than we would know what we're doing wrong now and later.
The sun is now shinning on the trees that live in the furniture, and maybe one day they will grow roots and leaves again. The carpet is slowly going from cold to war-m and soon it will be comforting to walk upon.
The pillow is soft, almost as if to be made of heaven, and dream after dream, keep occurring. As if the birds are telling a bed-time story.
A song begins to sing. A royal tune. It's 7 in the morning and the alarm on her phone is going off.
"Can't I just escape, maybe get a new brain"
As a child, filled with aspirations, escape was never anything that could be clearly perceived. This idea of escape only grows into the desire of suicide as you grow older though.
But you have to see life like a box of chocolates. You never know what
your gonna get next.
That line made me say "End of line"