Hello there, dearie

The one that got away
No…
One I was too scared to connect with

There they were, looking at me as they did, smiling patiently while I hesitated
To push them away was my only option
Fear took hold because being vulnerable is only something the strong can handle
Only once have I taken such a step and it almost killed me, literally

It’s not the first time they’ve been by my side on the vast dreamscape
Such will never be anymore
That times passed and the opportune moment with it

We are foolish children in adult bodies
Still cowering in the corner scared of being alone
Frozen and unable to move
Hiding behind our strength and willingness to suffer

All that is yearned for is to allow it to happen
To fall deeply in to that abyss again
That will always be my most cherished memory and deepest regret because

It..
She…
You broke my heart.

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Man Bun

Man with the bun on top your head
Woke you are with talk of Peace, Love & Utopia
Yet ignore the waiting staff you do
Ignorant and rude to them you are
Your date has yet to notice you’re not a rare Blue Rose but a venue flytrap
My place it is not to save her from this folly
Just know I see you
It’s like looking in to a broken mirror from a past I’d rather forget
Lament and regret filling the cracks
Redemption sought yet never found, remember this when you’re old and bald
Man with the bun on top your head

 

I am insane

Is it me?

Am I the only one to think this way?

Maybe they were right all along….

Perhaps I did go mad.

It could be that in fact my mind snapped beyond repair.

In finding myself all those years ago I lost everyone else, or is that madness too?

For it to be a crime to say ‘it is what it is’, punishable by incarceration, the ruin of your reputation via slander and the loss of respect, am I really the one who’s mad?

I must be.

After all, the majority has never been wrong, has it….

Apart from that time with the Nazis, or when Japan invaded China, or even when the conquest and slavery of native america and the trafficking of their indigenous people was considered ‘normal’.

No, I am the mad one.

The majority is and has never been wrong, right?

Burn Before Reading

For the first time in a long time it crossed my path again. I had forgotten that I had made a copy just incase I needed one as contingency, holding it in my hand I feel nothing…

No spike anticipation
No increased pulse
No flurry of emotion
Nothing…

The sheer thought of reading it just one more before I burn it has crossed my mind frequently over the passing days since its return to me. To read the lies once again, to relive that fateful event to its fullest, to feel suffering again.

Why is it we feel the most when we’re suffering?

The fear of the unknown, the fear of death essentially.

This sends the electrical impulses through the brain, it stimulates are senses, it heightens our awareness of all surroundings, it becomes intoxicating, it becomes pure poison.

The truth though… I will not read it again. I will wait until the dark of night and go to a place that only I know. The place where it all began and the pace that it will all end.

How many years has it been now since that ill fateful day?

I have lost track, but I know there is one who hasn’t. I know the pains they will face upon reading anything I have written because for the most part, this was started all because of her. I wish I could cast her memory in to the pits of hell and be rid of, but that isn’t possible. While the memory will fade it will always be there, lingering in the shadows and while I can’t truly hate that memory I can choose to ignore it and build new memories upon it.

Try as I might to keep those I care for from harms way the more distant I become, because I know none of them want to here what I really want to say. The real words that sit in my heart would be met with hostility, anger, sadness and pain, emotion that those closest do not deserve to experience. Instead I shall keep these words under lock and key, removed from this existence because there is no need for me to say them.

Reading back through the endless scribe I cringe at how pathetic I sounded…

I cringe at how I became a pawn in her game
I cringe at how I was so wrong
I cringe at it all.

The flames will purge and purify my soul… Finally I will be free.

History

I find it undeniably true that history repeats itself time and again, but when we seek to change the impending outcome no matter the course of action the end is still the same way.

Maybe it always will be the same, or maybe we just lack the desire to make it different…