Where there’s no longer hope in the cries of babes
Where there’s no longer hope in the cries of babes
Can you find me in the dark —
Fitted among the many souls that are strewn across your path?
Will you recognise my voice?
The echo of which bleeds with the agony of time long past.
They say we are bound but I wonder at times if it’s just a fated lie,
One that was created to make us feel like maybe there’s more to this.
Am I waiting on a dream that will never come?
Maybe this is the dream.
Who says dreams have to be some grand thing —
Something that will touch a part of you that’s hidden and precious?
This could be it.
This could be all there is.
And all we have to do is create what we want like in our fantastical dreams at night —
When we put together fantasies and nightmares borne of our subconscious selves.
Still, what’s life without a little hope, a little mystique?
As a creator of this reality, maybe I will bring you to life,
Then turn it into something fatebound and magical,
Because, why not make things a bit more interesting?
Either way, fate or dreamscape, I’m here.
I will be here…
Surrounded by shadows.
Patiently waiting for you to recognise my light.
How do I cry for a loss that feels superficial but deep?
How do I want or define something I’m not sure I want to keep?
I love you. I do.
You know this.
But love, to me, is bullshit.
Oh it’s great in the moments of early thrills.
It speaks volumes when things are covered in silk.
Its death is simply inevitable…
The visceral groans that purr against my skin, my throat, my groin…
What is this feeling that envelopes my blood?
This feeling that causes me to yearn beyond thoughts and just languor on the edge
And stretch with need as I try to clench my womanhood into submission.
Why do I submit?
Why should I?
The answer is slow, though not always welcomed.
Is this what true love feels like?
Is this what it means to commit and actually stay committed?
It’s a hard thrill, a crazy thrill, a painful thrill… but still a thrill.
Was anyone ever worth this before?
Did my tongue not go dry at a missing before?
Did I not yearn and love so hard that this urge cascaded before?
I can’t tell you now,
But this feels new.
Here I am sitting on the edge of sanity.
Clenching my thighs and thinking it’s almost a year before your entry.
If this isn’t love I don’t know how to define the taste.
My thoughts and feelings make it so hard to assuage.
In my dreams, you love me with your tongue in and out like a stream.
You rip open my body and make the universe scream.
God! You love me so hard that each pore steams.
And, still, my insanity beams.
How do I calm the beast inside?
I feel trapped because it’s so hard to take apart these times.
I just go by the moments that temper my skin,
And hope against hope that, eventually, you’ll accept my sins.
Oh how you wooed me.
How you brought me to the edge and then back.
How you promised me feelings of euphoria when I would just be sitting here – basking, waiting – yearning for the other.
What do you have that I don’t have?
These lies that you proffer and the pain that follows it’s just… it’s so much, and so little…
If only these moments could last – the thrills, the good stuff, all the brilliant things but, they never do.
Only pain follows.
But still, I yearn.
I crave more.
More of you?
More of what you give me.
More of what I get.
You are my absent thrill… Always.
And I thank you. I thank you for that.
They say you’re my enemy, but you’re my friend – you’re one of my best friends!
You’re always there for me, even though I know you’re killing me as I take you in…
But, that’s not important. We all die soon anyway.
Thank you for being there for me.
My poison. My thrill.
Below the smiles lie the true hearts that beat,
The sadness and unreputed pain that never bleeds.
This “cool land” that takes centre stage,
Is just another faceted belief that makes it easy to sleep.
The honor, the respect – what are these things?
Do they shelter a deep mourning of expressions never seeped?
They smile and apologise to cover the pain,
But does their true worth ever form fates?
They live in a bubble of pacifist needs,
But do the moments of retribution ever leave?
Living on the outside looking in – countering the moments that never exist.
The work is exhausting, though one would not think why,
And the strong shoulders remain, but never for cries.
One yearns and controls the seconds that come,
And sits quietly while the food stays in control.
This measure of thinking that this world is the best,
Is just a measure that tolls the black bird’s nest.
Never sigh or show the minutes that dwell,
Or you’ll be placed in the most unforgivable hell.
Letting emotions go free is not what is good,
Let’s keep it hidden – locked, under the hood.
If we keep the moments of pain under clasp,
We’ll be following the rules of the open past.
Times like this, I wish that when I see the truths I’d remain unbent.
But those aren’t the rules of such a surreal life,
There’s a price for comfort and polite smiles.
How much would you pay to live in a world
That’s covered in trust but soothed in dirt?
“I will respect you ‘til my end”, that’s what they say, yes?
Just stay within the box and it’ll all be set.
It’s safe in this bubble while the world strolls by,
Because these moments are just lent from the human mind…