Plaid Shirts

They say the sky and the stars are a story written millions of years ago. What we see is an illusion, an image that no longer exists.

I think it is naive to have faith in such lies, to talk to the stars when the soul is dark and heavy, to find solace in a mirage. Yet I do it.

Isn’t it what I’m doing with you too?

I rest my heart on your broken promises and your illusionary words, because I have nothing else. Because beggars are not choosers and wishes aren’t horses.

I let you be the ray of sunshine when the darkness is engulfing me. Which is why I bear it when you kick my naked soul trembling in the blue cold, sans protection, sans the shields I wear for the world.

 

For I understand the cliche that the good comes with the bad.

For I understand that a cliche is a cliche because it’s a universal truth.

 

I choke on my tears night after night, dawn after dawn, wondering where you are, despite it all.

 

You promise your promises and lock me in dark rooms.

I, an unfermented mind, hold on to your words.

 

On the nights when the moon does appear, I look for you in it. Despite all of it. Inspite all of it.

I try.

 

I cry a million clouds over plaid shirts

because I don’t know how to let go

even when I know I should.

 

© That Girl in the Fray, 2018.  All rights reserved.

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The Silence in the Black and White

The piercing ache shoots from my legs

and gnaws upwards,

like a million buckets of ice covering every inch of my skin

to a point I don’t know if I’m cold or burning.

 

Your hands were what saved me, although I will deny it

Your touch was what made me feel human, although I will deny it

 

Meaningless dreams are the place we meet now

without the anchor of your vow

of forever

 

Silent dreams are where I see you now

because I can feel the drug leave my body

and if I hear your voice, I know I will relapse

 

I don’t look at the pictures anymore

I have lost my strength and crumbled

I don’t think of the happy times anymore

because I know I will fall and stumble

 

But this hollow ache

this blankness behind my mask

these screams in my chest

these cuts on my arms

won’t stop haunting me.

 

Yet I cannot stop dreaming in monochrome.

 

© That Girl in the Fray, 2018.  All rights reserved.

A Stormy Day

Pure satisfaction cannot be denied when the weather is in perfect consonance with the storm in your heart. To see the wind gurgle up dust and leaves and just blast it off the heads of all things and everything. To see chaos when that is all you feel inside. To feel the anger of the sky in the thunder brewing in the air that is far too heavy with the grayness of emotions. And to be maneuvering through it all while the world seems lost in the sudden darkness.

Because, finally, you can paint a picture of your pain for the world to marvel at. Finally, your pain has meaning in the most unprecedented way. Perhaps, not that unprecedented, for paintings of storms have existed before. Maybe the most poignant way then. Because the world cries to you about the pin pricks in their feet while you have been suturing wounds they refuse to see. And if they do, they diminish it to weakness of the skin to bleed, weakness of the blood to flow, weakness of the mind to feel.

You have to be brave, so that it’s easier for them to hurt you again without guilt.

You have to let go, so that they don’t have to deal with the ugliness of your broken heart anymore.

You have to be okay with it, because you are meant to suffer as all the happiness in the world is reserved for them.

You have to accept that they will crown their selfishness while you lie in a ditch gasping for air right before you choke to death.

© That Girl in the Fray, 2018.  All rights reserved.

Tar

I close my eyes and I see the truth

I see the color of my soul

suffocating blackness

I see the filth in my words and deeds

I see the layers of tar embedding every inch of my heart,

gulping every inch of blood, muscle, vein

I see the destruction I’ve caused, the ruin, the blasphemy

I see the venom I’ve spewed,

gurgling thick black bubbling muck out of my tongue and teeth

I see the lace of needles and nails I’ve tied around the delicate ankles of every life I’ve touched

I see the thorned grapevine I’ve wrung around their necks, layer by layer

round, round, round, round round

till the last breath choked out of their pale blue-purple pulped bodies

and I’ve smiled,

smiled I have for it has satiated the rakshasa that dwells within me

and glowered in the rotting smell of piles and piles

I have seen the tar embedding my black heart

The Raven that Flew Far and Far and Far and Far Away

A Raven once flew too far away from home

It ended up in a barren iced wasteland, all alone

Miles and miles of white devoured the black of the little being

It saw nothing for years on that icy scene

Heard no voice nor felt the beat of another heart

No one to confide to, no one to help heal its scars

no heat

no heat

No Heat

The ache of the thirst.

Fading memories of smiles laughter and mirth .

Starved of love and food

and affection and hope that never renewed

For days it prayed for its breath to stop, its blood to choke in its veins

Anything to stop the blinding tears and the endless pure honest pain

Alas, silence was all that answered its screams

it screamed and screamed

and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed

The White haunted even its dreams

But it is all untrue.

It is all an illusion.

The battle had left her blind and deaf.

Comfortably Numb

Hath time been an enslaved dove I keep chained in the chamber,

My bidding an edict etched in stone for its survival,

It would fly to the cinematic moments I lack the strength to delete

The photographs I speak to night after endless night,

So I would stop myself from feeling I finally belonged.

To moments so I would hold my tongue from giving away a thousand hidden sentiments.

I would scream at myself, think, think for your mind is but a padded lock,

Think, you fool, for you know it is but a masquerade.

I would cry a thousand tears at once

to not have enough for the single drops that fall for a thousand nights.

I would inflict enough wounds on myself to be numb to the fight.

Numb, for I am numb now to every star every thunder,

My soul embracing the deep slumber.

Beauty is dead, my sorrow is a vacant stinging hollow.

Skinny Love

Her breath pierces his soul.

She heals in the aura that is his.

Her laughter a thousand symphonies in gold.

His touch, a million electric heartbeats amiss.

She makes him dance in front of strangers in unknown towns.

He pushes her to embrace her storm, the parts she tucks away deep down.

She is his frozen lake in a summer breeze,

The fear of breaking her, he can hardly ever breathe.

She believes him to be a chimera, a mirage all in her head,

She knows the crinkles near his brown eyes are in her heart eternally etched.

The unspoken words in the graveyard between them mount high,

In the gentle wind, they kiss dandelion dreams of the other goodbye.