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Intentional
| Open Poetry #45 |
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Intentional |
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SlowlyFallAway Member
since 2008-08-29
Posts 279North Carolina |
Three years to build these walls. Cold metal and steel, impossible to bend. Keeping out all emotion, containing my innermost thoughts. Unrevealing. So much time and effort spent, just so I could feel protection. A sense of independence. No one sees me through these walls. Unbreakable, unshakeable. They've always kept me safe. Surrounded by lonliness, but with the feeling of false security. I sense him standing on the other side. Contemplating. How will he ever reach me? Three years to build these walls. Could I say a waste of time? My heart beats faster and my mind starts spinning. Adrenaline rush. No. This can't be happening. I hear him on the outside, whispering. Still silently thinking. Outsmarting me in a way I could have never imagined. He uses his imagination as stairsteps, fantasies become temptation. The more he reveals, the higher he gets. Until finally, he sits atop the wall. Staring down at me, smiling. Could all my attempts be failed? No words are spoken, but I already know. He's on my side.... Taking me by the hand, leading me to a place I've hidden inside of me. I swore I would never return, but curiousity brings out the worst in me. I never wanted to return here, to this level of dependency. But who am I to complain, to try to change my fate? Because though I walk a path formerly leading me beyond my greatest fears ... at least I'm not alone. And so it seems, we walked down the road less traveled, or maybe never traveled at all. They say what you don't know can't hurt you, only leave you with an aftertaste of regret, or possibly another level of knowledge? And when does fantasy become reality? When those actions are put into play, or when you find your heart believing that it's only the two of you that exist? How could such a barrier be broken, such a strong feeling be misplaced, forcing you into another world where right becomes wrong, and wrong simply has no consequence? Time becomes nonexistent as I crawl into this world I've learned to love. To loathe. But when nothing makes sense anymore, and clouded thoughts of who I've become blur my vision, what's left but for me to continue on the trail of pursuit of this lie I've made believe? Paper overcrowded with words, smearing ink on the page, still capable of understanding the misinterpretations he's leading me to base my insecurities on. I fear the room he talks about, where fanatasies are lived out, script is put into action, and no amount of words could describe the pain he promises to force upon me. Late-night conversations twist my view of reality into a monster that I'm at a constant battle with. A battle not to be won, but learned from. Fear eats away at my soul, my conscience never rests, even though the only enemy I'm facing is myself. My doubt to believe he'll carry through with his heartbreaking threat turns into anticipation. Am I willing to welcome the idea of a whole new outlook on the opposition, or am I terrified of the demons he holds at arms length? Gritting teeth through a wicked grin, how much poison can one's soul ingest before shattering into a million pieces; much like my heart has been prepared to do. Hazardous signs arise from all directions, but still I carry on, surrounded by darkness, or possibly the shadows from a silhouette I know not of. Fighting off distractions that catch nothing less than my complete attention, I see you standing in the doorway. The silhouette that casts the shadows, or the darkness that surrounds my soul? You watch me with those eyes, such seductive eyes, luring me beyond the phantom of my greatest fears. My head screams 'no' as I take a step towards you. Daddy always told me to follow my heart, but it too has been silenced in the awe of such a creative imagination. Once the point of insanity has been reached, and you no longer feel the need to breathe in order to follow through with his demands, you've come to the point of no return. This point ... this line ... I've damn well crossed. Time might be the key factor in this what-if case scenario, but it has become nothing more than the procrastination of consequence, someday to reach me, just not soon enough. No longer am I living in this dream of making it out unharmed, I've walked so far into his trap, that to make it out alive might be asking God for too big of a favor. But my options have worn thin, and there is no alternate escape. None but to press forward and kneel at the foot of my unworthy intentions. What was once found amusing has suddenly turned on me. Fate bares its teeth, challenging hope to a battle, much too intense for such a shallow emotion to fight. So I swallow my fear and embrace the weapon I've been handed- my own imagination. If, by chance, this is a nightmare thought up in the subconscience realms of my mind, please, Master, wake me now. I feel the sweat dripping from my bloody face, salty tears rest upon my swollen lips, and deaths sword glistens in the light of fake illusions. Though the battle began when I was first pried from my Mothers womb, my eyes were blinded by the false sense of independence I fought so long to attain. Now stranded on the island of deception, with nothing more than a blank piece of paper and this rugged pen, I've become not obligated, but forced to carry on my former beings legacy. I now stand face to face with nothing less than the man I've grown to trust. He helped me to explore the deepest parts of my soul, finding meaning in truths I didn't even know existed. But could this two-sided man have the power to spawn such a significant purpose inside the person I've become? Or is he merely a reflection of the thoughts I never could express? Like a figment of my imagination, one day here, and the next ... banished into the bottomless pit of my broken heart; shattered and jagged from the slavery of my mind. Could it be that all misinterpretations of what I call 'reality' have vanished? Carried off into the oblivion of the worlds sorrow on the wings of depression? Leaving me with the knowledge that the future is but an outcome of everything I never knew I had. A pandemonium pushing me to the brink of exhaustion? Or am I stuck in a game played by only the best, merely a pawn pushed around for entertainment? Could this be the end of all I've ever hoped for, where my minor accomplishments are qualified 'useless', or is it just the beginning of a new chapter yet to be written... My story unfolds in unusal ways. Unimaginable scenarios that only the sickest of minds could conjure up. Still the last remaining barrier standing between me and my obsessions is, indeed, reality. To be grateful for my control, or angry about your inhumane ability to manipulate, are just some of many questions I find myself constantly pondering. But what good does pondering do when you future has 'death to treasonists' written in your own blood anyways? Bleeding wrists from consecutive cigarette burns, instigated by none other than the one who created this alter ego of yourself. Blistering bubbles of liquid, incoherant to the scars around them. What better way to feel no pain than to combine the overwhelming feelings of depression and suicidal tendencies into the loaded gun you've had aimed at yourself all along? Has temptation become a friend of the personality you long to meet, or an enemy of the imagination you've long since had? When the fear lets up and the bleeding stops, I know nothing will have changed. I'll still be trapped in his room of fantasies, tied down to the bed of disbelief, blindfolded with the curtains of indecisiveness. Like a dog, he smells fear, but still curious as to why I'm uncomfortable with the whole situation, he continues to lead me astray. Fooling me into believing that we could ever exist in a world that knows no pain. He crawls inside my brain, once again, forcing information I've spent so many years pushing to the back of my mind; just to resurface, now easily in reach of his grasp. The anger boils within me, calling out to all the lies I've tried to forget. Requesting that they gather around to seek venegeance on my innermost secrets. Withholding the most valuable of truths, all for the same cause of proving me wrong. This lifestyle that I'm living has become nothing more than an upgraded version of the monster this world raised me to be. Still I insist on feeding from my failed attempts at discovering any remnants of truth left behind from this man so intriguing. He leaves me with nothing to stand by, but everything to go on. Lured into making decisions not meant for me to decide, but fate itself. What do you do when the weight of a friends conscience rests solemnly on your shoulders, but you're too weak to even stand your own ground? Do you run away from the only one who's ever taken you for what you were, or do you enlist in the worlds army that fights only against you? I'm screaming through the confinement of my own four walls. Searching frantically for any sign of direction that could lead me to the surface of my own suicide. Lost in the frenzie of my lustful desires, begging for anyone to help me to my feet again. Satisfaction; my new destination, and what should be out of the question, is usually portrayed as my final answer. So here I am, unoriented once again, my body lies limp on the floor. My bruises bleed together, the colors blend, looking like a darker version of the night sky. I feel the blood slowly draining from my body and I sense him crouching next to me, exploring every inch of flesh with those two ragged hands, moving up and down my body, until he rests one palm against my chest. My heart beat normally again, and the blood stopped seeping through the sparatic cuts imbedded in my skin. He arose from his crouching position, but the life I had left inside of me had already sang it's final farewell in my last breath. This is me without you. What more is left to say when the tides have turned, washing away the innocence of a child, carrying your purity out to sea? You find yourself digging your own grave, plotting your own death, denying your own thoughts. This is what I have reduced myself to, a cold and lonely soul attempting everything in my power only to avoid eye contact with a man so deceiving. Are his lack of emotions portrayed in imagination, does he know the feeling of pain? What will it take to distract the moster guarding his integrity? To disect the rotten core of his traumatizing addictions? Could he be the very one I doubt existed? The one sent from the depths of another world, given the task to rescue me from this nightmare I live and bring me back to sanity? Or is he nothing more than a mirror image of my imagination? This character I've made believe, to carry me through the night on eagles wings, allowing me to unleash the mental imagery of a perfect world? When in reality, all he is, is a dried out piece of clay, molded by pain and rejection. Torn apart by deception and letdowns. All-in-all, destroyed by misleading signs pointing him in the wrong direction. His reality was murdered by the world's moral judgement, forcing him into the back of his own mind. There he sits, and there he waits, longing for nothing more than a sense of understanding. Pain is now gain, and with every ounce of motivation I lack, I make up for in ignorance. My feelings block the thought process of my mind, which therefore puts my heart on hold. What most would find a burden, I see as the perfect oppurtunity to feed off the knowledge of those unsuspecting victims. Much like he would think. Afterall; wasn't this intentional? Emily Shives |
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| © Copyright 2009 Emily Shives - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Robert E. Jordan Member Rara Avis
since 2008-01-25
Posts 8541Philadelphia, Pennsylvania |
Yo dear Emily, I would break this up into several poems, and aim for more simplicity. You might also think about putting this in the third person. Love Bobby |
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kindredspirit Member
since 2009-05-19
Posts 156 |
If your walls are impenatratable, then you could suffucate behind them. Sometimes the best thing to do is to take them down, brick by brick, fear by fear. That's when you know that you have nothing left to lose, and everything to gain, by fighting your battles with a weapon other than a chosen isolation and expression. Sometimes it's the ones who choose to climb over your wall who inwardly wield the power to destroy you. A lack of walls will help you see them coming, see it coming, and you will be able to defend yourself against the onslaught of his poison. You deserve respect from a man, not a self-absorbed game of manipultive powerplay. "Me without you" is still "me" because "me" doesn't have a "U" in it, unless the word absorbs it into itself: Then, occasionally, you could spell a different word, a better word, but often all that is scrawled is a jumble of incoherent letters. Even if you wrote in ink, (in blood), you can still pull out a fresh piece of paper, and start over. "What will it take to distract the moster guarding his integrity" Perhaps, as a form of defense, he hired this monster to guard his integrity. Then he accepted his own personal brand of darkness without any form of nagging guilt, and is able to steal your demons and hurt you with past versions of yourself. (They're yours. He has no right to touch them, to wield them as weapons against your vulnerability.) You can write him away, because words are stronger. You can pen pages of endearing phrases like "love" and "hate", but in the end, YOU deserve respect. |
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