the end of an era.

it's more and more and more and more.
time for a re-evaluation.
i call this my mid-life reinvention.

you are nothing to me.
good lighting and cold hands were all you needed.
inside my head and the worst place to be.
but i have realized that i am more than the sum of your desire.
i will never give myself to you again.
crawling out of the windows,
there go the compliments that were just words.
a despicable march for the ages.
find someone who can give you what you require.
for now, i will sit back and simply admire,
the fact that you can get through a single day.
too be perfectly honest,
you are the least deserving.

i am moving on and moving up.
better days.
happy endings.
my time is coming, i can feel it in every sense.
patiently arriving the coming of my fate.
tomorrow,
you are just a distant and sarcastic memory.

screaming infielities.

your words never meant anything,
but how much i would give for mine to be similar.
i'm trading up for you.
it was a fantasy of illusion, that much i do know now.
i just wanted a warm body to call my own,
you couldn't even give me the satisfaction of that.
complicated kindness.
which is worse?
i longed to hear you on the other end of the line.
breathing, whispering, thinking.
to claim to fame what i've been waiting for.
it was petty and it was foolish.
i am not that person who you thought i was.
i am not that naive to think there was a "spark"
it was romanticism at it's best and worst.
i am a heap of mess and emotion on your floor.
perhaps when it's all said and done, you might remember my sympathy and smile.
i doubt it, but it never hurts to hope.
you can wait for me now.
it is never coming back.
and yes, i will go on and on about this, at least until my self comes pouring from the inside out in front of you.
only then will your swelling music resume inside my plot again and provide the soundtrack to the tragedy.
your voice never sounded as beautiful as when you were lying through your teeth or saying nothing at all.


conclusion?
liars turn me on.

shallow headache syndrome.

permanent confusion racks at my insides.
claiming dishonesty and wondering what really wrong.
am i strange, am i different?
wouldn't you like to know.
i will not give you any piece if me unless i can be sure that you are sure to keep it safe.
times changed and so have i.
others seem caught in the background noise.
sometimes, and only then, i feel so much older.
youth never did agree with me.
i want to know who you really are.
not who you pretend to be, not what you were with her.
my own, distinct version of you.
i can show you things you never imagined.
just.
trust me.

the first and the last.

you are masquerading as the shadow of a gentleman.
full of pretty words and a very persuasive mouth.
charming, i’m sure.
but underneath and there within waits the true, tortured self.
a man masking past pain with the punctuating vulgarity.
winning bedposts and breaking spirits.
she knew about those late night visits.
she heard the voices on the other end of the line.
you weren’t what anybody would call subtle.
you have hurt her more than you could ever comprehend.
yet, she returns.
slightly more battered and berated but with that same delicate smile.
you use her as nothing more than a pawn in your twisted games but to her this means so much more.
she loved you.
she still loves you, for reasons unknown.
she can’t fix you.
neither can the luscious lips you lie so convincingly about.
“i never meant to hurt you baby”
“she never meant anything to me”
how little worth your worlds hold now.
your eyes could never lie, you know.
bright, brown orbs speaking volumes about your whereabouts.
but yet pulling inwards, even against a strong conscious screaming to stop.
you’re a liar and i love it.
that poor unfortunate girl,
she will always find her way back to you.