Morphine Melody

Unsaid words well up and sting my eyes.
I just want to forget.

I start the steady morphine melody drip,
one note at a time,
one song sustaining my heartbeat.

The pain is there, the twist in my heart.
The tug of phantom pain on my hand that itches for you.

Sometimes a line blurs it all out.
A handful of words that slip into my bloodstream and put me to sleep.
And sometimes, it lets me forget.

Sometimes the drug doesn't work,
It just paints the pain in vibrant colors.
But I let it pierce my ear and then my mind and last my heart,
drowning in the sound of forgetting you.
Without ever forgetting you at all.

Almost Midnight

It's almost midnight and I'm choking on how much I hate you.
It's clawing its way up my throat, screaming to be set free.
It's burning everything away from the inside out.
It's filling up my lungs like tar, clogging them and suffocating me.
All I can hear are the lies, all I see is your smile and the hiding daggers in your eyes.
It's almost midnight and I can't breathe because of you,
because of all you've done to me.
The way you broke me, the way you lied, the way you got my hopes up.
It's taking up too much space and I can't think straight anymore.
It's almost midnight and I can't help but hate you for who you turned out to be.

Hunger (from October daily prompt)

Desire gnaws at me like hunger.
It's painful.  Unavoidable.  Persistent.  Deadly.
It wrenches my stomach and pounds against my head.
It makes me dizzy.  It makes me sick.
It's far beyond the mild craving I once felt; the one I could live without.  This, however, is nothing like that.  That craving was uncomfortable, but it would pass.  All I had to do was wait the feeling out.  But I waited out too many cravings and now I need it.
It's no longer uncomfortable but achingly necessary.  I can feel the weakness and fatigue settling into my bones.  Without you, I can only go on for so long before I start falling apart.
The twinge in my chest is all consuming, threatening my existence.  It'll start there; the failure of my vital organs.
First my heart that broke will give out for good.
Then my voice that cried for you for too long.
Next my eyes, over dried, long run out of tears will fail me.
Last the hands that've been too far from yours for too long.
All that is left is a shattered, paper-mache skeleton, fragile and empty because you starved me out of myself.

Unfair

The people who broke us are the ones we crave when the wounds they gave us ache.

The ones who leave don't bare the scars from the fight.  And it's always the one who gets hurt that ends up dying.

We get left alone, and we hurt, and we cry, and we have problems for the rest of our life.

And they just leave.
And they're just fine without us.

It's not fair that my broken heart aches for the dozens of people who tore it apart and it's not fair that they aren't around anymore to help pick up the pieces.

Broken Fortress

I was a fortress, bracing for a coming storm.

You came in and wrecked the walls around me.

You broke down every wall before you walked out,

and left me stranded, fighting a raging storm alone.

Here I am, a storm around me and a sea I didn't know about,

 washing in from outside.

I'm drowning.

A girl wrecked by blue eyes and a couple of words,

no fortress to protect me from the pain I knew was coming.

Sick Sights

It's been almost seven months now, since I burned that bridge.  I knew it would be hard but I thought I'd be over it by now.
I knew it was coming, the dreaded sighting.  At the store, on the road, somewhere, somehow, I knew I'd see you all around.
I knew it was coming, I don't know how.  It was that sixth sense, I guess, that we all have.  You say someones name and they walk around the corner.  For me, it was a plaguing paranoia that came from out of the blue.
My head snapped around too fast when I saw your car.  It was too obvious.  It was too dramatic.  It was involuntary and unstoppable.
After all this time, I still had a sickeningly visceral, physical reaction.
I felt like I was going to be sick.  I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach.  I couldn't breathe.  I dare say a tear fell.  All of it, at once, unannounced, unbecoming, unwanted, unwarranted.
Seven months and it still hurts.  The fake apologies.  The lies.  The excuses.

After seven months, time still gets to me.  It whispers in my ear and makes me doubt myself.  It pushes me into dark, lonely places at night.  It makes me want to reach out, to say it was my fault.

I won't.  It wasn't, not entirely at least.  But it still hurts.  And I wonder if it will ever stop or if I'll have to live in this town praying not to see any of you for the rest of my life.

Lacking Eloquence

I tried to write something eloquent.  I tried to make the simple complex.  I tried to make the ugly beautiful.  And still I stare at an empty page while I drown in emotion.

Do I write of the pain?  How I sat there tonight and for the first time, you didn't fall in across from me?

Do I write of the haunting space?  How you're in this town and yet, you feel so completely absent?

Do I write of the distance?  How there are 1,700 miles between me and a possible future I may never get the chance of taking?

Or do I write of the confusion that stirs when all of these problems slam into my heart at once?  How I miss you and want to know what I've done?  How I want to see you?  How I want to see him?  How I feel twisted for wanting you both?

The pain is physical.  An aching chest.  A shaking hand.  A pounding head.  A weak heart.

And still the page sits empty and still I sit alone and still he is not here and sill you're gone.

Tainted Castle

I did the unthinkable and let you inside my make-believe castle.  I showed you the walls made up of words, the characters that live in my head, the never-ending stories that hang like tapestries at every turn.
You made it beautiful.  You introduced colors to my black and white world and built new spaces in my head that I'd never dared to explore.

Then you left.
Everything is tainted now.
You tracked your footprint through all my thoughts and somehow, through my heart.  The words don't seem right anymore.  Not the ones I picked, no the ones you gave.  And I begin to wonder if they'll only ever be right with your presence.

I wish you had burned it to the ground.  Every inch of me and my many made-up lives.  I wish you had set fire to the paper walls and left me with a charred, empty mess rather than this.
Instead you made it better and added color and life and then you left me alone to deal with it all.  I thought I had found a collaborator.  I thought I'd found a like-mind.  A friend.

Now nothing comes out right and the pen in my hand is heavy and nothing feels the way it should.
I keep waiting for the numbness.  I keep waiting for the fire.  I keep waiting for the end of this maddening confusion.
But my chest still hurts.  And my words are still wrong.  And my fingers still shake.  And the tears still come.
And this make-believe castle I used to love so much is haunting me with the memory of your influence.

Finding Dory in the Face of Extinction

SOAPBOX TIME!!!

Literally the whole plot of Finding Nemo was that people imposing themselves into an ecosystem that they don't belong to is detrimental to the animals therein. The diver took Nemo from his natural habitat and threw him in a tiny glass tank to "help the poor little fish with a wonky fin".
How can anyone miss that theme?

The fact that the Blue Tang is probably going to be facing extinction after the recent premier of Finding Dory blows my mind.

I LOVE finding Nemo and Finding Dory. They're cute movies. I get it. Hey I'm one of those obnoxious millennials saying "I'll push children out of the way to see it because I waited thirteen years for this movie"(joking of course). But come on, how are people missing the point that the human superiority complex is a threat to natural ecosystems?

Guys it's time to wake up. We are not the saving grace of every animal on the planet. And believe it or not, those clown fish (whose population suffered after Finding Nemo btw) and these blue tangs were actually not put in the ocean for the sole purpose of being scooped up and put into our home aquariums.

I am down with the rescue, rehabilitate, and release process. They key word there being RELEASE. Not capture and breed in captivity until it becomes an inconvenience only to release a completely captivity-bred, unaware, incapable population into a wild Eco-system they have no idea how to survive in.
I believe in helping when we're needed and then sending them right back home. They were made to function in the ocean. There is a food chain out there that they fit into and there is an Eco-system depending on them. The disappearance of one single species could topple the entire Eco-system as they all rely on one another for different things.

Basically y'all, go see Finding Dory.
Buy the stuffed animals.
Plaster your kids walls with murals of sea life.
Name your puppy Dory and your cat Nemo.
Go snorkeling and see them alive and well in their own home.
Whatever.

But let the wild animals thrive the way God intended. Leave them alone. Stop pulling these poor creatures from the only habitat they've ever known for your own personal enjoyment. Stop the demand for Blue Tangs in pet stores. Stop the demand for wild animals to be dragged from their homes so they can become a decoration in yours. Don't destroy an entire species because of a movie. Don't force them to face extinction.



And since I'm stepping off my soapbox for the night I'll end on a more pleasant note: for real go see Finding Dory because its the cutest thing ever and I give it 27 stars out of 5 and I love it.

Hero

Hero wasn't a word she attributed to herself.  Wealthy.  Royal.  Trapped.  Betrayed.  Victim, even, but never hero.
It all happened so quickly.  She spent years locked in that tower, wishing for that very thing.  A hero to save her from her fate.
The Prince looked like an angel in the window.  The sunset lit him up in a blazing halo of glory.  It stunned her.  She had known him as a child, their betrothal ensured from her birth.  But she didn't know him as a man.  She gasped, but not from the sight of his deeply tan skin or his handsome smile.
She saw the tell-tell flight of birds.  She heard the scrape of talons.  The Dragon was stalking princely-prey.

It felt like a reflex, like breathing when she lunged for the Prince.  She knocked him to the stone floor just as the Dragon shot fire through the window.  Her hand fell on the hilt of the Prince's sword and she drew it without thinking.

The Dragon was outraged.  He tore into the bricks, desperate to get to the intruder.  To keep her from leaving.  To do his job.  He lashed out with a savage, snarling bite and she acted on instinct.  It took three blows.

Three blows made her a hero.
Three blows made the people celebrate her in the street.
Three blows to save a Prince's life.
Three blows to set her free.

It felt strange to be called a hero, but it was a strangeness she quite enjoyed.

Nights Like This

Nights like this break my heart.
As the rain pours and thunder claps, my heart shatters in my chest.
I see our memories and I miss them.
I miss our laughter until 2 am.
I miss pretend arguing and truly falling apart together.
I miss the way I used to feel invincible.
Nights like this are poison to my healing heart.
And I hope you have nights like this too,
because how true could it have been if you never fell apart?
How much time did I waste if your heart doesn't ache for me the way
mine does for you?
Nights like this make me miss my time with you.
Not the fight.  Not the end.  Not the pain.
But the laughter and the smiles and the feeling between us of trust.
Nights like this make me feel like it's my fault we fell apart.
Nights like this break my heart.

My Truth

Proofread words are my

truth.

Don't believe my "lol" or

"it's ok"

Believe the girl in my 

story

who's dying of a broken

heart

and the boy on the next page who

cant stop

his world from falling

apart. 

Paper and Ink

She lived in a world of paper and ink.
There was nothing out there but the words in her head and the stories in her heart.
The past left paper cuts that hurt when she stretched herself too far from where she began.
But the ink of new stories being printed across her skin held her together.
Sometimes when she cried, the stories on her skin got muddled together.
But the sun would come out, and dry the stains, and leave a pretty new design to inspire her.
It was black and white for her,
but things were more beautiful that way.
The purity was more bright, and the hurt was a more achingly intense black.
She liked the polar extremity and the look of stains on the possibility of life.
She lived in a world of paper and ink and the stories kept her company when the people left.

Prayer

As tears fall from green-blue eyes, she prays again.
Prays for the feelings to stop.
She's drowning in her thoughts.
She's drowning in her doubts.
"I just need a sign."
Her lips don't move, but her heart throws itself against her rib cage.
The weight of uncertainty is crushing her from the inside out.
The tears keep falling.
The prayers keep spilling from her heart.
Her very soul cries for relief.
"Please.  Just let me understand."

On Her Skin

She wore her heart on her sleeve and her past on her skin.

Her cheeks were freckled with long-dried tears and memories.

Years of laughter had lightened her hair and warmed her skin.

Her smile held a thousand stories, and her eyes shone with years of dreams.

She was the embodiment of feeling in a world of fakes.

And the joy that radiated from her soul captivated him from day one.