the burnt offerings of self (.renewal.)
By not an addict
i think i've written everything i was meant to write. my pen
is dry. i strive to recall the words that long served as my only companion...
to no avail. is this a weakness? my eyes tremble at my failure. is this
some payment (long overdue) for my list of crimes? the ring of scars i
left untended? i don't mean to die, but it's not as though i always have
a choice...
i'll find out how to love you without you loving me in return. of my passion,
i'll make a play, and you'll learn to feel by watching, learn to sing by
hearing, and learn to hate as you slowly understand. when i run from all
of this, i'll try not to leave a stain... but keep in mind the cleansing
power of forgetfullness. tomorrow is my wish.. but without a star, how
do i find the way? the games we've played took my everything, and made
of it a gun. toothless and numb, i fight to send you a why, a how, the
must of my demise... but slowly, silence consumes, and the long-forgotten
taste of my own tears brings me to my knees, at your feet. don't view this
as weakness. don't see in my (watery) sparkling eyes a way to say you've
loved. i gave of myself too deeply, and now the shell is gone, the once-truths
(all half-truths) lay shattered, forgotten. this dry dusty lie of my childhood
now stands before you, bleeding, broken, released... a victim of the oldest
games played in the newest ways.
don't you DARE cry. this is an ending... because to begin, one must clean
the slate. erase the history. of my deceit, we'll make a fire. of my love,
we'll make stars, lest the fire become our everything. of my story, we'll
make song, that around the fire we may dance. and, in dancing, let us forget
all failure, let us forget all transgressions, all emotion and apathy,
as though they were one and the same. and let us make new stories in our
dancing, and of them make new stars, that long before the dance should
end, our story will be so bright, we blind ourselves with our own displays
of love. what is yesterday? let it be as nothing... nothing now matters
but the here, the dance, the eternal entwining and communion of our (reinvented)
souls.
Comments on "the burnt offerings of self (.renewal.)"
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A former member wrote:
I'm reading this over and over. Absolutley heart-aching.. I'm quite fascinated by the way you just seem to write with so much ease..as if it comes so naturally. Wonderful..
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On Thursday, May 19, 2005, Kinkypoptart
(555) wrote:
This DID make tears fall. Great write ~*~Tart~*~
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On Thursday, May 19, 2005, not an addict
(45) wrote:
tears fell on the writing as well... though i'd not go so far as to say they pained me in doing so.
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On Wednesday, May 18, 2005, wandering druid
(78) wrote:
Damn. This is one of the best pieces I've read. This almost made tears fall.