Seeing is Believeing

And I light another cigarette.

The blackness in my heart. The blackness in my lungs. The stillness in my hands that brings you to my mind.

And I light another cigarette.

The rush of nicotine in my brain. The need that consumes me every few minutes. The absence of thought that bends my conscious to you.

And I light another cigarette.

The back of my mind, that thinks about you without asking. That wonders and replays and relives though my hands and my mind are busy. That fuels the need for something more.

And I light another cigarette.

And it doesn't change a thing. At the end of a day spent in motion I turn to switch of the lamp, and the light catches my ashtray. Brimming with ash and cigarettes smoked to the bitter end. A reminder of every time my hands and mind and heart reached for you.

And I will light another cigarette.

I am a Bloody Rock

So in light of my age and general coolness, I have decided to not go completely insane.

This was not an easy decision to make of course, it required much thought and calculation. Though having lost most of my mind already I am not entirely sure that thought and calculation are my best skills, at the moment anyway.

Anyway, the point is, I must behave like I have lived for a quarter of a century, rather than just a sixteenth of it, and it starts now.

In other news, boys suck.

Age is something that doesn't matter, unless you are cheese.

The Dragon turned 25 recently, though she wasn't happy about it. Apparently one has no choice in the matter of aging, no matter how bitterly you might complain about it to the relevant authorities. So, I decided instead of brooding to accept it gracefully, and embrace all the wonderful things that are supposed to be the plus side of rushing headlong to your death.

There weren't very many, and some of them did sound suspiciously like old people trying to hard to sound cheerful, but there was one certainly that caught my interest and that I was very eager to incorporate into my aged-ness.

I was told that as one got older the drama, the incessant love-lust drama of ones youth faded away, and was replaced with calm, rational wisdom. The raging emotions (or hormones, lets be honest), the do or die compulsions, the deep, soul-wrenching anguish, the uncertainty, the triple guessing, the 'should I fucking call him or would that be too needy' debates that keep you awake at night would all disappear. You wouldn't have to wonder, you would know.

HAH.

What rubbish. There are no advantages to growing old at all.

(So seriously, call him? Not call him? Call him? No, maybe not. Or perhaps I should. No, no stupid idea. But...)

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

There, in the distance, the skies were clouding over. The stillness before a roll of thunder, as the world holds her breath, waiting, watching.

I walked into the sunlight, unwilling to acknowledge the darkness I could foresee.

The sky turned to soup, a thick murky swirl of grey and black. The storm doesn't like to be ignored. It boiled, slowly chasing away the sun.

I turned my back on the gathering storm, I threw down my coat and I whistled as I walked across the grass that died at my feet.

He screamed. The skies opened. The cold rain poured over me and burned through my skin, the ground shook and the earth wailed. The storm was here.

And I kept walking. I turned my eyes away from the carnage, the violence and laughed as blood seeped out through my charred skin, leaving a trail of red behind me.

The storm would kill me. The storm has killed me. I didn't even know.

It was you. With your lips. Your fingers. The things that you whispered to me. I heard them all as the rain dissolved me into nothing. Into a patch of bloodstained dead grass.

It was you, the storm said.

It was you.

The Hamlet of the East

I choose.

To Dive

In the running water,
Flecked by the sun
I saw you wash away
Disappear into the depth of the river

In the sudden silence
It became clear
I have no choices to make

Untitled

I was born, I am told, with my heart on my sleeve. A fistful of sinew that would bind me to love, all consuming, obsessive, unreasonable, a result of simple theft, of a willingness to trust the light fingers that brush my arm.

With my heart on my sleeve, I wandered into you. And you took my heart and you left, without knowing you would leave me bereft.

Without even the ability to awake my limbs and feed my starving mind, until I wander into you again, and remember to reclaim what I have lost to you.

If I ever see you again, I must remember to swallow my traitorous heart, that would follow you everywhere, but home.