I saw you at Sixty

I saw you at sixty, you still had your hair,
But the fire I'd known in your eyes wasn't there.

I saw you at fifty, your hair was a mess,
And asked myself why you would drink in excess?

I saw you at forty, your hair was so long.
I would never have guessed that something went wrong.

I saw you at thirty, your hair was tied back,
You were proud of the fact that your life was on track

I saw you at twenty, your hair was cut neat,
You stood ten feet tall when you walked down the street.

I saw you at ten when your hair was so fine,
And smiled when you said that "She'll someday be mine."

On the day you were born you barely had hair,
But those fiery eyes made me stand back and stare.

Don't Do It

I told you not to do it. When I was still a voice in your head I told you not to do it. When I was still a figment of your imagination hiding in the damp and dark corners of your dull mind, before you woke me up, before you gave me the black leather jacket to wear, and the shoulder length wavy hair. Before you made me sound like Tim Roth with laryngitis trying to speak through a mouth full of skittles, I told you ... Not...To... do it.

For a year and a half you toyed with the idea. For a year and a half we fought. I'd keep you up at night whispering in your ears. I'd yell at you and squeeze your heart with my fingers. I'd pound the chair (that stupid wooden chair) the single piece of furniture you'd allow me in my concrete cell. That incubus you had built to keep me bottled up inside your head. I'd scrape my fingernails across the walls knowing that you can't shut your ears to my bleeding raw fingernails. That you can't just turn off your imagination, or the sounds. I'd watch you flinch and I'd sing it , over, and over,

....... dontdoit-dontdoit-dontdoit .....dontdoit-dontdoit-dontdoit .....
....... dontdoit-dontdoit-dontdoit .....

Do Not Do It!

I had hoped, your ears would bleed if I kept it up. (Which they didn't.) I hoped your mind would snap and we'd both go tumbling out of a window somewhere. I knew that after the last time I stopped you, you would never go back to another one. I was hoping this time you'd come up with something more final. But you're still here.

It wasn't always like that. Sometimes I'd ease back a little and resign to watching you for a while. And for a while you'd be smart. You'd go about your daily work, pushing your past out of your head, burying yourself in books and numbers, in accounts, in clients, in hobbies, and I'd breath easy -- but only for a while. Then it would be back to that same old habit. Back to the sleepless nights, to the stupid smiles, to the tossing and turning and checking your email, or your phone fora message, every ten minutes.  You're thoughts would wake me up like a siren going off in my little cell. Your thoughts would be back to their nasty business, turning you against me, turning you against yourself and pushing you towards what you want to do instead of what you ought not to.

But you're an idiot. And what else can I expect from an idiot.

Tell me, does it live up to your expectations? Was it everything you imagined it to be? Was all this worth those three little words?

You just HAD to tell her that you love her. That was a mistake you have lived to regret. Do you even learn from your history?

"I love my mistakes. They're probably the best things I've done in my life."

That's bullshit speaking right there. That is the typical you I have to live with -- saying contradicting terms and pretending that you said something profound.

So mistakes were the best thing you've done your whole life? Well La-Dee-Da princess because mistakes are all you have to show for your miserable excuse for a life, and thinking that if you keep making mistakes then you will be adding meaning to your existence is a sure way to make me suffocate on my own vomit.

And if I die, you are coming with me.

Mistakes are mistakes. They are to be avoided in life. They cause misery. They waste your time and effort. Stop glorifying every "mistake" you ever made in an attempt to vindicate your sorry ass, because, like it or not, we're stuck with one another and I for one am sick and tired of tagging along inside your brain while you waste the few precious days we have left in this world by persuing MORE "mistakes".

 Do something right or once. Fuck Love. Turn around and say no. Lets just walk away from this while we still have our sanity and do the right thing, the rational thing, the healthy thing, for once.

What do you say?

A fleeting thought

Time dips it’s arrows in Vinegar. No doubt.
It wounds and adds to its injury salt.
Tugging at the strings of our life,
Day by day it draws the threads, until
In the end we are thread bare and worn thin.
And when we are picked clean, transparent,
When our strings are fine and frayed and in
The closing hours of the loom, it snips the chord,
And leaves the rest for the wind to spin.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
     If this be error and upon me proved,
     I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

This is a recipe for suffering. To believe Shakespeare's words in this day and age is to suffer silently for a lost cause. How can you believe in Love in the future when you lose faith in your past love?

A paradox, no?

How can you hope for love when you think back on what you thought was love and try to convince yourself that it was not what you made it out to be?

If you have loved and lost that love, then it must have been altered, bent, and made a fool of in the end. 

I was recently told that it takes two to fail at love. What a crock of shit. It takes only one. One who is fooling themselves that they were in love while the other was sincere. One that was willing to take the chance while the other was looking for an out. One that was planning to pop the question while the other was looking to be just friends.

One that tried to burn themself because they could not bear hurting the person they loved, because they thought they were not good enough for the person they loved, one who made all the wrong decisions because they loved truly, and another that could not see anything except that they were a victim of an inconstant lover.

The only regret is that I wasted my time being faithful to a ghost while Love stood laughing at my plight.

Karma

When you lose someone you love all that remains is the pain. Don't be fooled by those who tell you to cherish the good memories. Those very same good memories become your dreams at night. The hunt you down in your sleep. You relive them every night and they seem so real, only to wake up in the morning and realize they were just dreams. You realize that your heart is being squeezed in your chest and you feel the tears well up in your eyes. Reality floods back in and you remember what you did. You remember that it all ended as if it had ended only yesterday.

No. The fond memories will not save you. They were not meant to save you. The fond memories were meant to be building blocks in your relationship. Instead they are now the weight that crushes you when you try to go on with your life and see what you can do.

Move on. What a stupid word to say. As if you passed an accident and your curiosity made you slow down and look. Now you have to move on. Move on. How stupid can you  be? As if the years that you spent were not part of you, as if you're supposed to become someone else, someone new, and pretend that what you were a year ago was not real. Move on. The most cruel word you can hear.

You can move on if you were hurt by someone you loved. You can forgive and forget, or at least ignore the person that caused you the pain, you can move on if you were the victim, but not if you were the culprit of your own demise. Not if you were to blame. No. That crime's punishment is that you and your tormentor are locked in the same body forever. You will be entwined for the rest of your days. He will not let you forget, nor will he relent in his torture. You will be your own sadistic fiend that wakes you up at night and tears your mind from the inside out, depriving you of sleep, of thought, of a will.

What others don't understand is that you also become the grateful recipient of that torment. You accept the pain and cherish it. You feel the burning of the loss and would not let go of that burning because you know that to let go of that pain is to let go of the last remaining good thing in your life. The last remaining trace of a love you lost.

People say letting go is not easy. They don't understand that sometimes letting go is not an option. Letting go of the last trace of decency in you will leave you empty. Perhaps you lost your chance at being filled with bliss, and with your decisions allowed that bliss to leave you, leaving behind her the pain as a reminder of your mistakes. If you let go of the pain it will only leave the void.

We've been corrupted, as a race, as a species, as men, when it comes to love. We have been lead to believe that there was such a thing as absolute and universal love. A gargantuan ethereal repository of pure love in the Universe from which we draw our buckets and drink if we wish. A source of love that can heal and replenish our losses so we can be once again filled with bliss and "move on".

There isn't. It was all concocted by generations of marketing that sold us on to the idea of the universal healing love. A scam that lines the pockets of every self help guru, reiki enthusiast, holistic doctor, shaman, priest, and charlatan alike. They can use it to convince you that you have been replenished with love, and in fact you'd be living the fake life.

The real life says that when you do something wrong you pay the price. That is Karma. It does not change. It does not accept offerings. It does not offer redemption.

It is immovable, unwavering, forceful, and triumphant.

When you are the cause of your own pain you will remain its recipient to the end of your days.

Literary Tyranny

I still can't shake the shadow that hung over my head for a long while when I wrote. It used to define everything I was and everything I thought. What I liked, I would ask myself "would my overseer like that too?" What ever I wrote I would find myself wondering if it would be taken at face value or analysed and de-constructed by my dark companion until what ever I wrote became twisted and mutated into something completely different then what I meant.

When I would protest such literary tyranny my shadow would just say that that was what I had meant to say subconsciously. That deep down I felt different then what I wrote. That I had hidden thoughts and undercurrents that shaped my writing.

Suddenly what I knew I was would be challenged by what my ethereal companion said I was.

And I would become yet again entrapped by her will. By what she told me I was trying to be, trying to say, trying to become.

I still haven't decided who I am. I cannot remember who I wanted to be before her.

It HAS been an eternity, and you HAVE been immortal. The world you feared would end someday, didn't. You dug your grave and waited for me, but I never came.

You let go of Love because you feared its end. You let go of people because you were afraid you would have to watch them go someday. You spent your thoughts on everything that mattered, except what really did. And now you come full circle to find only I am here to receive you.

Are you ready to tell me what it all meant? What did you make of it? Where has it led to?

Here. Now. This is what. This is where. This is all there is. All there ever was. All there ever will be, and this is exactly what you never expected. This is exactly what you never imagined, never thought of, never calculated. This is what never had cause to exist, but it did, because you did.

Am I being to cryptic? It must be the drugs. 

The weight you carried on your shoulders was only a ghost. There was no temptation. There was no pain. There was no wall. Now, look around you. As far as you can see, or you think you can see - because here you can see as far as you can think - as far as you can see there is nothing. No one. Except you, and I, and this endless void.

Now think and we - YOU - can fill this void with anything you want. There is the road to your house. There is your first tooth that fell loose at six. There is the pencil you borrowed for your final exam. There is your car, your keys, your jacket, your cell phone, your tickets, your bag, your books, your hat, your camera, your eyes, your mouth, there,there,there,there, 

Is that enough? Look around. We're neck deep in all that is you.

Now tell me again.

Why are you here, and not there?

Why are you here, with me at the end, and not where you are not?

Why are you not old? 

Why are you not sick?

Why are you not buried in debt, and worries?

Why are you not holding a child?

Why are you not crying?

Why are you not with her, instead of here with me?

Why are you immortal, spending an eternity, with me, at the end of a circle, instead of there, with her?