I once stood on the precipice of a new world. Looking down on the unimaginable. The rolling hills of possibility spread out beneath me, and instead of leaping forward I fell asleep. You watched me close my eyes. My shallow breath feeding me stale air. Vivid reality obscured by the immense fog of doubt. I crumbled against the wind. Afraid to make that first step. When I was told I could fly, I only thought of falling. I buried my knees in the dirt, and now you wait. I would dig myself out if my eyes would open. They hurl themselves back towards the black of the socket. I wait for my next breath. I wait for the sky to clear itself. Content with the mundane. My hands turn black as the rot sets in. They lay idle ready to finish nothing. The plague gnawing away at dead flesh that once held vibrant color. I am weightless but for the boulder that sits on my chest driving me down towards tedium. Seemingly eternal, internal conflict. A struggle against patience. What will you do when you see how I do nothing?
(Written March 3, 2010)
Friday, October 22, 2010
The Surgeon
Simple thoughts. The lights are bright. Her breathing is shallow. Almost non-existent. It is the only sound. Broken occasionally by the friction of his white coat.
She's a pretty one. Not the best he's seen, but he is content. She was easy to catch. Gullible. Her eyes, although filled with terror, still wanted to trust him. He could let her go and she might not ever say a word. Not even to the dark when she lies awake at night - too traumatized to sleep. He loved that about her. She was loyal to a fault. He pondered these thoughts only to amuse himself. She would never move again. The first cut saw to that. He was precise. He had to be. Sloppiness was unacceptable.
He gently brought his blade to her skin. She would not feel a thing, but her eyes welled anyway. Still pleading to him. Begging for him to be the man she wanted him to be. And he felt sad. Not sorry. Only sad that he could never experience that sort of raw emotion.
He used to come close. When the idea was fresh. Now it was just habit. He would realize that his thirst would never be quenchable. As he carved into her skin, he began to debate himself. Perhaps it was time for a new hobby. Something a little more... socially acceptable. He always wanted to brag to his friends about how easily he could dismantle a person, while only leaving behind a small mess. They wouldn't see the art in it, though.
None the less, it was time to move on. She was still looking at him. Still breathing. Not sure what all he had taken. Or if he had even begun. He felt sad for her. But he couldn't leave a project unfinished.
She's a pretty one. Not the best he's seen, but he is content. She was easy to catch. Gullible. Her eyes, although filled with terror, still wanted to trust him. He could let her go and she might not ever say a word. Not even to the dark when she lies awake at night - too traumatized to sleep. He loved that about her. She was loyal to a fault. He pondered these thoughts only to amuse himself. She would never move again. The first cut saw to that. He was precise. He had to be. Sloppiness was unacceptable.
He gently brought his blade to her skin. She would not feel a thing, but her eyes welled anyway. Still pleading to him. Begging for him to be the man she wanted him to be. And he felt sad. Not sorry. Only sad that he could never experience that sort of raw emotion.
He used to come close. When the idea was fresh. Now it was just habit. He would realize that his thirst would never be quenchable. As he carved into her skin, he began to debate himself. Perhaps it was time for a new hobby. Something a little more... socially acceptable. He always wanted to brag to his friends about how easily he could dismantle a person, while only leaving behind a small mess. They wouldn't see the art in it, though.
None the less, it was time to move on. She was still looking at him. Still breathing. Not sure what all he had taken. Or if he had even begun. He felt sad for her. But he couldn't leave a project unfinished.
Morning Missed
She breathes the sunlight in thru her pillow. Her hair spread out gently in a tangled mess. Her soft, bare skin takes in the light. It is these moments when she is most beautiful. I ache to touch her. To wake her. To take her. But I don't. I let the hunger burn. I stop breathing - in fear that my movement will take away this moment. She is irresistible and doesn't even know it. The pain in my chest is too much to bear, but I will bear it everyday. I will endlessly long to hold her when she is the most unaware. Completely vulnerable. But I resist. Its an uncomfortable bliss. I do it because its easier than thinking of all the opportunities I've missed. When she wanted me... when she needed me... but I was too stupid to realize. It hurt her that I wasn't there. I am sorry. I repent for this every morning I watch her sleep in ecstasy while I roil in agony.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)