He mortgaged his soul to the Devil,
to get nothing in return,
but the realisation,
he was nothing more,
but
Extra
Ordinary
Talk To Me
Did I ever tell you, the first time I saw you, I fell? In love?
That we were in the making for a year and a half – you just didn’t know it? That I stayed silent, keeping my emotions in check and that it seemed like forever, and even longer? That, for 1 year, 6 months, the voices in my head, time after time, gave me reasons? Reasons to stay silent? That, I finally plucked-up the courage, to say something? That… That… That….?
The first time I saw you, words I never heard before hummed in my head. Hummmmmmmm. The first time I saw you I wrote a first poem. And a second. And then, a third. And, with all those sweet humming words, I wrote a fourth, and have not stopped humming words since. But after 1.6 years, with all those letters, and with all those words, I didn’t even know how write out your name.
I thought the moon and stars rose in your eyes. I did. I still do.
Like so many times before, times which I know like the back of my hand, you walk into the room, you grab a coffee, and you sit down next to me. And, like the back of my hand, which I know so well, the voices tell me to stay silent. I do. Once again, we sit, side-by-side, silence in-between our space. But then I hear that hummmmmmmmm. Those sweet words, those sweet humming words start to fill my head. Build, build, build. Building until I have enough words to finally ask, ‘did I ever tell you, the first time I saw you I fell? In love?’
You smile that smile that I know like the back of my hand, and reply, ‘yes, that’s why I married you.’
Every Day A Little Death
I’m in the pub and You Can’t Buy Me Love comes on. I know I can’t.
I sit, nursing a glass of wine for maybe two or three hours. Brooding. Thinking. I remembered the other night, while in bed, I cried. Not knowing why, but I thought of you. No thought in particular. Just a momentary flash. Lying there in the dark, I welled-up for a second, saw you were there and then fell back asleep. And now, the wine now in my head tells me I was upset because I don’t miss you.
I don’t miss much these days.
Every Day A Little Death remembered in the pub.
I wanted you to think me a genius. But I opened my mouth, letting the words fall-out one by one and in the process became a fool. You tell me to ‘go to hell’ and all I can do is laugh, which causes you to laugh. We both know I’m in hell. I love you, and I tell you so. ‘Yeah I know,’ you say.
We still make love as if it’s our first time. You hold me, touch and caress as you always have, turning what I think is minutes into hours. I want it to never end. I awake the next day, look in your eyes and feel like a complete failure. You feel it too, my failure. My new day in hell starts, and you come with me – just to keep me company.
Back from the pub.
You are sleeping. I watch you. An exercise I have performed many times before. I stand in the dark. Watching. Listening. To you. You are just so beautiful, so fucking beautiful. I well-up. What the fuck are you doing with me? I want you to go away and find yourself some happiness. I won’t miss you, you know. I won’t. I crawl into bed, failing miserably not to wake you. You roll-over to me, kissing my back and neck. ‘I love you.’
Kissing your hands, your beautiful hands, I reply, ‘Yeah I know.’