Tag: vignette

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A Story of Us

The story of us.

There is no story really.  Well not of ‘us‘ at least.  Not yet.  I just liked that line and thought I’d use it to write.  To write this.  You spoke with me today.  You pulled me into a conversation, but so terrified that my dirty little secret will be found out, I pull away. And, you weren’t alone.  Who’s he?  He is so goddamn good-looking!  I see the way you look at him, and know I can’t compete.  I’m so jealous, that I just want to peel away.

The story of you.

Do you know that you have the most engaging smile?  I am sitting in the dark, thinking. That’s what I’m doing right now, sitting in the dark, thinking about your smile.  It was not supposed to turn out this way.  This was not my plan.  You were meant to be forgotten. You were meant to be never minded.  I know that smile, and knew you would never be mine.  My smile now stolen, by him.  Who was that guy? And, Jesus Christ, why is he so goddamn good-looking?!

The story of me.

I existed before you, you know.  I’m almost sure I did.  Before I saw that smile, before I heard that voice,  before, I saw that…face.  Before, before, before.  Before I saw you, I had a pulse, I’m almost sure I did.  Who is that guy?  He’s tall, and so goddamn good-looking. And, with a goddamn fucking beard!  I mean, come on!  I too, have a beard.  Doesn’t that count?  I know, I know.   I’m not so tall, and I know, I am not so goddamn good-looking.  But, like him, but just like him, I have a beard.

And like him, and just like that guy, I now have A Story of Us.

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The Mortgage

He mortgaged his soul to the Devil,
to get nothing in return,
but the realisation,
he was nothing more,
but
Extra
Ordinary

writing-in-sand

 

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Every Day A Little Death

I’m in the pub and You Can’t Buy Me Love comes on. I know I can’t.

dscf1391

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.  You too, are in my hell.

We still make love as if it’s our first time. You hold me, touch and caress me 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 – 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.’

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Legacy

horror crime death psychopathWhen I am gone, people will read these letters I put together. Read all these letters that I put together to write words. Words put together to make sentences. The sentences put together to tell a story. Letters telling my story.

I will cheat death in the end.

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Still?

You have a gift for deception.
Handing it out as if it is a gift from the Queen herself.
img_0561But what can one do with deception,
(which is just a lie in disguise)?
Especially a lie presented as a gift?
It cannot be unwrapped and then rewrapped,
with the hope of re-gifting it to someone else.
At least not intentionally.
I have re-gifted your lies.
Not realising that’s what they were,
I re-gifted your lies wrapped in betrayal,
and then tied, ever so cleverly,
in a ribbon of your deception.

You told me, once, you loved me. Once.
And so desperate to believe in fairy tales,
I believed you.
But the deception of love was not your greatest lie.
Having told that lie many times before.
You easily applied it as you do mascara.
With one grand stroke, Love is applied.
And what can be easily applied,
can just as easily be washed away.
But your greatest lie?
Never leaving.  Always remaining.
Thinking that door was firmly closed,
I awake each morning to find you are here.  Still.
You said you would leave.
Why are you here?
Still?

You told me too, you loved my voice.  Once.
That it was beautiful.
You beckoned me, use that voice,
that beautiful, beautiful voice.
And as I spoke, you stole it.
Stolen to claim it as your own,
because you know you have none,
well not one that anyone would listen to.
I wake each morning to find you are still here,
And scream!
But it is wrapped in your deception,
and then tied in a ribbon of your betrayal,
so all I get is your still silence.

You said you would leave,
but you are still here.

Still.

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Fool’s Errand

kurtlookingatcherylsorg-1Eyes closed to dream.
To dream about you.
Not a dream of a yesterday you,
or a you of today,
but the you of tomorrow.
But, no dreams came.

My eyes open and you are there.
There, standing in front of me.
There, standing face-to-face.
I feel the cool air of your breathe on my lips.
You kiss me and my eyes close.
My eyes close, and I still see you.
You say something, I hear you, but am too afraid.
Afraid you won’t be there.
I close my eyes even tighter, trying to hold on.
Hold-on to a dream.

I open my eyes and you are there, still.
Still standing in front of me, still face-to-face. Still
The cool air from your breathing brushing my lips.
Your lips touch mine, and you tell me things.
Each word you speak, vibrating from your lips to mine.
Pulling you closer, closing my eyes,
I now feel you talk. You talk and I feel you.
I am,
moved.

But, you have moved me before.
Each time, with your words.
I have listened to you before. Each time,
clinging to every word.
Stripping each down to it’s letter,
each time, trying to find meaning,
any kind of meaning. Each time,
to only find they were
worthless.

You kiss me again.
My eyes open, so I can see.
Your eyes are open too.
And we kiss. And as we kiss,
with our eyes wide open,
I realise then,
as you realised some time ago,

I am on a Fool’s Errand.

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My Conversation With Death

For the past two years, he has steadfastly remained at my side. I hope I did not offend when I told him he had come too late.

“I died many years ago,” I said playing with the handkerchief I held in my hand.

He looked at me, and put a smirk on his face,

“Yes, I know.  I hear your silence.  I cannot kill, what is already dead.”

“So why do you stay?”

“To keep you company.”

Our silence, once again, returned.

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The Judas

scabal test29447Her decision had been made.

She snuck in, past the guards, during the very early hours of the morning. Having found his cell, she stopped and stared at him. In the darkness, she could see his swollen face, beaten so badly, she thought him nearly unrecognisable. This, she had not expected. She made the journey because she convinced herself that she needed to see him one last time. To tell him she was sorry, that everything was going to be ok, and he would back in his home soon, surrounded by his family. But now here, those words would not come. She was too afraid, and even more ashamed to call-out to him. She stood motionless for 15 minutes (maybe more). Still no words came. As she left, she heard him mutter – but she did not stop. She kept her eyes forward, carefully slipping past the guards once more, never looking back.