she used to
renew me
now she
leaves me
here
feeling callous
completely empty.
-Woe
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Bittersweet Taboo...
In this instance, it's silence which serves as the sound of regret; better it than breathing life into words which one may never forget...
It pains me to feel this way. It's quite unsettling, actually. For fear of divulging what could possibly betray what is in my heart of hearts, permit me to be opaque. It's ironic, I know. I'm at once vulnerable and guarded. It's an offense mechanism, I assure you. -Trust me, if it was the opposite I'd tell you, or rather I'd avoid it totally. One or the other. I digress.
So it follows me. I try to elude it, but everytime I feel it I get derailed. I get picky and easily bothered. I begin to feel forlorn (i love that word) and the strength with which I hold on to its memory is evident in the sunsets of my fists- (its a rather poetic way of saying "the clenching of my palms.") Regret has a funny way of jolting you from the slumber of your safe reality. It is evident in looks, actions, and most dangerously, -in thoughts. I shudder to think of what I thought and how those thoughts affect how I think and in turn how I act as a result. I have elected scapegoats of who I have sacrificed on the altar of "what if's?" and they've unfairly paid the ultimate cost. I take full responsibility for what I've done, and for that I apologize...but it does me no good to be in this predicament and have to suffer at the lashes of piercing eyes. What of my deliverance? Where is my catharsis?
Between the lines of my verbal meanderings, it lies
But oh how it both tempts and tortures.
It pains me to feel this way. It's quite unsettling, actually. For fear of divulging what could possibly betray what is in my heart of hearts, permit me to be opaque. It's ironic, I know. I'm at once vulnerable and guarded. It's an offense mechanism, I assure you. -Trust me, if it was the opposite I'd tell you, or rather I'd avoid it totally. One or the other. I digress.
So it follows me. I try to elude it, but everytime I feel it I get derailed. I get picky and easily bothered. I begin to feel forlorn (i love that word) and the strength with which I hold on to its memory is evident in the sunsets of my fists- (its a rather poetic way of saying "the clenching of my palms.") Regret has a funny way of jolting you from the slumber of your safe reality. It is evident in looks, actions, and most dangerously, -in thoughts. I shudder to think of what I thought and how those thoughts affect how I think and in turn how I act as a result. I have elected scapegoats of who I have sacrificed on the altar of "what if's?" and they've unfairly paid the ultimate cost. I take full responsibility for what I've done, and for that I apologize...but it does me no good to be in this predicament and have to suffer at the lashes of piercing eyes. What of my deliverance? Where is my catharsis?
Between the lines of my verbal meanderings, it lies
But oh how it both tempts and tortures.
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