Poetic Justice For A Broken Heart.
{source}
I knew you the minute I set eyes on you…
You were in my dream, in my heart and you made my thighs tingle.
You had a shy confidence, a brilliant smile and the scent of sexual radiance.
You made gestures with your mind — your touch was untouchable and you moved silently.
But a dream is as fleeting as the whispering wind. You were nothing but an image of lucidity laced with insanity and you showed more than I ever wanted to know about dreams.
I knew the road was going to be a tough one, but tough is nothing more than bring it on.
You were a challenge and I always ignored a well-traveled road; perhaps I just needed your fix.
What I didn’t know was how high and unreachable you were, and I didn’t understand that I could never get that high without you. I didn’t know how well I tolerated pain and how much pain tolerated me.
I didn’t know it was possible to be that wrecked, that f*cked up, and still function as if you were normal and play it out as if I was lost and out of my head.
You danced with me. You would taunt and tease my arousal, then shut me down in an instant, and walk away.
You wore her aroma — then mine — and then covered it with multiple orgasmic lies. Those damn lies were liquid and I drank them all; they were nothing but pure poison. So I gasped, I recoiled, and I spent many nights in fetal position alone even when we both avowed, “Until death do we part.”
So we parted and I died.
But I came back to tell about it. Strong. Angry. Soiled. Many years of emotion and resentment filled my blackened heart, until one day it was over. The songs didn’t hurt, the memories were trite, and the suffering become a distant memory. I see you now so vacant, wearing this shell of a man, and I ache for you.
You don’t dare to be a dream anymore for anyone, it cuts too deeply, inflicts too much blood and you are scared.
The wheel goes around, my friend. Now the piper is having his payday.
With numbing serenity, I say, “Thank you.”
I was dirty, I got clean, and it all happened from the minute I set (I’s) on you…
*****
Debbie Lynn realized at a very young age that the outer reality was a far cry from her inner truth, and meeting her inner wisdom head on always turned into a challenge. The wonderment, curiosity and hypocrisy of life led to exploration and a cumulative documentation (art and journaling) of what she lovingly calls ‘the purge’. It is her way of ridding any negative energy from the daily grind. She says, “In essence, it is a way to start fresh and cleanse the soul.” Debbie has had numerous articles published in Elephant Journal, The Edge Magazine and Simple Steps Real Life Magazine. Her daily posts can be found on Facebook.
Comments
Latest posts by Rebelle Society (see all)
- Cemetery of Tears. - April 19, 2024
- My Identity Journey: What’s in a Name? - April 19, 2024
- Cyprus: A Magic Place That Feels Like Home. - April 19, 2024