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Literature Text
You whisper forgiveness as if you've always been mine to hold onto and I find myself struggling with your voice, the ivy vines of your dreams locking me to your side like all the chains you always promised you'd never use. And I adore the way your smile feels like salt rubbed into open wounds when you turn it my way, but don't you get it? There were thousands of things you might have said better and all I was searching for was, "I'm sorry."
I spend my lonely evenings on a creaking, rotting swing, just waiting for it to loosen and fall. Maybe the bump on my head will wake me up to realize that I've been swinging life away while you were walking through the mazes with ease. And when you call me with a tone that still sends chills crawling down the nerve endings in my spine, I can't help but wonder when I'll get the chance to walk away. Because you have this annoying habit of pulling me back, even if it's with a curse.
You dance a dangerous tango of almost admitting you feel something and running away like I'm the end of the world and I can't help but think that I'm the one who should be running. You wear your emotions on your sleeve but I've never been good enough to make your pulse-beats stutter and I feel trapped between your arms now. I'm not a match-stick dummy but you always manage to ignite the churning in my gut to a full-blown inferno and I'm sorry to admit it, but I'm tired of falling to my knees for you when you can't even remember where it was you found me to begin with.
And little by little, I try to collect the pieces of my heart and put them away. Because you like playing with diamonds in quicksand and rearranging puzzles to suit your own outcomes. You tell me that drinking is ridiculous for women and we have nothing to be frustrated about. A good, handsome man whose middle name is pleasure is quite enough to keep us breathing. So I'll buy the bottles and stick them in the freezer, I'll wake up every morning and wrap your tie and you'll never know that part of me wants to squeeze that knot tighter and tighter everyday. But I'm weak, and so are my thoughts, and I think you only got me this good because you were guy in the soap opera I watched for.
And maybe someday you'll run your fingers through your fire-engine hair and realize that something's missing. Maybe you'll crack open your safety-lock lines and hear how stupid your late-night promises have always sounded when rolling off your tongue, and maybe I'll snap my fingers and replace the hole you left in my chest with something less painful than your tragedy-scripted romance. For now, I'm going to drag the memories out of that shoebox beneath my bed and pour myself a glass of vodka-tears and reap the rewards of the pains of loving you for my own selfish pride. And maybe tomorrow I'll have forgotten you to the credits of another movie screen, but I hope you'll still be empty and missing what we might have been.
Tonight I'm lying under a blackened sky and realized that I used up all the shooting stars that you claimed were all for me. And I remember how we first embraced under the trees and challenged each other to collect rain drops in our palms. Now I'm watching as tear after tear makes ripples in the cup of my hands, my reflection distorting into the wrinkled, worry line-filled face I deny I will have and I think "I can at least give you credit for being the one lie I once truly enjoyed."
I spend my lonely evenings on a creaking, rotting swing, just waiting for it to loosen and fall. Maybe the bump on my head will wake me up to realize that I've been swinging life away while you were walking through the mazes with ease. And when you call me with a tone that still sends chills crawling down the nerve endings in my spine, I can't help but wonder when I'll get the chance to walk away. Because you have this annoying habit of pulling me back, even if it's with a curse.
You dance a dangerous tango of almost admitting you feel something and running away like I'm the end of the world and I can't help but think that I'm the one who should be running. You wear your emotions on your sleeve but I've never been good enough to make your pulse-beats stutter and I feel trapped between your arms now. I'm not a match-stick dummy but you always manage to ignite the churning in my gut to a full-blown inferno and I'm sorry to admit it, but I'm tired of falling to my knees for you when you can't even remember where it was you found me to begin with.
And little by little, I try to collect the pieces of my heart and put them away. Because you like playing with diamonds in quicksand and rearranging puzzles to suit your own outcomes. You tell me that drinking is ridiculous for women and we have nothing to be frustrated about. A good, handsome man whose middle name is pleasure is quite enough to keep us breathing. So I'll buy the bottles and stick them in the freezer, I'll wake up every morning and wrap your tie and you'll never know that part of me wants to squeeze that knot tighter and tighter everyday. But I'm weak, and so are my thoughts, and I think you only got me this good because you were guy in the soap opera I watched for.
And maybe someday you'll run your fingers through your fire-engine hair and realize that something's missing. Maybe you'll crack open your safety-lock lines and hear how stupid your late-night promises have always sounded when rolling off your tongue, and maybe I'll snap my fingers and replace the hole you left in my chest with something less painful than your tragedy-scripted romance. For now, I'm going to drag the memories out of that shoebox beneath my bed and pour myself a glass of vodka-tears and reap the rewards of the pains of loving you for my own selfish pride. And maybe tomorrow I'll have forgotten you to the credits of another movie screen, but I hope you'll still be empty and missing what we might have been.
Tonight I'm lying under a blackened sky and realized that I used up all the shooting stars that you claimed were all for me. And I remember how we first embraced under the trees and challenged each other to collect rain drops in our palms. Now I'm watching as tear after tear makes ripples in the cup of my hands, my reflection distorting into the wrinkled, worry line-filled face I deny I will have and I think "I can at least give you credit for being the one lie I once truly enjoyed."
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This wonderful piece is a collaboration (one of MANY you will see from me and others in the following few days ^.^) between myself and the lovely 
,
who wrote the sub-texted bits AND came up with the excellent title.
All the good parts of this, therefore, belong solely to her.
I wrote the italicized portions.
GOGOGO show her some uber love!
Her version HERE!
September 2010
,who wrote the sub-texted bits AND came up with the excellent title.
All the good parts of this, therefore, belong solely to her.
I wrote the italicized portions.
GOGOGO show her some uber love!
Her version HERE!
September 2010
© 2010 - 2024 betwixtthepages
Comments6
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WAAAYYYY late comment but i'm going back through my old favourites and found this and went to fave it all over again, I love this to pieces 