I Thought I Saw You

The mark of a man only lies within the underbelly of his love. As it crawls through the mud and nails on the floor, it takes all of its pain on the most sensitive side. Its skin thickens, its eyes glaze over. It takes no prisoners, but it can also change his life.

He will only see you in white, in red, in black, and in gold. You will shimmer and glow like a pageant of love. You will become his world, his everything. Your job will be to protect the underbelly of his love. That’s the only place you are guaranteed the fact that he will love you forever.

That is, until you kick him and then all bets are off.

How many hearts have been broken?

How many kisses have you stolen?

Is it ever good enough?

Are you ever good enough?

Will the girls that pile up ever be the one.

Or will they pile up and never be done.

Oh so smooth and dreamy, you dreamy boy.

Will you ever think she’s good enough?

Or will I?

There are warning signs of the strength you can hide.

Amongst the cloudy grey.

And you see to it that the world will fit

Into your dark, comical display.

And I won’t mind if you go about spouting

Shakespeare to me.

But in the end, the biggest fault

Will be to terrorize me.

She can smile with the biggest lips you can find. She can gaze at you softly with bedroom eyes. She can tell you that the world will be everything and nothing to you at the same time.  She’s beautiful, but then she’ll reveal what she always hides.

And you’ll kick yourself for believing, that love truly exists. Amongst the shrubbery and bullshit, she’s got you in her grip. She’ll take you and love you and eat you alive. And you’ll just smile and say, “it’s going to be alright.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Those kinds of things never happen in real life.”

“If they put it in movies, then it’s possible. Dreams only come true if you actually believe it will.”

Here comes trouble in shapes and forms of shadows on walls and ceilings.
The inhale and exhale of creatures during the night.
What makes the heart irreparable?
What makes the night unforgettable?

We lie against the moonlight to fill the empty spaces on the walls.
We wriggle and jest and pretend it’s all just a mystery of life,
Solved and written and cast into stone.

We won’t ever get it right
We won’t ever get it right
We won’t ever get it right

Here comes the morning like a tiger towards its kill.
Creep up on the sun and pounce on the early bird.
What makes the heart irreparable?
What makes the night unforgettable?

We wait for something, anything to make us bleed.
We lie awake and wonder what will make us believe,
In something, anything. Something, anything.

We won’t ever get it right
We won’t ever get it right
We won’t ever get it right

Get it, right?

I’m finally over the fifty foot hurdle,

But staring in front of me

Is one even larger.

I can’t believe it’s there.

I can’t believe it’s there.

I can’t stay on and bare this thought.

But I run down the gangway

And I hope to God my legs will take flight

And throw me across the hurdle of life

Without giving me back pains

Or a terrible crack in my ribs.

And it cracked.

I can’t breathe

My lungs are punctured by the crack in my ribs

I’ve got bone in my muscles

And fatigue in my legs.

I’ve only been young

For a little bit of time.

I don’t want to be struggling

Until the day I die.

I can’t believe this is happening to me.

I can’t believe this is happening to me.

I can’t believe this was all just a dream.

Shake the earth you ride on, baby.

I’m a commin’ with my hair real long.

Take a hit, and you’ll go flyin’ baby.

The trip, no, you won’t be gone.

Just take a breath

And make the sip the supply, the life, and the lift

You’ll ever gonna need, baby.

She found herself weary. The sight of herself in the mirror gave her a shrill feeling throughout her spine. She couldn’t believe how old she looked when she remembered her age. “25 isn’t the age you’re supposed to look this way,” she kept repeating in her mind.

Angela examined the wrinkles around her eyes. “Crow’s feet. That’s from all the laughter.” She stared at the lines between her eyebrows. “From deep concentration,” she whispered to herself. The lines were deep and thick as if perpetually separating the left brow from the right.

She found herself deep in thought at the events of the past few years. The second grew to a few hours of contemplation. She was stunned not only in the fact that she had lost her youth, but also in the fact that she had gained her worst nightmare; the life of a spinster during her quarter-life crisis. She felt cold; the chill of her dark past and the selfish gains she had made throughout  her life.

She came to the realization it all meant nothing if it meant losing everything. She was petrified. Angela shook off the thought. She cleared the bangs covering her eyes and clumsily opened a tube of glossy pink lip gloss. “At least my hands are still youthful.”

Angela was right. Her hands were as new as a young child’s. They looked to carry no weight and no work. She smiled at this thought. Then, she started to cry.

“This is it. Your plot twist. Your character conflict. I’m about to leave you for another man. I want to marry that other guy and abandon you in the history of my life. How do you feel about that?”

“Non-existential.”

“Welcome to reality.”