One thing I fail to comprehend is the ineluctable contingency of the word ‘beautiful’. Beauty is the mellifluous texture of consonants and vowels on the tip of your tongue; That scintillating ambiance as you prepare to take a risk; The ineffable satisfaction of being able to attain a desire; The unremitting iambic pulse of time, being the one known continual in the terrestrial sphere we have claimed as ours. People have the complexity to make beautiful things, but we ourselves are incapable of expending such intricacy on ourselves.
Tread ever so carefully, render the signs
As surmised, the vestige disdainfully unbalances on the mantle
They are only youths; damnation prohibited for lack of empathy
Still negligence is not solely held by the puerile
Many a’chime, the wise depress the delicate
I am damaged goods. If only I had an owner who could return me for some form of compensation, discharge me, or compromise a replacement. I could be good-as-new, if only someone had the seconds and impulse to look after me. Unfortunately, I have been left in the undesirable heap, tucked ‘mid manifold jaded attire.
Negativity floods my brain, and diffuses itself into every cell, every thought. My limbs starve, my eyes become parched, as each scar devises its own pulse, a heartbeat clock ticking away my final hour. I long for a soul to plant a spanner in the works; halting my functions in time, ready to be fixed and set back on track. I require an engineer, but I am not in the right frame to call for one; I have no chime left in my weak body of wood. Perhaps one will stumble upon my missing parts, and restore me back to my original purpose.
I feel so disconnected. It’s as if I have been unplugged, my parts ripped apart and rewired to form a completely changed setting. I have no instructions, and so people will blindly try to figure me out, with little hope. I cannot be returned as I bear no receipt; besides, it would not be worth the hassle. I fear that others will realise I am useless, and that I will be discarded at their disposal.
I want to inhale every ounce of you. You so poisonous, you who holds the ability to send me into an infinite slumber within seconds. In a faded blur of exuberance, you shine upon me your fulgent and empowering smile. I am soon addicted to you, as I blindly see through your dazzling eyes, and the truths that lie before them. And once this intoxicated feeling has passed, I come crashing down; my sense disintegrating in the scorching heat of what used to be a warm daze.
You are my rock, upon which I shall build myself a palace. With you so supportive, I can construct my plans, so sturdy so as not to fall down. My palace begins to formulate, ever growing closer to you. Brick by brick we strengthen, and over time we establish our courage. The base of what we have is so secure; omnipotent and compelling. I promise you, nothing can tear apart what we have built.
I shiver at the thought of spending my life with you. I am blown away each time you whisper into my listening ear, words so silent yet carrying omnipotence. Occasionally your presence is overbearing, as I am so inferior. How could you possibly be drawn to a beggar like myself, when your very existence is golden? Each breath you take crafts a thousand lit halos, dancing in their own light on your face, through your skin, your smile, your perfectly pearled eyes. Yet I relentlessly keep myself from reaching out to touch you, for I know that if you were to leave, I could not fly with you.
I am a used book. I have been opened up, delved in, annotated and inquired. I have been borrowed and forgotten about, never to be returned to my rightful place. I have been gripped, torn, cried at, laughed at, talked about, criticized, analysed, mistreated, left for weeks and had my pages flipped far too much that I am now worn. And once I have been battered and creased and spilt on and begin to fall apart, I will be thrown away; discarded and recycled.
Dark clouds shroud the earth,
The earth I now drift above.
Nothing within me could make me feel strong again.
Only you can lift me from this dream.
Searching around, for the light,
To forge my path on this nigh.
Perhaps the end has sooner come?
Only you can help me solve this dream.
Frozen in my tracks by cold, shallow words,
My feet cannot move away from this world;
I cannot bring myself to run.
Only you can shield me from this dream.
Breaking down; I’m about to fall
Hands around my neck stifle my call.
Suffer silently, he whispers.
Only you can save me from this dream.
I stir, stir, in my sleep,
Cry out, yet no-one listens to my scream,
Drowned by a mixture of doubt and fear
Only you can wake me from this dream.
Memories; now flood my mind,
Reconciling to tears as they escape.
Perpetual rivers will send my message:
Only you can rescue me from this nightmare.