such a sad tune it plays in my head. swimming amongst countless thoughts of nothingness, lighting up the way when it enters my mind simulating a mist that washes over my eyes as i stare holes into the wispy air that floats by. mocking my heightened state of mind that counts as a war just north of the eyebrows. the cold grill of this window to oblivion provides rest for my tired neck while i watch the time and rain drip away.
waste away.
so much rain. and yet i feel nothing. no wash over. no comfort by the melancholy. beyond my reach it continues to fall again and again. yet i stare more, in wonder. am i like the wind? everywhere yet nowhere? does the wind, so majestically braving the rain, get drenched in its moisture? is the wind as privileged as i think it is?
does it feel?
cold breezes grazes my eyelashes and then i feel its mockery and venom fills my veins while the guitar strums melodiously, yet monotonously, in my ears. so lonely it is to be me. and the wind. you tried to grasp me, but i escaped through the holes present in your heart. there was never any tolerance to fit me, and yet you still tried to calm my nerves in a dead of night one momentous day. but really, did you really try hard enough?
i am the wind.
you need not tread carefully. you need not fear me. but you forgot. you let slip from your mind that you should never try to enclose the wind in your palms. you let slip from your mind that you should not lead with your eyes open on a windy day for tears may be. you let slip from your mind that you should not constrict your hair and miss the serenity the wind will caress into your senses.
open your palms and feel me.
close your eyes and think of me.
let your hair loose and love me.
"yo no me quedo"
you let me die.
3 comments:
Simply beautiful. The best work you've written so far.
Unfortunately the best work, amongst layers and layers of pretense and, simply put, crap. The wind? You've run out of ideas to associate with so now the wind? And YOU deem yourself "prose worthy"? Porbably because no one in their right mind will ever deem you prose worth. Puke worthy maybe. Do everyone a favour and close this shit hole down. Readers tire of people like you and your beloved, whatever the hell it is that you write. Just add the words lonely and pain and thoughts and love and grammatically correct it and lo and behold everyone one is a fucking poet. Just fucking give up. I bet even YOU think your work is bullshit. And wow. Your handle is the name sharlene in reverse. Oh what mysterious character can this person be? You're just another dumb bitch just like every other female blogger who thinks she's a "writer". Just fucking Give Up.
Hey check it out, you've got a dickhead who thinks you're female. He's coming on to you by being an asshole. You know how women dig assholes. He's hoping you might go 'Ooo he's an asshole, he must be mysterious and interesting'. Now if its as easy as 'Just add the words lonely and pain and thoughts and love and grammatically correct it and lo and behold everyone one is a fucking poet.' I'd like to see you try it. Prove to me its that easy, and I shall lick my own balls. I'm not here to defend Enelrahs' art. The art can defend itself if it needs to. I'm here to know if it as easy as you (Anonymous) say it is. Cos if it is, I will definitely lick my own balls.
But that's just it. You won't do that will you? You'd probably go on another rant like a fucktard and then tell me I can go lick my own balls because I enjoy it.
Jesus Christ I can read minds! I must be as brilliant as 'And wow. Your handle is the name sharlene in reverse. Oh what mysterious character can this person be?' No shit sherlock, it took you to inform the world of that little cognitive conundrum.
And finally, Dear Lord, I give thanks to You, for sending forth such fucking twats, for if not, I shall not even realise that by my being average, I have attained genius, next to such twatism. Amen.
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