A curse. A curse that started with a promise a promise of immortality. Immortality, but at a cost A high cost
I was young young and naive so naive i didn’t think twice and now thinking twice is five times too few
i have eternal life but with life comes death and since i cannot die it is i i who decides decides who is to die
every day i must choose must choose a soul a soul to snuff out every day i must decide decide who is to die
each person a chess piece a piece in this miserable game a game that will last forever because i am forever
and it’s a curse. A curse that started with a promise a promise of immortality. Immortality, but at a cost A high cost
My mother said never to sleep with a candle burning. But how tempting it is For the smell is sweet And the flame is warm the light is quite nice — it makes the shadows dance
The candle is kind when you’re awake, she said, but don’t close your eyes. The smell becomes heavy and the flame will swallow Light turns to blaze And the shadows will prowl
i’m not scared of getting burned for the light is soft and harmless though when i close my eyes it’ll be a lesson learned
I held the fragments of me that you had broken and begged you to put them back together.
_“first bottled your tears for me” _you demanded.
_“anything for you” _I replied and began bottling tears shed over you
“silly little one. you have given me the most vulnerable part of you. you broke me first so now I will break you more”
I watched as you drank my tears and shattered the little bottle that held them.
I watched not as me but as a shell of who I was.
Though you have long since severed the string of communication I keep filling bottles with my tears.
Not one tear falls that isn’t for you.
I keep the bottles locked away in hope that one day it will be enough and you will put me together again.
_Isn’t it funny how you were the one to break me _ yet still It’s only you who I will let fix me.
When I was 5 my mom told me to promise I would never die. I giggled and gave her my word. She went back to tickling me. All was right in the world.
Now I’m older and know the meaning of the those words. But nothing is right in the world anymore. And the only thing keeping me here is that promise I made when i was 5.
I sat down by candlelight with soft music in my ear thinking, "What should I write?" Wondering how to convey my silly thoughts and deep feelings Into elegant words that dance through one's mind. How can I feel so deeply yet lack the words to write? Where may i find a translator to translate my inner workings in a language not only understandable but beautiful. I yearn to create. To portray. To not only feel myself, but make others feel too. My problem is the need for perfection I can't create until it will be perfect and when it's not perfect I give up. My problem is I know my problem. I force myself to create something imperfect like I see other artists do. But their imperfect is beautiful I critique and compare my impertect. Do you see my problem? Even my purposely imperfect isn't good enough for me. So I put down the pen— push aside the half written words 1 put down the paintbrush - push aside the half created face And I close my drawer of creativity and lock away my thoughts and ideas ..another time ...another tine
I was so excited for my metamorphosis so excited to finally fly.
But then you forced me into my chrysalis stole from me the chance to even try.
My wings you grabbed and painted before they could ever dry.
My heart is now torn and tainted so curled up in the corner I hide and cry.
