Disclaimer: not mine.
Summary: Sometimes there are no words left to explain away the pain.
Notes: Marguerite, you *told* me I *had* to write something for you tonight, and I was not in a funny enough mood to keep going with the Temptation series. So, in itís place, hereís a tiny (and I do mean *tiny*) vignette. Hereís what comes from forcing someone to write when sheís not in the mood! :) The poem (such as it is) is mine.
I only did it to stop the pain
and shatter the shame of a love
Promises unfulfilled as ashes on the floor
broken by eyes that saw not me.
You did it just to get away. From your father. From your responsibilities. From disappointment.
An escapist to the core.
What were you thinking when you touched the cool metal, long-fingered hands tracing over the seductive gun barrel, as if it could grant you peace? What thoughts ran through your fevered brain as you drew it up to caress your skin as I used to do, marveling at how cold the unforgiving metal was against your cheek?
I beat at the walls of your unforgiveness
Battered and broken,
limp with need and want.
Devour my bleeding heart and count
the beats that stutter and stagger
against your breath
like kisses I never realized.
What were you thinking as the trigger gave beneath your finger? Not of me, I know. If you had thought of me, then you would have realized that you were shooting me as well, blasting out my brains with the poison of your death.
The worldís so dark without you.
Scoop me up and fly away
from nightmares of fathers who do not ken
And passion-heaved breasts that move
with light into the feeble candle flames.
The others look at each other with sorrowful eyes, seeking solace in tears and the breath of despair. Thatís not enough for me-- itíll never be enough. Itíll never be enough to look up and wish that you were there, to pray to empty skies that you would come back to me.
Why couldnít you have thought of me?
Letís fly away, fly away,
spread our wings and shut tight eyes
that dare not see the closing sun
which burns tight and white against our flesh.
I wonít do it your way-- I never had the flare for the dramatic as you did, sweet Neil, so bright and alive. Until now. The flash of noise and scarlet is not my way.
My hands donít shake as I open the cap and slowly begin to swallow down the pills. The water is cold as it spills down my chest, and my breath sighs as I lie back and think of you, waiting for me.
Oh, please be waiting for me.
I donít speak as the darkness comes. Thereís nothing left that I have to say: without you, the words are hollow, broken anyway.
Please, be waiting for me.
Come with me and birth anew
without the chains of manís misdeed
as we lay claim on pains undone
and scatter shame to the winds of dream.
Live on, sweet solace. Live on.
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