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Blame the rain
Jun. 29th, 2002 04:11 pmI wrote this ages ago, no specific character in mind, and the constant beating rain outside my window reminded me it was there. Looking over it again, aside from the melodrama, I think I can see hints of a couple boys peaking out from behind the words... Who do you see?
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Cold, lonely, fallen leaves that whirl in lazy loops to the ground. A distracted hand grasps for meaning, but comes away empty.
Could you love me?
Could you care?
Could I be more than what I am, more that what I see and feel, turn into something marvelous and overwhelming and larger than life?
Will you help me be more than what I am?
Will you see me?
Do you care?
The constant dull thud of painful heartbeats echo in my chest; they rhyme with the crashing waves of doubt and despair inside my mind.
I know the depths of hell, I have stood in its belly and screamed to the heavens and only my voice replied. There was no one there to listen.
Will you listen?
If I offer my hand, would you feel the cold in my fingers? Or would you only see what those fingers could do for you... to you?
Would you know that in my empty palm lies the essence of who I am? And that everything I am can be blown away with a single negative breath, a single cross look, a single unconcerned oversight.
But why would you want this burden, this albatross... Why would you want me?
For everything I offer, the deep hidden poisoned pain is ten fold. For every smile I show I hide a bloody dagger, dripping in time to the turning years.
What's the point of trying when worms wait their meal? To soar the skies in laughter, to huddle in cold and filth, each ends the same with no recompense or quarter given.
Who are we to argue the ravages of life? To say "No! I will not allow this intrusion!"
Reality was there before your very first breath. It will be there after your last. It will lumber past and through and over you no matter your resolve or denial or trickery.
It doesn't care.
Why should we?
Why should you?
Do you?
please
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Cold, lonely, fallen leaves that whirl in lazy loops to the ground. A distracted hand grasps for meaning, but comes away empty.
Could you love me?
Could you care?
Could I be more than what I am, more that what I see and feel, turn into something marvelous and overwhelming and larger than life?
Will you help me be more than what I am?
Will you see me?
Do you care?
The constant dull thud of painful heartbeats echo in my chest; they rhyme with the crashing waves of doubt and despair inside my mind.
I know the depths of hell, I have stood in its belly and screamed to the heavens and only my voice replied. There was no one there to listen.
Will you listen?
If I offer my hand, would you feel the cold in my fingers? Or would you only see what those fingers could do for you... to you?
Would you know that in my empty palm lies the essence of who I am? And that everything I am can be blown away with a single negative breath, a single cross look, a single unconcerned oversight.
But why would you want this burden, this albatross... Why would you want me?
For everything I offer, the deep hidden poisoned pain is ten fold. For every smile I show I hide a bloody dagger, dripping in time to the turning years.
What's the point of trying when worms wait their meal? To soar the skies in laughter, to huddle in cold and filth, each ends the same with no recompense or quarter given.
Who are we to argue the ravages of life? To say "No! I will not allow this intrusion!"
Reality was there before your very first breath. It will be there after your last. It will lumber past and through and over you no matter your resolve or denial or trickery.
It doesn't care.
Why should we?
Why should you?
Do you?
please
