On the Brink of a Forfeit

At what point do I strike a balance and say that loving you without reciprocation is enough? It makes me feel weak, like an idiot child, and you placate me with expensive gifts when all I want is your undivided love and attention. A better choice might be to let you go, and as a man of short to no response you might not notice I’m even gone. You fill voids with girls and gadgets and I am left shaking at the thought of either lounging in your bed with their new fresh smells and soft buttons. I feel old, which is ironic, I feel old and tired and I think you look at me in the same contexts. I listen to love songs that beg for companions to hold on to a bond, to a love that hangs in a delicate balance and I beg in the same contexts. But you don’t want to hear my begging or my fits, you want smiles and something a little less tortured, when its you who has left me in this twisted tortured state. I want for the happiness we deserve, I want for the happiness we had before your ghosts scared you from your future.

The things I've written about you paint us in shadow but I continue to fight for light. My heart wipes the lies from my mind and I am left in a whirl pool of love/like. Your continuous shock and amazement at my forwardness regarding my feelings has become annoying really, and while I sit to write something nice, something bursting with hope, I let out the real feelings of complacency. Why have I let you become my everything, while you teeter between lust and regret? 

The Run

My mind spills over with quotes and thoughts, words and phrases play incessantly and yet I cannot, no, I have not had the will, the ultimate inspiration, to sit and write. In the past heartache had brought so much inspiration and now since my attempt to flip the script and be inspired by happiness, I am left scriptless. I run instead of write, the need for physical heart health and mind numbness outweigh the need for spiritual heart health and thoughtfulness.

The rain finally came and that’s when I find the running most peaceful, bad music fills my head leaving little room for any other thoughts and my sweat mixes with the fresh waters of the rain. When I’m running everything else aches, thus taking the pressure of said heart.

He calls and asks if I will run with him, can I give him part of this sanctuary? He has taken everything else, even this running only began as a way to impress him. Now he impresses me with his ability to compartmentalize our love and lie to my tear soaked face.

I say I’ll let go, I say these incredulous infidelities will break what’s left of us, I say enough is enough. When in reality I will never let go, I will endure these falsities and enough will never be enough.

The Likelihood

It's likely that someday I'll will forget what your house smells like.
It's likely that I will forget this night I sat on your couch and tears pushed at the backs of my eyes.
Rational says it's likely we won't go on like this forever
And it's likely I will forget what these last kisses tasted like just as I have forgotten the flavor of the first.
It's likely that my heart will break and ache for another month or more
And it's likely you'll make me completely crazy
And also that I'll recover
All these likely things ought to be relieving but they aren't because they are just happenstance and hopefulness.
It's likely you will burn me and I'll say it doesn't hurt
It's likely that you'll lie some more and I'll reciprocate
It's likely I'll keep you on this pedestal and melt at your feet
It's likely nothing will survive this dreadful occasion
It's likely in another 15 years I'll just be another name you've forgotten
It's likely that you feel all these likelihoods too but there I go with hopefulness and happenstance, there I go thinking it's going to be ok and happy and smooth sailing but in reality that isn't very likely, is it?

The Pause Button

Sometimes I hear your voice like a ghostly apparition when I know it cannot be you. Sometimes I feel your touch when I am alone in my room, longing for you. These days, this fleeting life, it is hard to trust as my heart waivers between break and bust. To pause something at its height, to stop the boulder as it teeters at the top of the hill sounds all to difficult so I bide my time, I wait and want as usual. I hope and try my best not to hate for as this love spurts forth from something I never saw coming I can’t stop it, much like a severed vein, there is no tourniquet that can stop this well of overwhelming feeling. It will be a certain miracle if anything is to survive this. I try to believe that you are genuine with the words you delicately placate me with but it’s hard to know where the truth lies, and which lies are truth.