When the gods wish to punish us, they answer our prayers.
—Oscar Wilde
I’m paid well, I live a good life
As though paper was the only assurance you lived a good life.
Life
- Boy: I know what I want to do.
- Old man: That so? What'd you have in mind?
- Boy: I'm gonna be a writer.
- Old man (chuckling): So what? You're gonna be successful or something?
- Boy: That's right, can't you believe it?
- Old man: I can believe it, only youth makes you think you can take on the world.
- Boy: Is there something wrong with that?
- Old man: Nope, just me remembering when I used to think that. You go for it, kid. Then when you're done, you can laugh when you hear someone else say that.
Dreaming of You
Part One
The young man walks on, calm and collected. A dreary, grey, starry sky his backdrop, seems befitting to his mood. Unaware of where he is heading, he heads on nonetheless, his attire seems to give him reason enough. Be it a black suit, tie and all, a young man should walk around in a suit once in a while he figured.
His black and white world, grey tone infected. He suddenly comes upon a young woman, as though from nowhere she appears in his way, in a white dress complete with black bow as a belt.
“Hey,” the young woman says with pep, smile drawn, one that would normally intimidate the young man had only the infectious effect. One that made evident they knew one another, more plain to note is that the smile carried a longing, time separated since they last spoke.
The young man perks up, confidence abundant, but within his heart quivers. For the young woman was old love, one he had hoped to see again.
“Hey, how are you?” The young woman shakes her hair as he speaks, then looks at him just as he remembers, poised as she did so her subtle smile was his alone to see and eyes intense with passion behind them.
A second of silence allows for the young man’s peripheral vision to catch the stars dance and moon swirl above. Slowly looking up to see this spectacle, the young man learns of his current place, that only a dream could make.
“I suppose this is the only place I could see you.” The young man looks back to the young woman, his smile having faded and his melancholy returning, he grabs his left hand to where the pain is focused. Only he cannot feel it as he does beyond this distorted land. The young woman turns inquisitive, smile subsided just the same as his, only she still had those eyes he adored. They never seem to change, always intense and beautiful, the reason he always had trouble slowing his heart when talking to her.
“I miss you…” The young man looks to his hands, the pain rallying.
“I know.” The young woman places her hands on his, the pain melted away. Having some trick to heal him.
“I can’t seem to forget anything about you. You’re burned into my memory, and all I can say is that ever since it ended I’m never happy like I was with you. I know you don’t really care, or maybe that’s just me thinking. The thing is, and I know you won’t hear this, but as happy as I hope you are, I want to be too. And I honestly can’t see that without you. Call me crazy.”
The young woman timidly smiles and gently reaches for the young man’s face, pulling him in for a kiss. Drawing back after tender loves touch, both youthful eyes pooled with a fire, the young woman smiles as she sees the young man still sad.
“You’re crazy.”
The young man wakes up, color stained world, his strewn mess of a room. Light shining bright through his blinds, he rolls over to see the blank ceiling and sighs.
“What a shitty dream.”
People have too much faith in me, they swear they see me changing the world. But how could I? I’m a monster, a boy with vicious teeth, or perhaps that’s the human in me. The man in me sees palpable honey in his hive that buzzes for love long if ever was. So is the way of my soul.
Even if it was just my imagination, I want you to know how happy I was with you. I hope you remember it as I do.
Dream
A typical question that pops up when someone is trying to get to know me, albeit clever and anyone’s answer is an enlightening one on their personality, my answer usually confounds and disturbs. I’ve always wanted die, for everyone, so willing to throw my life away I’d act casual in the face of danger. I’m not afraid to die, if anything I fear that moment just before you die, the gasps for air, mind burning, images wild and tender flow vivid by the eyes. It’s unavoidable, the body takes over and rushes adrenaline throughout the body and your heart rate skyrockets before it fades to zero, we all will feel it. However, I know I’ll get past it, I’ll be dying after all, my point is I’m more than willing to die. The only reason I haven’t is that I’d rather put my death to good use, and dying for everyone who won’t know me or the reason I did is the most attractive thought to me. I’d love to die and be forgotten, without reason other than I made something stay. That…that would be cool indeed.
Old Cold Tie
One day I’ll be free of you,
One day off,
Scratching that calendar.
My ticket to freedom
So it seems,
That day long ahead
In misty shroud.
An illusion I know,
That day I’ll be free
Will never come.
You shall always have your mark,
A scar earned from quick quips,
Solid tongue, and broken hearts.
Freedom,
Of that old cold tie.
