There’s always something blocking ahead. There’s always the wall; thick and made up of stones and concrete. I can kick it. I can try to punch it down with all my passion, but it just won’t collapse. I shiver and pace in this forsaken room. The lights are dim and the cold clouds claim and hide my hopes outside. I sit leaning against this wall and watch silence eat me alive; my skin, my breasts, my neck, my lips. This darkness that spills when the daylight fades out; it chews up my tender flesh, apathetically, despicably, bit by bit.
Say there’s more to this world than this. Give me a hint that you’re alive and that you’d hold me tight in these days so cold, so real, and so long. Give me reassurance that we wouldn’t hurt anyone else. Hold my face, fix your gaze, peer into my soul and tell me that I am who I am and that’s all that you see. That’s all that you’ve always wanted. Can you see through this wall? Let me try to break it. You can’t imagine the strength that runs through my veins. I can’t take it. I’ll take your hand and we’ll run to paradise. In an oblivion full of you you you and me me me…. a kaleidoscope vision, a shimmering, startling sight. We’ve got to survive. This isn’t make-believe because I know you exist. I can hear you kicking the wall from the other side. Try and try, and try and try. I’m growing scared because I really don’t know where to take us from here. The grey clouds are vast and massive. The shadows slide in. The clock is ticking. A drop of sweat burns my eye and my heart is beating. The silence is killing.
Today I sat there thinking I’m 18 years old and looking at the sky. I was lying on the grass with a book, but hell, I can never concentrate. The winds gushed, the clouds darkened, a wimpy little thunder growled,
and I felt happy.
Memories of snow in the summertime.
Days of crying undercovers and hungering for a drop of sunlight. Gray clouds looming over the Midwest and suffocating our souls; causing it to turn gray too. The skin turns into an ash like color, making you forget who you are. Depression is the perfect word to describe the winters here. It’s the loneliest feeling in the world when you go outside and see no one, and hear nothing. Frost killing the fields, and the roads are isolated with sparse traffic. We’re always alone out here. It’s been twenty-three years, and I’m still dealing with it. We walk the frozen roads with hands in our pockets, with flying snow for company.
But here I see you when I close my eyes, walking alone, walking towards me. Hands in your pockets too, and a scarf around your neck.
Your teeth crooked and yellow, your eyes… lost. Your skin pale and deadly, and your vibrant lips, cracked.
Your clothing unstylish and lame.
You are wordless, but I can see your breath in the freezing air.
Before me you stand, isolated, calling out to me… calling out to something,
while the arctic winds cry the loudest silence I’ve ever heard.
Still your face flickers in the depths of my mind. Still the blizzard howls midsummer,
reminding of my gray skin.
Aching for you.
Let’s debate this with the judge… I didn’t mean to deliberately hurt you. I didn’t… I did cringe during the bicycle ride, but I don’t anymore. I promise. I’ll take back the rose and the note. I’ll take back that odd complement and the failed kiss. I’d pick you over that meat headed guy and appreciate the sheer devotion you had for me. I know we’re having a divorce up here in the clouds and you’re sitting there stubbornly with your arms crossed and you can’t even look at me… but judge! Please tell him I’m sorry; one last time.
The judge looked at him, and he at the judge. Then the judge faced me and said, “he’ll take you.”