loonman

I stare blankly in the mirror. I seek a simple answer for the visage looking back at me. Wide eyed, I search those eyes of sand in the face of the ashes, burnt by the solar winds of time. I pick at the charred scabs to watch the gelatinous ooze of emotion seep out. The wasteland of my soul fragments as my ashen heart crumbles to the winds. The pain of this damage pales to the knowledge that I am the only one to blame for it. I thought I deserved to be happy. I thought I should be paid for the sweat and the tears and the devotion. I thought that my needs were important. All I wanted was to find my own piece. Was my crime so unforgivabl

I am the dolly left in the attic, covered in dust. My cloth skin is bleached and discolored from the cruel sunlight that stole my love. I envy the tearful eye for my eyes cannot rain my pain away. Time is my captor. Time is what drove my love away to grown up ways forgotten as childish. No more will I dance with wild abandon in innocence and freedom of worry. I long for a voice to scream out for just one more glance, just one more loving look. I pray for death so that my lidless, dry eyes will no longer see the absence. My prayers will not be answered, so I will watch the spiders live, make homes, and die as the years crawl by.

I am a bag of secrets. I am a bag of broken glass I am a bag of blooding sorrows I am a bag of screaming nightmares I am a bag of trampled funeral flowers I am a bag of reaches not long enough to save I am a bag of little girl's tears crying for someone lost. I am a bag of soft white lies of salvation said to sooth the passing I am a bag of the last words said in anger that will never have a chance be forgiven