Elucidating Questions

Standing up at the top, someone has been stealing time,

And the saddest part is it’s me, I fell off the rail,

And the cliff on the other side dropped off so far down that once the tracks were left there was almost no sound

To plunge down below, past the road and the rocks,

Into this thick blanket of blackness where there is no no where or somewhere,

Up or down, left or right, around, nothing, but silent, screaming, invisible matter.

All I hear are the sirens and the ringing, the silence and the ticking,

Beyond beyond between and this place, far away from any space.

When out of time on the boundaries below the horizon of the stars and the galaxies,

Is there existence if it is beyond the fields of vision, beyond the edges

Out in the dark that exists, regardless

But the light can only exist with it,

The colours only in it.

Somewhere.

Maybe some day I will write poetry and prose worth sharing.

That the silence of waiting, when I don’t ever get it right,

That they wait for something worth it.

That is just how it happens when you don’t know anything, I suppose.

Someday I will write something worth singing, or worth reading, someday the ones around me

Won’t protect me by never telling me,

How terrible it truly is.

To see anything that has been created,

By these hands.

Or perhaps this is the realisation,

That dreams just don’t come true. If you write them down, they make sense to no one but you,

So no one enjoys any of it,

Not even you.

Trying to fit in the loves lives and memories of another,

When none of it fit like a cookie cutter.

Someday.

If I ever want to come back to this nothingness and feelings of only that I can’t.

I’ll read over anything, I suppose.

It feels wrong, but you’re still beautiful. It stings and it hurts but you’re still good.

Disregarding objects is expected.

Merely a shadow you can always ignore,

But you’re still beautiful, and your voice is still that of an angel,

And your face still is worth seeing any time.

Your existence is still needed, needed so badly,

I’m the one who should be left to wither away.

I’m sorry for everything, everything I ever said.

If I could take it back and not be known by you,

I feel it is the best thing I could ever do by you,

You’re beautiful and worthy of every single day,

I hope you spoke to that person who you passed by,

And that you have friends who won’t leave you behind.

Don’t worry I’ll not distract you from the one you truly want to be happy with.

The ending is the same as it was years ago,

For me,

Luckily we’re parallel and you can turn.

I don’t think I have anything else. And I won’t say it, I won’t say it again,

I don’t want you to think about it.

The water colour skies in the waterfalls of the atmosphere.

Following your dreams is greed if you think of it hard enough,

If you think hard enough every action is negative regardless.

Someone will always dislike it.

The sweeping brushstrokes that create the greys blue and purples

A mountain range where it rains, or if it’s cold still the snow.

The cold of the elevation of being too hard, setting the self impossible bars.

Thinking of every action that can be remembered, but then removed as the comb of an old face looks over it

I was just a child, I whisper to the silence,

Trying to justify the actions of the past.

Knocking in threes, clipping of paths and crumbling of trees.

My soul and spirit may be yours, but the body is mine,

The chemicals that stream through the body creating too much heat to ignore

Is this what it felt like? Or is it the opposite,

After all the memories of the box often fade quickly,

But friends and support existed then.

Now there is no home to go home to at the end,

The urge to wander, to sleep outside

Rather than face a room rather than face the silence of another lonely night

A day that works but doesn’t have feeling.

Ah, but of course, a wish for the new ones,

I hope this real story has a happy ending for them.

And that the setting sun whose yellow lights and shadowed hills rolling away into the distance, the grip of the clouds,

Has been seeing some people whose happy endings exist.

I don’t know anything about it.

I’ve haven’t experienced it myself. Nor should I have expected it,

But there are others who will.

The pressure of them on my shoulders,

As I scrape by daily, on the bottom.

Roses whither, the brambles stay,

Patches of thorns as the petals melt away,

Into the ground beneath to be soil,

Roses whither, and rot away.

Petals fall day by day, a beast with a rose in the middle, or a rose who cannot speak.

You made your choice.

And so it goes, time takes all the beautiful away.

It was love. It burned me alive. It burned so bright that I thought I could be real.

Rose crafted from glass that shattered alone,

Brambles of steel nights and words that can only convey,

It was beautiful before, because you were there, in any way.

You’re welcome any time, an open invitation,

The deep only gets deeper because this is where I go alone.

When I thought I had someone and something and someones who I could know and show love to,

The rose garden had promised

Always ends up cold and empty.

The secret garden,

But the roses keep dying.

No matter what colour painted,

Secrets don’t exist.

Except for him. He’s the secret that is destroying every day.

I would never let it go,

I have to go back to the box. We can’t run free, I can’t be there and I won’t be.

I am the watcher. Again.

I find nothing every day.

They’ll go somewhere.

I will stay, locked in the pen he never enters.

They’ll be ready for it.

I will watch. I suppose.

Now there’s just dust. The brambles cracked and broken.

I don’t even have anything to pull anymore, besides the bones that ache and the head that pounds and the broken promises

This story would be welcome, but only if it was only for me.

Wouldn’t that be funny?

If it happened and it was only me?