He asked me if I loved him. I said, "I don't know." Because how can you love someone, when you don't know what love is... when you don't know if love exists?
One second we're inside, dancing at my best friend's Quinceañera. We're smiling, having a good time.
The next second, we're outside. He's on one bench, I'm on the other.
Screams, yells, tears, isolation.
It's 40 degrees in April, the midnight moon is glowing.
One year of a relationship has been carried off in the breeze because of a petty fight.
I'm shivering in my strapless dress, trying not to create a scene.
I'm strong, I don't need a man. I don't need him. I can survive on my own.
Out of my peripheral vision I can see Patrick, his head buried in his lap.
Isolation.
I bury my head in my lap, shivering from the cold, warm tears flowing down my cheek.
Then I feel something warm on my back. It's Patrick's jacket to his tuxedo.
"I don't want it," I tell him, "I don't need it."
"You're going to freeze to death," Patrick tells me.
I take it off of my shoulders. He puts it back on. I take it off. He puts it back on. I take it off.
I look him in the eyes. His deep brown eyes are blood shot from twenty straight minutes of crying.
He looks away, "I'm going on a walk."
He begins to walk away, and with each step he's fading away into the shadows. With each step, he's fading away from me.
I put his tuxedo jacket on. It was damp with sweat, but it smelled of his Abercrombie and Fitch cologne.
Ten minutes pass and out of nowhere he appears. I run up to throw my arms around him, but I see the image of his 6'5'' marine father behind him. "Julie, Patrick, in the car now," he bellows at us. Everybody within a ten foot radius turns to stop and stare.
Speedily we walk to the car. "You two are not allowed to see each other anymore." His father stops suddenly and turns to him, "Men aren't supposed to cry."  Patrick wipes his eyes, as if crying was a sign of weakness, a sign of femininity.
"It doesn't even matter anymore," Patrick says, "you don't understand anything."
The endless walk to the car ends. "Patrick, get in the front seat. Julie, you get in the backseat."
I do as told, but then Patrick crawls into the seat next to me.
"Patrick, be a man," his dad says.
Patrick buckles his seatbelt. His left arm is around me; his right hand is holding my left. "I love her, and nothing you can say will take me away from her," Patrick says firmly. His dad presses down on the accelerator.
I'm sobbing in Patrick's chest, and his arms are around me. With his hand he gently lifts my chin. "It'll be okay, it'll be okay," he says looking me in the eyes, tears coming down his own cheeks.
"Look what she has made you, you should be embarrassed of yourself," Patrick's dad continues as he stops in front of my house. "I swear if you walk her up to the door, it will be the last time you ever do so."
Patrick follows me outside of the car, up to my front door.
"Patrick, you really didn't have to," I say as he wipes my tears away.
Gently, he kisses my lips. "I love you, and nothing can stop that."
He turns to walk away down the stone steps leading up to my house.
I didn't know what love was. I didn't know if love existed. But if it did exist, I'm pretty sure this was it.
"Patrick," my voice calls out into the darkness, "I love you too."

When did life become this, a bleak mess destroying the fantasies made up years ago when I was young and had no grip on reality. When did love lose its meaning and violence become your agenda, a mark on your mentality? Love was so ripe then, you made me feel so special, when the slightest touch, the most meaningless brush against my skin sent orgasmic tingles through me. You could have done whatever, whenever and I would fall to your mercy. I was so naïve to think you would love me forever, to think I was never going to become the pawn I am in your twisted games. I never thought those same fingers that could be so gentle, so soothing when things went wrong, so tender and forgiving, could hurt me.

I look at you now, dead to the world, your stale breath falling unevenly as you snore. Even when unconscious, you still spite me, your body a structure of venom and hate, bringing me down with you. Your fists are clenched, as always. It seems to be the same with you, your only mission in life to beat me, until you tire, and fall back into your uneven snores. So many bones I've broken, and so many tears I have shed, but I cannot give up. You always pull me back, however much I hate you.

You wake; your low grunts send me into overdrive. I busy myself with the clanging of plates in our small sink, my open wounds stinging badly, my hands shaking. I breathe in deeply, hoping you are in a good mood, pleading silently for your pity. You stumble into the room, vodka clinging to the remains of your clothes. You turn to me, your eyes cold and thunderous, reminiscent of the North Sea. You see the fear in my eyes, the caution in step backwards, and you laugh, your cold, menacing laugh, and carelessly swing at me. I keep silently as you beat me tears fill my eyes. You tire and bark orders for more alcohol. You don't pity me at all, just use me as your punch bag. I do as I'm told, looking blankly into the mirror, studying every bruise, cut and welt that cover my open skin. I see a stranger in that mirror, someone I don't know, and shouldn't care for. All I see is a battered woman, looking for escape, a wandering knight, but finding only peasants.

I hope one day you will stop, put down the spirits, the cigarettes, and remember what you must of felt for me once upon a time, when we were young and were making up those fantasies together, when there was no grip on reality. I hope we can relive those moments when you would touch me and I would feel those orgasmic sensations, and not feel your fist pounding against my jaw, because all I can do is hope.

-------
Stop the remake!
If you're British, click here!
*"Access Denied"*

I tell you that I love you,
You believe my soft lie,
It's time for me to whisper,
This is my final goodbye.

You were once my love,
What we had was great,
I just have to let you go,
I can't handle the emotional state.

Now I'm just a stranger,
I know I said forever,
You can't believe everything you're told,
Baby, it's now or never.

Maybe now you'll realize,
I wasn't meant for you,
I know we both had hoped,
But we knew it wasn't true.

It's not that good, but it's worth a shot, right?

-------
it was a fairy tale begining, now we've got the fairy tale ending.
i love you, baby.

"Ah, to be loved.
   'Twould be much too sweet for me. For I am but a lonely soul, salivating and lusting for that sweetness. Such saccharine fantasies make for hopes, which always disappoint. My heart and my eyes will ever hunger for such wondrous lovely things, and my hands will always lie alone and cold, as shall I.
    My little black heart has a cavity for you dripping with pretty words and a dreamy tune. I will reserve this flimsy cardiac space, and continue to fill it up until those words gush from my mouth to warmly meet your ears, and the tune oozes down my fingers and envelops some sorry, unwilling guitar strings.
   And there still it will be, awaiting you. Because I have (however doubtful) reason to believe that you will someday be just mine."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
When I am sleeping... Stay out of my dreams.


-------
I let my music take me where my heart wants to go.

In my world of no color,
All I see is black and white,
I need someone to show me,
What is light.

In my world of no color,
Nothing is very bright,
Someone needs to come,
And finally end the night.

In my world of no color,
I need the end of black and white,
Someone needs to show me,
What it is that's bright.

In my world of no color,
You eventually brought the light,
You showed me what color is,
And ended the endless night.

-------
it was a fairy tale begining, now we've got the fairy tale ending.
i love you, baby.

Breathe Deeper

Inhale
the smoke surrounds her
and the giant puffs of air
bring her close to you
She belongs to you
and you to her but
the fog separates you
it pulls her away from you
as if you two weren't
meant to be
She's pretty
you're ugly
She's tall
you're short
She's black
you're white
but you inhale deeper
puckering your lips
into a vast black whole
you're hungry
hungry for the smoke
hungry for the fog
hungry for love
wishing, hoping, praying
that when the smoke clears
she won't see
the pimples, the scars, the bifocal glasses,
the braces, the limp, or the ear that's larger
than the other, but
She will see you and recognize
the familiar face
you're the guy that stops breathing when
She breathes, stops eating when
She eats, stops singing, stops dancing
STOPS
to gaze quietly through the fog, wishing
you were on the other side
Defrost
you enter the cold clouds
step by step
drawing closer to her, longing to be lost
within her Earthly brown eyes
you emerge
the fog thins out
the smoke floats away
the clouds ascend back where they belong
this is the moment
afraid you won't make it to her, you take a picture
Flash
She's gone
with the wind
you stand still gazing into the picture
no girl
just smoke
thick grey smoke
just fog
cat like fog
just clouds
large confusing clouds
you're still in them
and you realize she never left
and neither did you
Exhale


-------
Change is inevitable, except from a vending machine.

Walking back
Across the sands…

God knows I've
Been here before,
Following our footprints
Where we walked.
Put myself in your position,
Think that’s the way
To sort it out?

How you're feeling is written in your footprints,
They're deeper in the sand than mine.

I even think your footprints are beautiful,
How could you have doubted me?

Twenty paces of constant crying
Haven't shown me anything.
The truth is pretty clear though,
It’s written here in every footprint.
I should have said something,
Even if I didn't do it,
One word could have changed it,
But it was something else.

I was a fool not to notice...
Looking at your footprints.


-------

Punctured bicycle on a hillside, desolate,
Could nature make a man of me yet?

Hailey, was always drunk whenever we went out. She has no self constraint, she has no self control. She just does what she wants to and when she does something stupid, I have to pick up the pieces.
           Hailey is sick. Hailey is very sick, but not because of alcohol. Hailey is an awful person. After Hailey and I go to bed and fuck. I fall asleep and Hailey uploads the videos she has secretly filmed of us having sex onto the internet. She sells them to some amateur porn site, and keeps the money. She gets quite a lot. I guess she’s smarter than I ever gave her credit for.
              But that isn’t the only money Hailey gets from selling her body. Every Thursday Hailey gets three cheques in the post from three different teenagers to masturbate on a web cam for them. Hailey loves this, Hailey feels sexy and in control doing this. That is how Hailey thinks.
              I bet you think I'm not so lucky to have her now. But you know that saying - "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer", well there’s a lot of truth in it. So when I found out what Hailey was doing, Hailey can't keep secrets and can't remember what she says when she’s drunk. I just pretended it never happened. I listened to her fake an orgasm three nights a week on top of me, under me, in front of me, whichever position she seemed to think would look best on film. I didn’t say anything when I found the dildos hidden in a desk.
               I don’t love Hailey. I love when I come home to my 1 bedroom flat in a reasonably respectable area, and there’s someone at home, finished her shitty job in a shop, and I’ve got 2 hours till I have to go to work in a bar, and not a word passes between us, until she wants something.
             "Davey, honey, Davey, I need...." and then I’m in power for those few seconds.
         I always say yes.


-------

Punctured bicycle on a hillside, desolate,
Could nature make a man of me yet?

From the east come the clouds.
Exploding and boiling over the edging hills,
Breathing with a sweet,
Malignant breath,
Mown grass and dead insect dust.
"Here, be still, it cannot find us."

Alone with us,
Trying to escape the vicious clouds,
Nestled in the sill on a bed of dust,
A feather, a deceased martyr looking toward the hills.
A soundless vacuum sucks away my breath.
"Trust me, my sweet."

And it is sweet.
Since nothing is here with us,
We can save our breath,
I can listen to your reassurance and the roiling advance     of the clouds.
And feel your hands run over the hills
And planes of my back, soft with lingering dust,

From where you tried to keep me from getting dust
On my new sweater, the color of the sweet
Tea that we would be sipping on those hills
Were it not for the problem of "us"
In the first place, because the gods in the clouds,
The ones with the malevolent breath,

Wish our combined breath
A quick and healthy return to the dust.
To be swept carelessly of, trailing the clouds
For eternity, which could be sweet,
Except that we would never remember the "us."
I shudder, bury my face into your shoulder's hills,

Then think better of it and straighten, watching the    distant hills
Disappear completely as my breath
Fogs the window that is saving us.  
Then, I notice the stirring of dust,
Under the bottom pane, taste the sweet
Chill of poison, and am suddenly watching my vision    cloud.

Sand clouds my breathing, making hills and dunes in   my throat.
Your arm brushes me blindly.  I turn to watch the dust   sew your sweet lips, steal your breath...
And we watch from within ourselves as the dust covers    us.


-------
I will either evade death or die in the attempt.

I see fire burning in your eyes,
The passion between us is undeniable,
Neither one of us can resist the other,
The moment we touch sparks fly,
After the sparks come the shivers,
You know just where drives me crazy.

The moment you walk through a door,
My skin goes all tingly,
I don't even have to look up to know your there,
The connection makes my tummy flutter,
My thoughts always come back to you,
Even when you aren't around,
I just can't help but think of your smile,

I don't have to be around you,
But reminders still remain,
The scents, emotions and memories,
I will never forget what I felt,
Nor will I ever regret it,
The passion and excitement remains,
Even when I'm alone your still there.

-------
Dreaming Of A Day Where Things Are Different!
Fruitlady is my Wifey
♥The Love Group Is Back♥

Her body shakes violently in the vinyl chair stationed behind the reception desk. For the young man, it's cause for alarm, but the cleaner continues to clean and the painter continues to paint, not even slightly phased by the drama. After what seems like a lifetime, the shaking halts and the woman resumes her work as if nothing has happened. She gathers bits and pieces, hands them to the man and begins to explain the ins and outs of his stay. The shower takes a few minutes to heat up so be patient; extra blankets are in the bottom drawer of the closet if he needs them; under no circumstance is he to approach the ginger cat; breakfast is served from 7am to 9am in the dining room. But tonight, he'll choose no shower over a cold shower and be woken up constantly through the night by the harsh cold. In the hallway the next morning, he'll receive a rude awakening by a sadistic feline and move into the dining room to discover the kitchen is closed. Things might have run more smoothly had he payed attention to the receptionist's instructions, but he instinctively gawked at her bizarre, frazzled appearance; and felt overpowered by the unusual, metallic odour of her breath.

After a much needed nap, it's back to the dining room in time for lunch. Missing breakfast is starting to have an effect on the man, and the moment he steps into the dining room, he receives a sharp blow to the head. Physically, he's untouched. His senses, however, are thrown into a state of chaos. Unsure what to be most horrified by, his ears tortured by shrill laughter; his eyes suffering from the shock of what lies before him; his nose in agony from the intensified odour of the receptionist's breath. The small dining room is now filled with staff and permanent guests alike; dining on various strange meals and guzzling down their water. Never before has he been in the presence of such an odd gathering of people.

Seated at the table nearest to the door is the receptionist, convulsing madly; her frizzy, untamed hair bouncing freely. The other positions at the table are occupied by characters equally as peculiar. A frighteningly frail woman tries her best to recover a half-eaten sandwich from beneath the gentleman passed out on the table, hopefully just sleeping. Meanwhile the painter, the chef and the kitchen-hand are engaged in a rather heated argument regarding the overall state of the world today. Despite the increased challenge that the painter also happens to be employed as the chef and the kitchen-hand, they really do seem to raise some interesting discussion points.

A piercing shriek is heard from the far side of the room, and a woman dressed in the attire of a maid jumps to her feet. She begins screaming profanities at the man seated across from her, and once he can take no more, he throws a handful of coins at the table and storms out; his grubby robe dragging along the floor. The maid, pleased with herself, leans back in her seat and takes a swig of her water. The young man starts to wonder if the dining room is really the kind of atmosphere he wants to be in right now, then decides to take his lunch to his room.

Sitting in the middle of the king sized bed, surrounded by dirty plates, he lets out a sigh and loosens his belt. Picking up a half-empty glass of water prompts him to wonder if there's another bottle. Three bottles lay in the floor next to the bed, but all are empty and therefore useless. No matter how much water he drinks, his thirst remains unquenched, and suddenly he feels a headache coming on. Dizzily making his way back to the dining room in search of more water, he passes a photograph hanging on the wall. Stopping for a second glance, he recognizes the building as what would have been the Inn in it's glory days, and the people gathered out front as the employees. The young girl bears a striking resemblance to the receptionist, but she lacks the wild look in her eyes, and seems far too ordinary to be the shaking screwball the Inn is home to today.

Continuing his journey to the dining room, the young man begins to ponder the quirkiness of the Inn's residents. How does one establishment attract such numbers of strange characters? Were they ever regular people?

The man's vision starts to blur. Darkness begins to overwhelm his line of sight, and leaning forward to find the wall only results in a hard impact on the floor. Trying to pick himself up and failing miserably, he suddenly feels an incredible itch creeping up his leg. Scratching wildly, the itch continues to spread. Soon enough, the man is thrashing around on the floor, trying to relieve the unbearable itch. Darkness overcomes him, and the sweet embrace of unconsciousness soothes the itch.

He awakens to find himself in the grip of several employees. His mind tells him to struggle, but his body refuses to obey. They take him back to the dining room, and prop him up in a chair. Everyone returns to their seat, and continues with their unusual behaviour. He attempts to stand, but his legs wont budge. Wanting to collect his belongings and get as far away from this place as possible, he tries his hardest to gather the strength, but part of him has lost the desire to leave. Suddenly, this place feels more like home. The woman seated next to him is scantily clad, especially considering her elderly state. She shoots him a sly grin, and passes him the bottle of water. He takes a swig, and the metallic odour fills his nostrils. Suddenly, he feels an itch creeping up his leg....


-------
I float over the world with such ease.
Faery Dust sprinkles from my pant legs. It cures blind orphans.
The triangle people have put on their dance mittens. Love is all around.
I spew glazed donut holes for everybody.

Post edited at 1:32 am on Sep. 28, 2008 by Alabamarama

-------
Sexual innuendo.