I Want You to Know

I want you to know that I'm mad.

I want you to know that you hurt me,

Cut deeper than anyone ever has.

When I talk to you, I refuse laughs, smiles

Happiness

Because I need you to remember, every second

That you changed me.

I want you to remember,

And I want you to be ashamed.

Otherwise,

You might forget me.

Could

I could hate you for what you do
For breaking my spirit
For crushing the dream
A dream, our dream
Mine
Yet you do all this and still you shine
On that pedestal I raised you to
I could hate you for what you do

Death of a Clown

It's 4 am exactly. She slumps in front of her computer screen, marking the time and wondering why or how she could even notice such an insignificant thing through the haze of pain she feels clouding her vision. Haze of pain. Nice way to say tears. There's a vague sensation of defeat somewhere in her chest, as if she just lost a game of volleyball in front of a gym full of people. No, more like losing the superbowl in a stadium packed to the rafters.
The question of who was playing on the winning team floats through her mind, and she takes a moment to mull over it. The sadness laps at the edges of her heart and for a moment she can't breathe, can only cry and hope that her control doesn't slip and she doesn't start screaming.
Regaining control is hard and distinctly out of the realm of "fun".
The person playing on the other team.. the team that beat her ass... was another version of herself. The romantic, idealistic one who thought everything would be okay. The one with a heart, who couldn't bear to go the other way once that heart was involved. The one who almost lost her mind when he left. The one who died when it became apparent that he didn't care.
The side that remains ... knows that after this it won't feel anything for a long time. The part of her that's left knows what it feels like to have to turn off emotion in order to keep from breaking apart. She knows that nothing will ever make it better, and so accepts the scar and covers it up. she knows that pretending nothing is wrong is the first step to pushing the pain back and forgetting it. The side that's left feels anger, feels sadness, but pushes it back because she must. She puts it in the grave with the dead optimist.
She knows that the pain may fade, but memories of him never will.
She knows that in time, the other side will grow back, and drag her into more trouble. And she'll take those scars just like these.
She knows all this and yet she prays that one day she'll make the right choice. That one day there will be one who makes both halves of her stand up and take note. Maybe one day there won't be any more scars to cover.
Or maybe she'll just kill that idealist.

And he doesn't even know that he was the only one she was thinking of on her birthday. He doesn't know that all he had to do was remember it.

Hoping to feel better.

I don't hate you.

I want to, don't get me wrong.

It's me that I hate

Cause it took me so long

And so many tears and sacrifice and days

To see through you

Right to your wicked ways

(yes, i know that's cliched)

There wasn't, isn't, anything I wouldn't do

For you, and you know it

That's why it's okay for you not to care

Cause "she'll always be there"

Ire.

I am a means to an end.
A train grinding rails
Running from and going to
Nothing and nowhere.

I am a means to an end.
A hammer, pounding nails
Left to rust in a box
In the basement.

I am a means to an end.
A fleet, setting sails
Around the world
To ruin.

I am a end...
To your means.

End of the road

It isn't here that this opened
Nor is it here that it will close.
It isn't here that you joined me on my path.
Or started on your own
And it isn't here that the journey ends.
Mine will, someday, near here
But not near you
See, you aspire to greater things
You'll reach heights I'll never see
And that will be okay.
Everything's as it's meant to be.

Let it down.

She told me to make a list

Pros and cons, cons and pros.

Side by side on either side of the line

Which one wins?

Who knows.

So we got some paper

We got a pen,

I wrote it up,

It let us down.

Ties are meant for necks

Shoelaces and loafs of bread

Not lists that decide your choice

And if I had thought ahead

I wouldn't have wasted my time

Or one solitary sheet

Cause I'd see that fate's the foe

I'm trying futilely to beat.

So let it let me down

Or bring me up again

I can't stop this rise and fall

With the best laid plans of mice and men.

She spoke quietly, as if the wind taking the words from her lips would make them less true. Salt water sprayed her face, frigid to anyone else, enjoyable for her. It was as if she couldn't feel the biting chill of the negative temperatures around her.

She had something to say, a conversation to finish, a speech that would rival any spoken on a podium... and damnit, she meant to finish it.

On an evening like this one, with storms on the horizon, and red-sun tipped waves crashing against the bluff on which she stood, she could argue. She could yell, scream, cry, lose her voice... on an evening like this one, if she wanted to, she could imagine her words reaching a person, with all the security of knowing that they wouldn't. She could say things designed to hurt, meant to cut... and have them ripped from her and taken away, weights removed from her shoulders.

She could. Or, she could speak quietly. She could say the things that hurt her, the fears and the sadnesses that plague her mind. She could tell those waves about the people she misses, speak the words that weigh on her in an entirely different manner.

And the wind would take them the same. And the waves would keep crashing, and they wouldn't judge. And it would all cover her speech, silence her voice, yet make it louder than it would ever be if she kept it all inside.

And when she finishes her speech, the waves will accept her the same way they accept the wind. And they'll keep crashing,

And the wind will take her the same.