Like Eating Ash

Mar 25, 2010 15:15

As I watch the night put on its make-up, I fabricate you beside me, half asleep and dreamy like a curse. At once there is a pang to hold you close, to affirm the illusion as a reality. I realise I am a fool and as that seeps inwards I feel the bitterness take root.

I see my words splayed out like a dissected frog; pen my scapple, written for those wet stone eyes to see. Instead you give me words that alleviate no weight, letting my words splatter against your stony barrier, sliding down in a heap like spoilt fruit.

The more I read over it, the more I see my words unfulfilled, fetid and unwanted.

You, on the other hand, serve me a platter of sugar-coated lines, alluring colours of friendship and taunting other delights. Perhaps you have not noticed, but my stomach is queasy and I have a tooth-ache from your previous attempts. Still your actions eat through the fat and I am always left famished. I contemplate a four-course meal someplace else, even if they served me my own heart and soul.

My mind has even turned against me, become my bitter rival, flooding me with images of you, your lob-sided smirk of contempt for others. Like a lit cigarette, I wish to breathe in the carcinogen and damn the consequences.

I toy with past memories of a younger self battling the same beast, torrential emotions and bittersweet defeat. Two soft hearts, two platters to be devoured.

Perhaps I am a stepping stone over some puddle in life, but at least spare me the moon light serenading my thoughts anew with your image.

short story, blank

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