a life in the bitter cold
as it was i had begun to wonder what she wanted from me. Grey eyes stared at me embroidered with the darkest of lashes, perfect contrast to both the sterling in her eyes and porceline skin. The music which constantly surrounds my head became deafening as its bass thrummed in sync with the pounding of my heart, and so i couldn't preceive the words leaving her mouth as thouse perfectly formed lips moved to and fro. maybe it was then that i realized i was shaking, that the cacophony in my ears put me in a distant bubble from the cold of the world. The bitter cold i was so used to that the frost on my own lashes never gave me pause. that thouse eyes froze mine, normally so dark and deep that what few strong emotions gripped them never came close to making thier surface stir. that the darkness of my eyes was captured by the thousand shining lights in hers, reflections perhaps of the sodium and halogen lights shining so sharply in the winters chill, yet so warm and beautiful they were causing my heart to melt.
still the pounding in my head became louder, frantic, heavy and painful. my chest was filled with flames of gentle persuasion, gradually becoming less gentle with every flutter of my heart. the beating of which served to circulate the fire till i was sure the frost covering my coat and the like was steaming away from me in great billows.
pause
breathe
lean in closer to her, closer than what should be comfortable, closer still because fire always calls to you. closer closer, because the flames call and consume you just like the crippled moths strewn carelessly in thier death throes about an open candle. fools i used to call, but now i realized that this death was a part and point of life, i was simply waiting for the candle which called to me.
and so i found my wall of glass, a tinted window you never notice till your before it. morals.
she wasnt mine despite the aching yearning now tearing my guts to ribbons, threatening to burst me with its throbbing hot stifling constitute, trapped in its tight cage of denim. i took a breathe, and thought to myself, "damn i wish i wore underwear today".
then laughed, cause i totally killed my mood, if not the emotions behind it, yes, this beautiful spectre before me wasn't mine. nor would she ever be mine. stepping back a bit i looked at her questioning, seemingly imploring eyes and laughed at the stupidity of my situation, my own stupidity. because the more i stared into her eyes from within the usual bubble the more i realized they were merely gay and perhaps wicked, thou underneath i could see a greater pain and sadness only a misbegotten perfectly pure heart could inflict upon its owner. maybe it was more narcissism but i could see myself in her, as though she just as desperately wanted someone to steal her heart as well....
to save her though we were both to proud to ever utter such words.
still the pounding in my head became louder, frantic, heavy and painful. my chest was filled with flames of gentle persuasion, gradually becoming less gentle with every flutter of my heart. the beating of which served to circulate the fire till i was sure the frost covering my coat and the like was steaming away from me in great billows.
pause
breathe
lean in closer to her, closer than what should be comfortable, closer still because fire always calls to you. closer closer, because the flames call and consume you just like the crippled moths strewn carelessly in thier death throes about an open candle. fools i used to call, but now i realized that this death was a part and point of life, i was simply waiting for the candle which called to me.
and so i found my wall of glass, a tinted window you never notice till your before it. morals.
she wasnt mine despite the aching yearning now tearing my guts to ribbons, threatening to burst me with its throbbing hot stifling constitute, trapped in its tight cage of denim. i took a breathe, and thought to myself, "damn i wish i wore underwear today".
then laughed, cause i totally killed my mood, if not the emotions behind it, yes, this beautiful spectre before me wasn't mine. nor would she ever be mine. stepping back a bit i looked at her questioning, seemingly imploring eyes and laughed at the stupidity of my situation, my own stupidity. because the more i stared into her eyes from within the usual bubble the more i realized they were merely gay and perhaps wicked, thou underneath i could see a greater pain and sadness only a misbegotten perfectly pure heart could inflict upon its owner. maybe it was more narcissism but i could see myself in her, as though she just as desperately wanted someone to steal her heart as well....
to save her though we were both to proud to ever utter such words.