Cut By Numbers

I.

these
broken bits
of bitterness
that self control
can't
confine have
sold me short
of pretending that
I am
safe.

II.

doing what i've
wanted has left me
miserable
but
hell,
at least
someone
was entertained.

III.

The ocean is beautiful and sad and people love it for a couple of days before leaving it. They call it their home, they say their blood runs thick with it, they breathe the air and finally feel at peace with all their pieces.

They leave and choose every time to continue their old life, the one without surprises and abounding with uneasy comfort. Secretly people long for the ocean, want to remember how happy they felt and be encompassed in wild wonder.

The ocean never changes. It watches as you sit and weep. It watches as you bring new lovers and pretend to have something worth while. As you stand and think and fall in love with crashes. It watches as you grow old and slowly fill with more frustration and anger for a life you can't be bothered to change.

There's a secret that it can't tell you. Something so deep and heartfelt and you can lie to yourself, but that never changed anything. It can't.

The ocean doesn't care. It can't.

IV.

I can't see the ocean from where I live,

but I can feel the pulses in my heart and
at one time
yours.
Mine is fast, fluttery,
will probably fail.

Yours is slow and steady
and strong, except
when I was
close
closer
closed.

My arms tangled with
your arms, my fingers tracing your
fingers, my body aligned
with your body, my mouth on your
lips. we covered each other,
saved each other.

Nothing
was said.

You called me nice as I showed every hateful part of my personality. We spoke of the woman you were going to sleep with that night, not a suitable replacement for me but one that won't ask as many questions. You laughed over my slipping words, my inexcusable panic. I stared you down as you tried to bring up the courage to look me in the eye. You watched my control dissolve into a scar, one that creates hard eyes and false smiles.

The rhythms are pounding in my
mind, in my lungs. I need escape,
but it will only be a
vacation, a few days of
quiet before chaos
catches up.
I can't escape my thoughts.
I want to scream, but I need
the silence so terribly.
I want to leave.
Every thing is so broken.
The ocean is too far away
(like yourheartbeat)
and the rain does believe in always.

Remember?

I wanted to ask if I was beautiful now that I have nothing to offer you. I told you that I wasn't willing to ignore the worst parts of your personality, that I accepted you as a whole being. You told me you have grown tired, so tired. (I couldn't wake you up. I can't make you see. You're just so scared.) You looked bored. It would have been the same reaction if I had told you I loved you. I didn't know real life could be this goddamn dramatic, this ugly . . . this sad.

It's a desolate
cold place.

Loneliness, that is.