If only.

Author's Note: You know how sometimes you write these things that make absolutely no sense? That are just shameful tragedies in the name of writing? But you love it for some absolutely inexplicable reason?
This is like that.
There is no thought. There is no logic. It's just pure crap for the sake of writing.
And I love it. Not because it's good writing, or because it has any minutest particle of reason. But. Just. Because I enjoyed writing it, and it was brilliant to just spill my hopeless guts out like that.
Don't expect any literary artistry, because there is none.
Also, this a response to something someone said to me, tonight. I hope your own megalomania chokes you in your bed.
And yeah. Read the whole thing. Please.
Enjoy? xD


The maiden clutched the tree as if she would never let go.
It was not as if she had choice, she thought, as she struggled against the ropes that bound her so fiercely.
She cast another helpless glance at the barren landscape, wondering when someone would come.
Would they finally arrive?
Anyone to put her out of this terrible misery?

The rain poured down her face, mingling with her wretched tears.
Her despondent heart, thumped slowly in her chest as if to remind her it was there.
As if to remind her how she was aching.
To remind her, of everything she had left behind.
Everything she was aching for.

Suddenly, with no warning whatsoever,
The rain stopped.
The clouds parted and the sun made its path down towards her soaked, cold form.
She blinked away the moisture from her eyes, hardly daring to believe what she heard..

Could it be, could it possibly be the sound of hooves beating against the ground?
Could it be what she had been waiting for, for what seemed like an eternity?

And then as if from nowhere, he emerged from the thick foliage of the caged forest.
The sun shone on his noble forehead as he rode towards her on his handsome steed…
The horse stalled in front of her and he dismounted, his sword glinting in the light of the newly emerged sun.
Flashing her a dazzling smile, he pushed a wet lock of hair away from her face.
“My lady, I am here.
To help you.
To save you.”

As fresh tears poured down her cheeks, he quickly cut the ropes that had held her captive all these days.
He gently rubbed her sore wrists and gazed into her molten eyes…
“How do you feel, oh fair one? Do accept my apologies for not arriving sooner...”
She smiled up into his handsome face and with the sun witness and the birds singing their sweet songs overhead…

She pulled out a gun a from under her corset and shot him.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she shrieked. “It’s the 21st century, why the hell do you still have a sword, you retard?”
And with that elegant parting riposte, she climbed his horse and rode away.

And then she lived happily ever after.

\m/

Pendulous threads.

She knew she shouldn't be writing this.
And still.
Her hand wouldn't stop moving.
They were millions of miles away, never going to read it.
Perhaps that's why, as naturally as breathing, the words flowed onto the paper...

This recurring dream refuses to fade just as your witless voice refuses to dim.

I’ve painted so many pictures of you in my head, that I know your face better than I know my own.
I’ve written so many words that you might have said that I’ve stopped asking questions because I know all your answers.
I’ve been cut in half again and again, drawing chalk outlines of you in the dark.

I hate you like I hate your sedition.
And loathe you more, every second that passes.

My ardent revulsion is meant for every hair on your worthless head.
And my fervent disgust, for every fibre of your being.

The weakness in your soul is laid bare for everyone to see.
I rise above and you drown in your own ridiculous vengeance.

Wasting away under the shadow of your memories,
I’ve been here all along while you’ve been turning your face away.

P.S. It's just writing. They're just words.

Scatter.

The words flow from my pen, but I don’t recognize them as my own.
They fill a piece of paper that is a stranger in so many ways and a best friend in so many other's.
What contradictions?
What contradictions.
Everything is ambiguous.
Everything is the same.

----------------------------------------------

Memories mingle with the present and all of a sudden you’re lost in a hurricane of your torrid thoughts.
A dull hollowness creeps into where your soul used to be – and your heart beats in your chest, as if in slow motion, forcing the crimson blood out.
You long to let the tears flow, but the traitors ditch you yet again.
So you sit and feel your emptiness, letting your drowsy brain delude you.
Delude you into believing there's more to this than what's on the surface.
Optimism battles reality leaving you whirling -
empty, tearless and broken.
And in this moment, you’re all and nothing of what there is to be.

Who knew the glass heart was yours, after all?

Indelible

And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there?

I don’t want to break your glass heart.
I don’t want to cut your numb skin.
I don’t want to see your crimson blood flow.
But I won’t lose to let you win.

I don’t want to rip your ragged hair
I don’t want to crack your hollow chest
I don’t want to smash your thoughtless skull
But I’ll leave at once, at your behest.

I don’t want to slit your feeble throat
I don’t want to cleave your sightless eyes
I don’t want to mute your deafening voice
But how do I silence your rickety lies?

I don’t want to break your glass heart
Though I don’t want to see it whole
I didn’t see you break my wall
And if I could, I’d crush your soul.

Seek and Destroy.

"... making the same mistake again."

We all have theories
Conjectures about things
Situations
And people.
You assess situations in a random partially interested way.
Pick up what you like about it -
And then give up your life to fabricating your halfwitted elucidation of it.
Eventually it's to hell with reality all together and you start weaving fiction in your delusional head.
And it's not just you.
It's pretty much everyone.
The pretty ones
The smart ones
The self loathing ones
The narcissists-
You build and you build
You tear down a little
And then build again
Tear and build
Tear and build
And what with all this psychological contruction and demolition,
You wake up one day and you've completely lost track of what’s really going on.
Given it up for whatever movie script your mind is writing for you.
Your idealistic, captivating movie script.

Idealistic is not necessarily the happy you.
Nono. Just the whateveryou’dliketoseeyourselfas You.
Your movie.
Your vision.

Like those fight scenes in the Matrix where they grew hair and wore cool sunglasses and suits. xD

Okay, I killed it.

Anyway.

"It's driven me before and it seems to have a vague..
Haunting mass appeal.
But lately I'm beginning to find that I
Should be the one behind the wheel."

It’s all fine when it’s restricted to your head.
But what do you do when your personal libretto becomes a hindrance to the true story?
Which is what happens most of the time.

And you have nothing to do but curse yourself.
Your stupid, stupid self.

Build walls, because no one's talking.

=/