Quixotic Perturbation

Scissors

atramentarious — Fri, 27 Nov 2009 15:50:22 +0000

A cloth, a beautiful masterpiece
Woven by the hands of fate? Or of Love?
Or of Lust?
I’m not quite sure really, but it’s
Beautiful in every way. When it’s
In any situation
It’s like it’s meant to be, like
Anything else will pale in
Comparison.
And doesn’t everything else?
Days of comfort, of padding, of warmth,
For these are the things exquisite cloth
Brings, are ended when it’s
Introduced to the nightmarish friend:
Scissors.
Upon introductions, the smile seems
friendly, and neither suspect what happens
Later — neither being scissors and cloth,
Though the two is actually three.
It’s kiss is only a facade, the mouth
Opens slightly but then flies open and
Rips through the seam, the beautifully
Woven seam,
Without so much as a second thought.
And the cloth doesn’t mind — it regrets
The damage it took, but keeps the
Scissors with it (after all, the only
Creation without an eventual
Destruction
Is God, and the cloth was not even the
Shawl of Jesus, the cloth was tainted
By sin).
And the cloth has folded over, not
Entirely on itself, but rather in separate
Directions.
Still the scissors, unbeknown to the cloth,
Takes away the single masterpiece,
Thread by thread,
Hoping to create two, without looking
Where the pieces may land –
One lands on a sweet, soft bed,
But where does the other one
Stop its fall?

Hello Stranger

atramentarious — Mon, 16 Nov 2009 01:14:11 +0000

Hello Stranger,

I don’t even know you and yet you have affected my life in ways you will never be able to understand. I mean seriously, if you understood the impact you’ve had on my emotional stability, self confidence, ability to sleep, comfort in being away, you might feel bad enough to walk away. Then again, given the events that occured, I don’t think you really give a shit about anyone but yourself and your pathetic excuse of a penis. Fuck, she called you a man-whore.
And yet here I am, trembling in your presence, because I’m threatened by you, sexually and emotionally. I understand that she says nothing will happen, after all, you’re Catholic, chubby, a terrible kisser, you think SIT is bull shit, hate having your pimples popped, and you get mad when you have no fucking right to. So even IF she wanted to, she couldn’t, because of all that and the fact that you’d get attached and she wouldn’t. Or would you? I don’t know.
She says you’re a good person, but I don’t know why you’re still around. I understand it’s not my place to make you disappear, or to vanish from her life, but if it was up to me, you’d be on another planet. I don’t know how she can stand being near you, though I suppose I’m hurting more from your breathing than she is. I want you gone. I’d say I want you dead, but that’s unchristian, and maybe I feel like you deserve worse than that. I guess by now you realize the extent of my macabre hatred for you. Yeah, it was mutual, and perhaps I should hate her too, but I can’t bring myself to do it. She’s done much more good for me than wrong, and I won’t let all that go — I can’t. But you… you’re about the only person I’ve met that I wouldn’t mind watching suffer. And maybe that’s too much, maybe because I haven’t seen you suffer I can’t really make such a claim, but I want to. I at least want to know if that statement is accurate.
So if you are a Catholic, do the right thing and leave. Forever. She may miss you, but I think it may benefit both her and I. I don’t feel threatened, so she won’t have to worry. And you can always find other people to like, to call a “perfect woman”. She’s not the only that likes beer and Metallica. And hey, if you ever want to do anything with her, and if you do (maybe you get her drunk and fucked up on sleeping medicine again), understand that I wouldn’t hurt you intentionally. But whatever happens to me might affect how she feels, which could ultimately ruin your friendship. You’re a lucky fucker that you even have that. You’re a lucky fucker I haven’t found you and made your life hell.
–Me

Disruptions

atramentarious — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 02:57:12 +0000

If only there was a way to say it.
To do it.
To want it.
To need it.
To abolish it.
To destroy it.
To get rid of it.
To forgive it.
To forget it.
If only there was a way…

Blacks and Whites

atramentarious — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 02:13:46 +0000

The blacks and whites entangle
like tendrils, pulsing with
lifeblood and spinning on axles,
Driving the chariot of silver –
not gold –
Into the remnants of
All that decays, each contrast
A journey been taken by days.
Beauty — Something to behold

The blacks and whites drown out
like oceans, tossing and
turning the vital caisson,
Dire the need to open the door –
not bay –
Welcome the answers to
Every wave, and empty
The heart of all its pains.
Beauty — Completely defrays

Winter Freeze

atramentarious — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 00:30:02 +0000

Given the absence of one of the things I held closest to my heart, the world isn’t as warm as it was, and I guess to an effect, neither am I. Winter nights are only colder without your blanket, and it gets even worse when you ocassionally lack the will to shiver. Dreaming the blanket will come back to you, that your safety and comfort will one day return is either a cruel illusion or one of the greatest reasons to hope that man has ever had.
Shivering does not do much, either. No matter how much I shake I can’t break what I’m feeling — either a cage of ice or the brief chills you feel after a hug; I’m still waiting for your smile to take its place, to wrap me in an embrace I cannot leave, not that I would want to. Owl City says it perfectly: “The silence isn’t so bad, Till I look at my hands and feel sad, ‘Cause the spaces between my fingers Are right where yours fit perfectly.” My hand is good for keys, pen, and yours — gloves can’t fit my hand as snugly as yours does.
God, we’re unique like the most perfect snowflake. Matchless in its beauty, and one does not want to breathe too heavily — all the sighs and shouts send it melting away, dissolving into nothing but memories. And yet we let it take its course, fluttering up and down until it reaches its destination, resting calmly on a perfect field of white. I pray for the answer every time I hear your thoughts, feel your touch, taste your lips — are we still fluttering downward, or have we come at rest in our field of white?
All these Winter Freezes couldn’t interfere with the sparks that catch when I see your breath, or your mittened hands, boot covered foot, or coat wrapped breast. Sitting next to you, drinking hot chocolate, cuddling by the fire as we make our own. If my lips could only kiss yours, it would be spring again with the warmth in my heart. The stronger my lonesome shivers the more I long to hold you, kiss you, love you.

God knows I do. I never thought about losing my blanket, but love, will you bring it back and sleep safely with me?

I Wish I Knew

atramentarious — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 03:06:05 +0000

     It’s the greatest feeling in the entire world, being in love. For those of you who don’t know, it doesn’t matter the pain you’ve been through. It doesn’t matter how many fights you’ve been in. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve gone down on each other. Love is simply… I wish I knew a way to put it.
     I’m in love. With God as my witness, I am deeply in love with my best friend. But I know that it is love and not something else, unlike what a lot of people think about either me or themselves. Nothing compares to the happiness that my best friend gives me. Absolutely nothing. Yeah, I’ve felt like shit because of her, too, but ninety percent of the time I am overjoyed seeing her, talking to her, thinking of her… I wish I knew how to tell you.
     It may not make sense for me to love her like I do. It may not always appear as though I love her, but I do. I’m human, I need the world to understand that. For some reason I’m made out to be a great person who sets the standard for who guys should be, how people should be even, and, according to the all-knowing Facebook quizes, compassion is my greatest trait. But I’m an ass hole just like the rest of people. I either A) mask it better or B) don’t express it as much as I feel it. I’m not complaining that I’m not always an ass hole, but I want people to understand that even though I should know better in some situations, and that even though it may not make sense for me to do the things I do, I do it because I choose to. I wish I knew how to make people understand.
     That being said, there is only one more thing for me to say:

Baby, I wish you knew how much you mean to me.

I Don’t Have the Answer to That

atramentarious — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 00:50:58 +0000

My best friend has broken my heart into millions of pieces, pieces so small you can fit millions of them through the eye of a needle at a time. Looking at the heart and looking at a needle, you realize it just shouldn’t be that way. What kind of a best friend would hurt their own like that?

I don’t have the answer to that.

We had sex, I was her first time and she was mine. We continued having sex, and I felt like I was unique, like I was special, like I was the luckiest mother fucker on the planet to have this blessing, this opportunity to make love with the most beautiful and passionate woman in the world. But of course, all good things must come to an end. My happy story ended a month afterwards, when she had sex with her ex-boyfriend, though she didn’t tell me for another five months. Somewhere between then and there, same thing happened, but with a friend of hers. Again, I wasn’t told until later. It was guy number three that caused her to confess her sins to me, the one guy in the world who loved her unconditionally and with all of his heart. Why would a girl betray her best friend and the person she loves?

I don’t have the answer to that.

So here we are, a month after my heart shattered and my life felt meaningless. If my heart could scream, the world would be deaf with the pain that I felt the night I was told. Imagine feeling like you know everything, everything that will happen in your life is sorted out — and then the person you trusted most (who never gave you a reason not to trust them) takes it out from under your feet. Falling into the darkest abyss made me hate the world, my life, and made me question it. I doubted God that night. I doubted my sanity that night. But here we are, one month later. Rebuilding from scratch the relationship we once had. How did I make it through that night?

I don’t have the answer to that.

Things hurt. I still hurt from everything that I learned. I don’t think it was so much being stabbed in the back as it was being shot — my Doctor is working to remove the bullet and suture close the wound and it’s a slow and painful process, one without morphine and without someone to squeeze my hand through it, except for the person who shot me. I’m still fighting to make it through the wound, through the surgery, and I’m leaning on the person that shot me. But I think I’m okay with that. How can I be?

I don’t have the answer to that.

I’ve healed quite a bit. The Doctor is unsure of the outlook, or He knows and just doesn’t know how I will work through it and so hasn’t told me the answer. The woman who shot me in the back? I’m still here for her. I’m still trying to help her through all the shit that she’s going through, even if it means stressing myself to reopen the wound. The Doctor knows why I’m sticking around, even if we don’t. Even if my best friend doesn’t, even if I don’t, the Doctor knows why. And He has healed me enough and given me enough strength to stick around, so it’s got to be the right thing — there has got to be something right about what is happening. I mean, He has the power to cripple me so I can’t stay around and help. If it was meant to be that I fade away, why hasn’t He allowed it to happen? So why can I stick around and help the woman who almost killed me, who shot me in the back and shattered my heart into a million pieces? Why am I trying so fucking hard to make everything better and to get our relationship back to where it was, someday, some how?

I have the answer to that.