Sleeping with the enemy

I don't think that I've found a more arduous task than trying to find soft, comforting pillow,

in a cloud that I'll fall through anyway. 

The cloud just looks like such a nice fluff to come home to,

and the one I've been sleeping on just doesn't do it anymore.

Or maybe it's not the pillow at all and it's just the bending my neck in different directions

trying to see through my eyelids a bit clearer. 

But when the coughing starts up again (because it always does)

and I wake up for the third time of the night, 

none of it matters anyway,

as though no matter how I go about it, 

the stains on my tuft of down will only get worse and worse looking.

The end of its life is quickly approaching and I'm really just not at all sure how to go about it. 

I've just known it for so long and all of my tears no doubt have marred it,

but I'm not sure any funeral can really do a quality pillow justice.

Or maybe I've just never had to mourn a time of my life before.
Everything is just rapidly passing and

although I make my bed as best as I can every morning, 

that one pillow just never looks the same as it did when I took it out of the bag,

let alone how it even looked at the six month mark when I should have replaced it anyway. 

I just don't want the replacment or even the relationship I had with such a comforter anyway.

But his life is indeed terminating,

and I should exterminate the bugs left from his extended stay.

I know that it was for too long and "we'll always have naps" 

but I don't know how much the time I wasted with it was worth anyway.

And while I'll always crave something to fall back into as I did a short while ago,

and I can't do it with the clouds I have to stare at and nearly touch,

perhaps in my pillow's absence I'll just look at them peacefully with slight longing.

I don't need another cloud to fall through.

I just need a firmer pillow.

Human Dignity + Compassion = Peace. 

The little souveiner of a terrible year

It might make me terrible,

but you wouldn't dare guess how many times I hoped that 

I wouldn't need to know when you spend time with her. 

I'm fine without knowing that you mended her wounds when she was a klutz,

and she thought you were so sweet and you loved her unconditionally. 

Please, dont tell me about it.

As much as I loved being your friend, 

a part of me knows that I shouldn't give you the time of day.

My missing out on everything going on around me

is enough to bare a hole right in my middle.

And I wish I could apologize so many times for being a screw-up,

but I really wasn't.

I was me,

and you didn't like it when I wanted to embrace that,

but I need to.

Because when you leave, I am all that I will have left of anything.

and while I'm well aware that you not wanting me (gosh that hurts to even type)

will never lessen me as a person,

it still stings sometimes. 

And as much as I want to hide it beneath the corner of a metaphor.

I don't know if I can be more blunt than telling you that I'm sick of seeing you with her.

Your happiness is well deserved,

but I did not earn or deserve the sadness that I have due to it. 

I also really want to apologize, 

but I have nothing left to apologize for.

I'm just an ordinary immature girl who has no idea what she's doing with anything

and while everyone tells her she's great, you don't really care.

I don't know how I could have made myself better so that it could have 

been reflected in your eyes. 

I was virtually the best me that, at this age, I ever could be.

I'll never forget how good it felt when I stopped my crying phase.

It will never stop aching, 

or perhaps that's just the idea that has been drilled into my head for so long.

Everything will last forever because all of your decisions right now are infinite. 

But as permanent as everything I do now feels, 

I however, will never be permanent by any means. 

I will come and go everywhere my soul sees fit,

but I'm puzzled as to why it's chosen to stay with you,

my apathetic friend, for so long. 

My memories are the terrible souveneir of a horrific year. 

This is the end of the story, 

and while most of them have the nice, optimistic end,

where something nice might just happen to the protagonist,

this is starting to feel like the real story,

which isn't really a story at all.

In this life,

the girl is left with stitches over the sadness that she  rips open all of the time,

forgetting to think of anything else.

The only thing remaining are the quirky blunders of

how powerful the year was as I decide to stop wanting to cling to it. 

Knowing that the next one will be more than easy,

I can try.

But I'm almost at that point in tearing apart velcro

where the friction is a bit too strong to even start that home stretch of pull. 

This was a grandious book, but I think that

I'm starting to lose feeling in my arms from holding it up so long. 

The print is getting smaller and I'm sick of

straining my eyes to try to read through the eyes of others. 

The writer was gifted and all-knowing, but quite frankly,

all I can hope for is that he switches off with an author of gentler hands and dainty script. 

Huh. 

I really did think that I would avoid metaphors in this business. 

I suppose that author taught me things that I haven't recognized yet. 

Human Dignity + Compassion = Peace. 

When the big black dot appears.

I wonder if painters ever make one big, splotchy mistake in the center of the canvas

due to a lack of planning.

If so, where do they go from there?

I suppose one could simply get a whole new canvas,

free of remarks and smudges of thought. 

This seems like a fine option for the rich, 

and those who have the time to start over,

even if all of their time was invested in that one piece.

Perhaps they think their work wasn't really meant to come to fruition in the first place,

that ignoring the other canvas won't necessarily obliterate it,

but it'll stop mattering much.

Or the different option of painting over it.

But I feel like that causes a sleepy type of paranoia 

that even when you've been through three coats of white, 

that massive paint splatter will always show from beneath them.

Not to mention it's a complete waste of paint all together. 

Waiting for all of those coats to dry and glaze over in just the right way,

Trying so hard to mimick the canvas that once was,

and slowly realizing that you never will.

Reflecting is healthy,

but covering all that you can reflect upon and seeing your reflection

in the wet concealer doesn't have the same sheen to it. 

But of course, there's always painting around it. 

The gaping dot in the center of your canvas doesn't need to represent emptiness. 

Life tends to move like a work of art and if it is anything,

it is subjective to change. 

Yes, everything has been done before,

and there is no reinventing the wheel in anything anymore

but you have one pair of eyes that have never been used by another,

and for the most part, 

they work.

Perhaps that black bit of error was one of your darkest moments,

but you don't need to turn it gray to make it beautiful.

In fact, you don't need to make it pleasing to the eye at all.

Not everything was meant to be seen in a magazine,

or glossy as its pages.

The uniquness in the finish of your eyes will tell you that at some points,

you still look like you've got wet paint to pour out of the can.

But during others,

they are as raw and honest as any other part of you.

This has been a terrible love and the obsidian is clear as the sun on

what was once pure and blank.

But know, there is no need to cover it up,

for some things are so much better enjoyed dark and morbid. 

Human Dignity + Compassion = Peace. 

Sorry that all I have are meaningless words.

It's such a shame that all I have to express the sentiment of endings

are words. 

I could get you an EKG so that maybe you could have heard how my heart used to leap whenever I saw you,

and how it sank when I then saw her attatched. 

If I had the oppertunity or the ability, 

I'd fly you an image through the sky like most saps would

and I'd ironically crash my plane trying to watch your reaction. 

I can't sing, but with instruments of my own destruction the things I could make you feel...

Or not. 

I can't imagine a brick hard enough to through the glass that is pure apathy. 

I could create a vaccine to convey

how sick I am of being angry for things that I'll never have control of. 

Instead, I can create nothing because your senses have been given

to someone who you deemed more worthy than I. 

I'm sick of the pain that you caused. 

I so much wish that I could move but for the moment I'm stuck here

and you don't care because you don't care to see it. 

It's not a pain I can cry about, but it's definitely one that I can most certainly do without. 

I need the doll taken from me so that I can stop looking into its eyes. 

Human Dignity + Compassion = Peace. 

I kissed the palm of my hand and blew you a kiss.

I don't think I really have anything left to say to you anymore. 

I just can't go on like you do preteding as though there was never anything wrong. 

I am not a pity case, nor do I need anymore of yours. 

You've made your choice to stop caring about me

so please allow me to forget that you ever had a pulse. 

I never told you how much it hurt, 

but I still stand by my reasoning that you never would have cared. 

Too much went wrong for me to ignore everything that went on inside.

You never cared to look, never cared to ask.

I don't have a desire to forgive you for your ignorance, 

the last something that would ever mean anything was painful. 

I'm not staying close to you. 

I refuse to hurt in the same way that I once did. 

I'm sore in the mind from worrying about what

I should have never felt obligated to feel in the first place. 

Yes everything is just swell for you I'm sure. 

But no, I'm not charmed to be the girl that you walked all over and kicked 

so that you could make your way to what you thought was better. 

The injustice that you live with so well for my broken heart has killed me for long enough.

You see, 

the difference between a murderer and you is that you were never put on trial.

There was no fair jury of my peers

to watch me fall into decay

as you were allowed to walk out of the court room completely unscathed. 

I played it off so well that maybe you forgot,

you broke my heart, honey. 

As much as I used to wish that I include you in my evening tea,

you no longer seem as sweet as I thought you were. 

You told me that you were an asshole, 

but I just didn't believe you until last night. 

Sorry sweetheart, 

you don't get to walk away thinking that the pristine facade was the truth. 

You broke something so untouched and none of it even mattered to you.

I refuse to be surprised when you disappoint me. 

Now I get to be disappointed in you everytime you walk in the door and 

exhale as you leave as you usually do.

Human Dignity + Compassion = Peace. 

Sorry I need to move.

I'm halfway sorry that I ever laid eyes on you in the first place.

I wonder who I would have been had I not have. 

A whole chunk of who I am would be filled with this mysterious substance

and while I try not to care for what it might have been,

I've found myself regretting the wasted time that my heart spent crunching and squashing 

just trying so hard to squeeze a way near you.

I realize that there are so many things that never needed to happen to me

all because I thought that there were possibilities that

even science could have proven impossible. 

But my headspace is just too different now and

I wouldn't dare change it back for any instance where

you could have cared for me as well. 

But I have yet to find a soul who would love as well as I can.

I wonder how long it'll be until I find someone else that I can open up to like this again. 

It was hard enough the first time so I don't know how much worth something like this holds. 

I am not a malleable metal that shines only when you glance in my direction.

In fact had I been given the choice,

you wouldn't have looked at me at all.

Maybe just for insurance you would have been born blind.

But since that seems all too harsh I would devise a blanket.

It would be your least favorite color in its most beautiful shade

and I perhaps none of this would have mattered as much. 

I'll give you your rib back if it was ever mine just so that

you would be satisfied with the self that you have. 

I beg of you, 

please take your eyes back. 

Please do not know that I lived, 

and forget that I ever breathed in your direction. 

You are going to live your life the way that you were meant to without me.

I hope that your heart expands four sizes and the green of your eyes stops mattering. 

I want to say goodbye without needing to say goodbye

and boy oh boy do I wish upon wishes that you never ask me. 

I have no answer for you and perhaps you never need one. 

I wish you luck finding another with possible theories and conspiracies.

But I can really no longer allow you to matter. 

Human Dignity + Compassion = Peace. 

I want to say that it's completely fine.

While I'm trepidatious to say that I feel better,

I sort of feel better. 

I can't say that it's that one feeling of

when you go to a furniture store and you find the perfect pillow. 

No hug can truly match the relief of that one. 

I know that yours now, never will give me the comfort that I need.

Don't get me wrong,

I'm not strong enough to simply live on without them entirely,

but I just don't think that you fit the mold anymore.

I'd like to believe that I've finally convinced myself that

you are not integral to my livelihood anymore.

I have no beef with admitting that you once were, 

and I basked in the sun of a day with simple greeting of yours,

and died on the rest. 

Deep in the depths of my mind,

there is still a bit of me that does and always will care.

I need to know that and repeat it to myself so that I can finally stop attacking it.

Getting rid of the horror in me will not make me any less scary.

Because in all truth,

any human contains the self-destruct button that is the ability to be feared.

Hurting others has become so easy for the offenders

that there stops being a point in the defenders.

There is no purpose in going the right way when all others are in the wrong,

at least publicly. 

I also like to think that I try to go in the right direction,

that I'm not too far gone in what appears to be a newer, freakish version of human nature. 

It will absolutely consume us all,

because too many people have given up what they believe they were made for.

Then they realize that they were made for nothing

but the grand design of lifeforms in the universe. 

This is too much for those that dare investigate that part of their minds.

The pain of having no importance weighs heavier than that of an anvil.

I miss you a bit,

but I know that you were the anvil of which I had no importance,

I hope that she is the feather that will make you feel the opposite.

For your sake,

I truly hope that she is,

because I don't know how much pressure one could place on 

a heart too weak to beat for another one that bleeds. 

Human Dignity + Compassion = Peace.