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Land of my Many Disappointments

A map to the land of my many disappointments
awaits you at the end of this particular piece,
overshadowed by my inability to speak
the words I oh so long to say. I was sleepwalking
through my life, stumbling through the dimensions of
a dream, when I discovered you as though such an
occurrence was fated to be. I took your hand in
mine, and upon awakening from my slumber, there
you were standing before me, alive and real; at
least that’s the way I remember it. There is no
point to this story however, for the fractured truth
is that neither one of us resides on common ground,
despite us residing beneath the exact same sun.
The star, whose light wanders effortlessly across our
solar system, rises and sets to your unflinching
beauty, and I, the writer of this unprized poem,
could learn a hundred different words in a vast quantity
of languages, but never would I discover a word
capable of reflecting your attractive qualities.
Like the sun, you shine upon the surfaces of my skin,
and I would love to say that never have you shone brighter
than when you were shining upon me, but such an idea
would be a lie. I have seen you dozens of times or more in
locations where I would have had the opportunity to
say ‘hello,’ but never did I take this wasted option
and instead, you are left without my voice in your ear. I
would appreciate, unfathomably appreciate,
a moment when I could say without hesitation how
much I love you, and when this moment comes, say these words with
meaning I truly will. However, although these words of
intent be writ, I dare not describe the beauty of this
sweet damsel, for never could you, dear reader, succinctly
believe that someone so gorgeous could be at all
real, and if I had not seen you, my lady, with
my own two eyes, I too would find it impossible
to fathom that a woman, who is obviously
an angel fallen from Heaven, could possibly
walk amongst us mortals. But even though you be
beautiful, the love within your heart, reserved for a man
deserving, is never bestowed willingly upon my
soul, and thus, when you begin a sentence, conveyed to
me by your words that float towards my ears on the wings
of hapless angels, if such a creation begins with
an ‘I’, the next two words will never be ‘love you.’ The shame
of this is beyond reprieve, but it is understandable
all the same, for I am a one dollar coin when you need
a hundred dollar note; I am a plastic stool
when you need a leather recliner; I am a
cold take-away when you require a delicious
feast; I am an average metaphor when what you need
is an athlete of the written word. But love, if love
is all you need, just look into my eyes and you will
see that mine is endless in design; if only
you would ever look in my direction.

Blacketh my Bones

Blacketh my bones with the foul
blood from my frozen withered
heart. Don’t look upon me, the
hideous one for you shall
feel nothing more than a cold
chill travelling over you,
along with the high shriek of
a baby’s cry from staring
too long into these abysmal
eyes. You will find no pleasure
here. I am the pariah;
the interloper; a zealot
of the worst order. I am
emotionless; barren; a
sociopathic beast worthy
of nothing else but a death
deserving of the most Hellish
of all beings. My body will
not be buried with the bones
of men, nor will it be buried
in a grave unmarked by words,
but in an underground pit
where no one will ever have
to suffer me again, for
I have already been
suffered enough and the people
can suffer me no more. At
least this is what has been said
before, the words carried on
the wind to my ear like ghostly
echoes from a supernatural
realm. This is the justification
for treating me with such disdain.
As long as I am viewed as
something less than human then
the people needn’t concern
themselves with guilt-ridden feelings
cuz there is nothing to be
sympathetic for. I have
been loathed intensely by most,
if not all, my entire
life; another fifty or
so years of pure unadulterated
disgust cannot be too difficult
to endure. If it does however
and these words are proven inaccurate,
stabbing my own flesh with a
pointed dagger will certainly
do the trick. I only hope
that nobody has a resurrection
spell, for if they do, alive
I shall be again once more,
for with me but gone, who will
these people come to hate?  There
is no one else more disliked
in this world. I only wish
society would learn to
shield its expression, for the
hate is written all across
their faces in italics.
On top of this, my other
wish is just to be left alone.
Can I not die in peace, sad
and alone and afraid in
a blackened hole away from
the eyes of the people? Apparently
that is too much to ask.

There Were No More Roses

On the day I do pass away, no one
shall dress in black. There will be
no funeral procession; there will
be no obituary; there will be but
a wren on my windowsill, chirping
happily where I never did. Find
comfort in this if you can, for
there is no comfort to be had
here. These words have no
rhyme; no syllable; no purpose;
they are as dead as the dried
blood I left for you; the only
thing I ever left for you; the only
thing I ever did right; left a perfect
puddle where I concluded my
effortless journey. Like my mouth
my wrists are open, like my lips my
wrists are red. I have never seen so
much red before, and it almost brings
a smile. It reminds me of the roses
I once had and in my bodily liquid I
see them again, their petals eagerly
awaiting the opportunity to lick my
wounds.  Washed away are my
troubles in the blood in the
shadow of one last ‘good-bye.’ No
note, no reason, there’s none to give.
If you still don’t know why, like you
didn’t know then, I ain’t gonna bother
letting you inside to admire my cuts
and bruises. I’m broken; I’m defeated;
my life source is all but waning. I don’t
have the will to carry on, so I cut down
deep like taking an axe to a tree, my
wrists are felling and I suddenly feel
again. Maybe this ain’t right, maybe I
am wrong, but who’s going to say such
things as my insides flow out around
me onto my navy blue tiles? My life
flashes before me, twilight’s upon me
and as always, you’re not here. The
arterial red draining from my body fills
my heart with so much glee. I’m glad to
be rid of the pain; of me; of you. There
was never a better time to say goodbye
like the present, but the words still fail to
come. Like ‘help’ the vowels and
adjectives become stuck in my throat,
such alien terms gurgling down deep,
frustrating me as always with their
symbolism. I am glad it is over, do you feel
the same? For the record, I ain’t apologising,
I always knew it had to be this way. I
wonder if mommy will be impressed right
now, she never was before. Death is the
cure I’ve been looking for, has it been
the same for you all this time? I’d ask you
to join me in Purgatory, but I’ve been
there already half my life and know it
better than I know myself. I ain’t going to
no better place; I ain’t going to no happy
ending. I’m just going, and this time
I promise you, I will not be coming home.

Life Happens

Hey guys! This particular piece is a short story I am working on for one of my university classes. It has been previously workshopped by both my tutor and fellow students alike and I would very much like to know your opinions. If you believe there are any editorial issues, grammatical errors or general sentence concerns, et al, please notify me and I will gladly take them all into consideration before I am to submit the finalised piece in three weeks time. Thank you!

People say that a person can eventually move on after losing someone they love. It has been ten years since I lost Katarina and I never have. Today is the anniversary of her death and I cannot help but reminisce on what could have been, for the day I lost my girlfriend, is the day that I too died, for I’d hardly say I’m alive when I feel so dead inside.

The rain was the heaviest I had ever seen. The headlights on our vehicle barely managed to reveal anything that night, the entire highway more like an endless tunnel than a road. The heating in the car could barely keep out the cold; our breath was coming out before us in clouds as the two of us shivered. Even my favourite dark brown leather jacket was unable to contain my warmth.
‘I can’t believe we chose this night to celebrate my birthday,’ sighed Katarina in her natural, high pitched accent. Because English was not her first language, she often spoke slowly to avoid mixing up her words. She wore the jet black jacket I had bought her two Christmases earlier. The collar was beginning to fray as she must have worn this a hundred times or more. Can’t believe she couldn’t wear something else on her special day. Her dark brown hair hung down to her shoulders, her naturally pink lips stood out on her ghostly white complexion, her brown eyes watching the rain droplets move across the windscreen.
God, I realise I must sound like a love struck teenager on her first date, but you must understand something. For us, every date was like our first because we would always discover something new, and every time we made love it was as though we had never explored our bodies before. Every second of our time together was divine, well, most of it.
‘It’s just a little rain, it’ll dry,’ I reassured her, pulling one hand away from the steering wheel and rubbing her freezing cold hands. I saw my reflection out from the corner of my eye in the rear-view mirror. My dark hair was tied back in a green hair tie, which, according to Katarina, perfectly matched my eyes. My lips were stained with dull red lipstick, whilst blue mascara lined my eyes. ‘You’d better button up Kat,’ I noted
She smiled back at me. ‘I’ll be fine. The cold has little effect on me.’
‘I hope you don’t expect me to care for you when you’re all sick and disgusting,’ I retorted.
‘Shut up,’ snorted Katrina. ‘I cared for you when you had pneumonia; took time off work and everything so I’d expect you to do the same for me.’ She folded her arms across her chest and looked out the window once more. ‘I only hope we get there before this storm gets any worse.’ Her eyes no longer sparkled like they so often did.
I could feel Katarina’s emotion as though it were my own. ‘We’ll get there eventually,’ I promised.
‘If anyone else said this I would be unsure,’ stated Katarina, turning to face me. ‘But because it’s you Aryah, I’d believe anything,’ she giggled. We stared into each other’s eyes, neither of us noticing the van veering onto the wrong side of the road until its blinding headlights collided with our own.

It is said that a person always remembers their first kiss, or, more accurately, the person who first kisses them. Funnily enough, I don’t, I only remember Katarina. Our first chance encounter was anything but normal: she stole my car.
At the time she had been working as a journalist and I as a public relations manager. I was hired to facilitate an agreement with two rival companies who wanted to merge into one. Apparently the idea of acquiring more money was enough for them to set their differences aside to work co-operatively towards mutual goals. Katarina had been asked by her boss to write an investigative article on the merger, but had unfortunately been denied access. For the best I would presume. I left the merger almost immediately after it began. I know, I know, how unprofessional of me! But I personally felt as though my talents had been squandered. I guess I was simply unable to listen to a gaggle of grown men strutting around talking shop. On the drive back to my hotel I received a phone call and only took my eyes off the road for a second when I hit something. I slowed down to retrieve my phone so I was glad that when the collision occurred, Katarina, the victim of my bad driving was not terribly injured. Apparently Katarina had never received her driver’s licence despite taking the test a few times and was forced instead to use alternate means of travel – in this case a bike – which unfortunately bore the brunt of my vehicle’s bonnet. I did try to apologise, I swear! However Katarina was in a state of shock and would not hear any of it. This led to frustration and eventually anger, which led to her kicking me in the shin. She just so happened to be wearing metal toe capped boots, so you can imagine the pain I was in; it was probably more than what I had inflicted upon her. After I fell to the ground she looked me up and down, jumped into my car and drove off. She did leave me the twisted carcass that was once her bike, which was awfully kind of her.
Luckily for me, her inability to drive led to her arrest. According to the patrol officer, he found it a touch odd when he recovered my purse and driver’s licence on her person, stating how I had apparently changed in ‘height, weight and appearance.’ Katarina had replied with ‘shit happens,’ and shrugged at his remark. She always was bold and her mouth almost always got her into trouble. I think it was this trait of hers that I first fell in love with. The officer, as strange as it might seem, decided to drop all charges, believing that we had paid each other back in full.
However, this chance meeting progressed into a friendship, which in turn became something else. This might have been because we couldn’t keep our hands to ourselves – probably because we were always fighting, and when we weren’t, well, we’ll get to that.

Katarina’s apartment at the time was in no way the definition of cleanliness; the floor was her wardrobe and the bed was her bathroom cupboard. We had decided to test our wits at a game of poker on this particular stormy night, and neither of us wanted to brave the weather to get a good night’s supper. However, the game seemed to be one sided. I was left in the bedroom to set out the cards across the bed, whilst Katarina was inside the bathroom, the door just open a crack, enough for me to see her shadow skirting the walls as she busily went about her post-shower business.
‘How long does it take to get ready?’ I shouted.
‘Patience Aryah!’ shot back Katarina in return. ‘You shouldn’t be so eager to charge headstrong into the fight. I always win you know.’
‘Do you now?’ I asked with a sly grin.
‘I am known for being quite vicious,’ she replied. ‘I take what I want and I always play for keeps.’
‘You sound as though you do this often,’ I commented.
‘Only when there is something worth fighting for,’ replied Katarina.
‘Is that why you are getting all pampered up in there?’ I asked. ‘Are you gearing up for battle, or do you have a hot date planned after this?’
‘Don’t know’ said Katarina in reply, ‘depends if she’s interested.’
Little did Katarina know I had already left the bed, quietly navigated the room and opened the bathroom door to find her standing before the mirror in her fluffy white towel, drenched with the water continuing to drip from her body. ‘Oh, she’s interested’ I replied as I wrapped my arms around her and planted my lips to hers as she did the same to mine.
A second later I had slipped the bath towel away from her body and let it fall to the tiles. Words could not begin to describe the flawless sight that befell my eyes and it would be an insult to even try.
It was not long after I had pushed Katarina up against the bathroom wall that she had pushed me back as well, forcing me once more into the bedroom where we found ourselves a couple of feet short of the bed, her clothes cushioning the fall as we fell on top of one another onto the floor, giggling as we did so.
Katarina pinned me to the ground before tearing ravenously at my clothes, a number of buttons coming loose in the process as my shirt was thrown to the side. With that, she came down upon me like a tidal wave, ever so slowly nibbling her way down my front, not daring to stop until she reached my clitoris. From where she lay her head, Katarina smiled up at me, before taking me into her mouth, a spasm of ecstasy rushing through my veins. Mind, heart, body; I was entirely hers and she mine, and nothing but the steel of an out of control vehicle would ever separate us from one another.

Pain was the first thing I felt upon waking in the hospital ICU, the flashbacks which had comforted me disappearing into the room. My arm was broken, my face badly bruised and my lips swollen from the airbag (deploying in front of me), a deep gash cut into the left side of my face from where my head connected with the side window. Only three of my ribs were fractured and yet all of them ached unanimously. The ramblings of the doctor meant nothing to me, for all I cared about, all I would ever care about, was lying a few rooms down from me.
I was allowed the privilege of seeing Katarina almost immediately. The walk to her room felt like an eternity and although Katarina looked nothing like I remembered, my feelings for her were unchanged.
She was lying back in bed, a great portion of her body having received terrible injuries during the crash. Her right leg was elevated and in a sling, being fractured in several places. Five of her ribs were broken, her left arm being wrenched from its socket whilst her right wrist, along with several fingers, were broken. Her face had been battered, a significant portion of her cheeks and nose being caved in from the smash. This of course was just the physical damage, the doctors warning me of the severe internal injuries.
At present it seemed that Katarina was in no position for any further surgery and the medicos were planning to wait for a good eighteen hours before they attempted any further procedures. Despite all this, Katarina was conscious, fighting the twilight that was creeping up around her.
‘Hey,’ she managed upon my entry as I grimaced when sitting down beside her. ‘I’m glad to see you were not badly injured.’
‘Tell that to the rest of me,’ I replied, attempting to keep up appearances as I ran my free hand through her hair. ‘The doctors say you are going to make a full recovery,’ I said as Katarina smiled weakly at me.
‘I’m a journalist, remember,’ she stated, her lips barely moving. ‘My job is to search for the truth; don’t start lying to me now.’
‘I’ll try to keep that in mind,’ I noted, maintaining eye contact as I did so, a tear running down my cheek.
‘Please,’ said Katarina. ‘I don’t want you to remember this as anything but a happy moment.’
‘How can that be when the woman that I love lies before me in critical condition?’ I asked. ‘Besides, how do you know that this is not a tear of joy? I was not lying when I told you that you may very well pull through, because there is still every chance. You are a fighter Katarina and I don’t want you to give up in the moment when you need to fight harder than you ever have before.’
‘You know as well as I that’s not true,’ replied Katarina out from the corner of her mouth.
‘Don’t talk like that,’ I sobbed, gripping her hand with mine as she winced from the pain, but continued to hold on regardless.
‘We’ve shared in a lot of adventures,’ she said with a smile as though recalling every one of them with those words. ‘But I won’t be coming with you this time.’
‘What?’ I spluttered as tears continued to well up in my eyes, yet Katarina continued to remain strong, although even she was having trouble trying to keep her emotions in check. ‘No,’ I retorted, ‘we-we stay together. I should have watched where I was driving. I was supposed to take care of you.’
‘No,’ replied Katarina with a sigh. ‘We were supposed to take care of each other. Don’t ever blame yourself and don’t stop living because of me. I’ve been strong enough for both of us, but now you must be strong enough for yourself.’ Katarina swallowed before continuing slowly once more. ‘Who knows, if there’s a bar up there or something I’ll save a seat for you and I’ll look down on you from time to time. You will never be alone and no matter what, I will always lo-’
In that moment, Katarina slipped into unconsciousness. She never spoke again. I remained with her until the monitors around us came to life with the sound of raucous beeping, and just like that she was gone.

Eternal Flight

SYNOPSIS: A stereotypical love poem? About the want, no, the need, to unlock the heart of the one somebody loves to ensure that both parties have mutual accessibility to the feelings within themselves.

On a rainy morning, I reminisce on how a soul as gentle as yours
could possibly unlock all that has imprisoned me throughout the many years,
from the metallic cages around my heart to the hidden trap doors
that I have been forced to share through the laughter, the hardship and the tears.
I hope the one I am looking for is you, for if you could give me your life
I would take you on one last romanticised, interstellar eternal flight.

On an epically bright wondrous day
I satisfy myself with your love.
There are constant obstacles blocking my way,
the final being the cage containing your heart.
If only I did hold your hearts true key
which could unlock my dreams and fantasies.

On a stereotypically cloudy afternoon
I happily hold you tightly in my loving arms.
I fear this feeling will be over soon
and that I will soon be severely harmed,
and with every beat in my pounding heart
I never want to ever be apart.

On a dark starry night
I cry those tears of pearls,
there is not a soul anywhere in sight
and I am cursed to be forever yours.
If only this dream could come true,
my only dream in life – is you.

INNOCENT

SYNOPSIS: About the funeral of a loved one.

A small gathering has come around
to farewell mummy from this town
because she couldn’t stay.
It’s sad when someone passes away.
But looking over her memoirs,
it’s obvious that she’s come far,
and we should all be proud
as we gather in this crowd.
Please darling, don’t start to sob,
for mummy’s gone to God.