La Douleur Exquise: (French) The heart wrenching pain of wanting someone you can’t have
Was there ever a more perfect human being than the gorgeous Alexia,
who is the single most beautiful young woman in all of Australia.
Her evocative appearance is something saucy out from a dazzling wet dream,
her smooth, silky, rich skin, milky in appearance is as delectable as whipped cream,
her deliciously red, kissable lips are so marvellously unattainable
and one could become lost in her ravishing brown eyes which are just so delectable
to behold. Her dark hair, like a body of water, gently moves whenever the wind blows
and her body, shaped like an hour glass, could inspire an infinite amount of prose.
Her intelligence is beyond impressive and her personality is fabulous
and that riveting accent of hers is so sexy and so unfathomably gorgeous.
There is another special something about Alexia, I guess you could say it’s her aurora,
a powerful energy which inevitably makes her so unbelievably popular,
and like so many people before me, I have been drawn towards her too,
my reason being because ‘Alexia, I am deeply in love with you,’
and to have but one opportunity to confess these feelings, I’ll collapse to the floor, pray to God and ask him ‘please,
may you grant me a minute of Alexia’s time so I might admit to her my feelings of La Douleur Exquise.’
Inside her eyes rolls an endless ocean of great darkness, which is as resilient as the embers of a burning flame.
I can see it powerfully glowing behind her mask of happiness because like her, inside my heart I feel the same.
I understand she doesn’t want anyone to know her secret, and for its discovery I take the blame,
however, my darkness would come to an end the moment she acknowledges my existence and says my name
in that uniquely untraceable, riveting accent of hers; in her sumptuously high pitched voice.
Out of all the women in the world, Alexia is the one I give my heart to, she is my heart’s choice
and I wonder, if she can save me from my eternal darkness, could I perhaps be her cure?
My heart may be a twisted and depraved vessel, but my intentions are entirely pure.
For if she be broken, even a little, maybe Alexia can understand the pain in my heart,
for if it exists in hers, maybe she can put me back together rather than further tear me apart,
and perhaps I too can do the same for her and we can become symbiotically joined as one
and together we can brave the unrelenting darkness and never again shall we come undone,
for I want to see Alexia for who she is, from her impeccable strengths to her fatal flaws,
because I long to be her heart’s hero, just as I can no longer wait ‘to be entirely yours,’
and with these few words said to Alexia’s face, suddenly the truth she shall be shown,
that being she is the single most amazing young woman my loving heart has ever known.
However, soon Alexia will have to leave and return to the country where she originally did reside
for if somebody said Alexia was completely Australian, then I’m afraid someone heinously lied.
The opportunity to confess my feelings is all but slowly being depleted
and soon there’ll be no time left in the world for my heart to be successfully treated,
for then a great travesty of a depression will inevitably befall me heart and whole;
Alexia has become a part of my bloodstream; a part of my spirit; a part of my soul.
What I wouldn’t give for Alexia to see me, for her to come up to me and say
‘young man, I have seen you staring endlessly at my person almost every single day,
and I would very much like to know, is there something you want me to do; is there anything you want from me?’
‘if you do not know by now what it is that I want, I am certain you never will’ I would reply sadly.
From the moment I first saw Alexia, I have constantly without end thought, dreamed and fantasised of no one else,
and if she still be left unaware, then obviously she is not destined to be my partner, my lover, my spouse.
I have tried not thinking about her, but the horribly difficult task is almost unimaginable
and it is unfortunate I cannot move on either because my heart has become uninhabitable
to any other woman but her. I’m in love with a woman who could never love me and for this I ask to be put to death
because what is the point of being alive if every thought of mine is consumed by Alexia, from now until my dying breath.
Due to these romantic feelings, I fear there must be something terribly wrong with me for I am concerned for my heart’s health,
and I just know that I can’t let Alexia find out because if she did, she would hate me almost as much as I hate myself,
for no woman would ever wish to discover she is a pathetically weak, little man’s muse
and no matter how hard I try to keep my strong feelings in check I know I am destined to lose,
because I have already tried everything; remedies, potions and prayer
to stop the beautiful woman of my dreams from becoming my nightmare.
During these dreams I play a broken, weeping man who collapses to his knees
upon realising his only company during his death is La Douleur Exquise.
I’d rather these dreadful dreams of mine remain fictitious, for I would not survive if they were real.
The painful truth is they already are, for Alexia could never understand how I feel.
For I am a horrid monster; hideous and hated by all. Unwanted, unloved, emotionally crippled to the core,
and if Alexia even managed to look at me on but one occasion, I am certain she could look again no more
for one look at my physical appearance would without a doubt fill her with an unrelenting dread,
and if she had a Djinn I am almost certain that at least one wish would be reserved to have me dead.
If this be true, as pathetic as it may sound, my feelings for her will continue to have an indefinite longevity,
because ‘I will always love you more than anything Alexia, even life itself, and I am forever yours my lady.’
SYNOPSIS: My idea of a stereotypical break-up poem
Today could have been the day you found out you were pregnant and we began to start a family.
Today could have been the day I proposed, getting down on bended knee, asking you to marry me.
Today however is the day I sit back, alone again, and cry.
I stare drunkenly at the moon and toss insults at the falling stars,
the same falling stars I once wished upon that never truly brought me to you,
and even though I held you in my arms, you were never truly mine.
I could have been a million miles away because sitting next to you meant next to nothing.
I would ask if anything we experienced was true, but I’m afraid of the answer.
Was everything simply one great big lie, is that a tragic fact?
I should have realised your promises were too good to be true,
but I unfortunately had been struck down by love, and refused to see the signs.
When I told you my feelings, you didn’t believe me, and my heart lay down and died.
You had this picture perfect image of the perfect man that, like a tuxedo two sizes too small, I could not fit into.
When we first met, you were looking for Mr. Right, but instead you found me, and now it is a second too late; all our love is gone.
When in a relationship, you stressed you give it your all; your heart, mind, soul and body.
When I was younger I had delusions of grandeur, I wanted to be yours.
Since then, I have learnt a lot. I only wish I had been born with such knowledge
to avoid the unspeakable pain that now resides inside my head and heart.
I will admit, lessons have been leant, however, heart’s have been razed to the ground,
although I can only speak for myself because mine is all but dead and gone.
When we first met, I was so alive, free and passionate; I cannot believe who I once was. I cannot believe how much things have changed.
I am now an archipelago, lost and stranded in the crisp blue ocean, sending out an S.O.S to your heart,
for mine, it has been belittled, it has been broken, and it is no longer yours.
Last night I had myself a dream, one in which your loving heart came to rescue me,
but I knew from the beginning, although it was so beautiful,
it was rather unfortunately, happily never after.
When we were together I was hypnotised from a spell cast by your hand;
a man I had once been, but now a prisoner, one enslaved to your voice,
and whatever order you gave to me, I would have only too gladly executed.
You could have taken out a gun, pressed it to my temple, and asked me to pull the trigger,
and I would have obediently done so too, because I was not quite myself anymore.
I would have done anything you asked of me, but now I fear it’s too late to dwell on the past.
I read somewhere and ignorantly believed it too, a quote from a wise old woman,
who stated ever so positively and honestly, that there was no death in love.
For your crimes against the loving heart, warrants should be out for your arrest.
You need to be charged with the murder of love, and pain was your accomplice.
Every law enforcement officer, bounty hunter and able bodied hand should have been deployed
to apprehend the heinous violator who committed such horrid acts against romance.
To this I say; long live the ghost of the fallen angel, fallen angel which was you,
but no longer. Now altered into blue eyed devil, blue eyed demon, blue eyed evil.
So sweet and innocent you once were, when you went looking for a young man’s heart;
taught to be good by your parents; to treat others with decency and respect,
and to never talk to strangers, especially when within a strange land.
You had your own ideals on love however, your own beliefs on romance;
you enjoyed the company of older men for their experience and younger men for their passion,
until you were barbarically taken advantage of, and it was only then that we fell in love.
But perhaps all of it was nothing less than a dream, and if it were, it was a good dream while it lasted
within the fabricated reality of my mind,
where I daydreamed in the dark spaces of this cold, cold world.
However, if it were to happen again
there are some things I would have to recommend.
Instead of surrendering your entire self, you could have put in half of your heart,
and I could have put in half of mine, and together we would have made a complete whole,
and therefore you would have been without a fathomable excuse to leave me,
because losing you was difficult, for you’re like no woman I’ve ever known.
I wish I had the power to see into your heart, to feel as you do,
because I cannot believe you could forget what we had so easily
and begin something new with a certain someone.
I believe it’s a facade, a shitty disguise,
because I think, or I hope, although I don’t know which just yet, that you still love me,
for the greater the romance, the worse the pain, and therefore the greater the rebound.
When we cried, it was comparative to rain in a formidable storm,
and when you started up your vehicle, the engine throttled like thunder,
right before you left at a speed faster than that of lightning.
Over time I had said jokes and I had confessed my feelings;
if only this were the way love was supposed to be, you would still be in my arms tonight.
I would have popped you the question; I certainly would have, this is my truthful confession,
but you tore out my heart from its place in my chest before I even had the chance,
and yet I am still the proud owner of my heart’s train, but rather regrettably
and unfortunately, it is at the end of its line,
for no more tracks will be laid upon this broken romance.
Now, when I walk into the bathroom and look in the mirror,
I see there’s a hideous monster staring right back at me.
This monster, he is representative of my terribly scarred heart,
for I cannot believe you are walking around with somebody else
and not just walking. But I do not dare imagine, or even write down, what else you are doing,
because it is just too painful to imagine your Heavenly body loving somebody else.
You say you do not know what is happening, you do not know what you are doing,
and in turn I reply, it is obvious. You are going to do each other,
all the two of you need to discover is where? Why? And how?
Later I regret saying this, but admit it, I will not.
All I can say, is your new man, he had better hold you real tight,
because if he don’t, I swear to you, I’ll steal you right back to me.
You say he’s great, this guy you talk about, the guy you’re constantly with,
and I ask, how can you be with him, I cannot believe he’s your type.
You say you have never felt this kind of love for any other man before.
You think you have finally found the one, that you have finally got it right.
Such words are music to your ears, but they certainly are not to mine.
How do you think it makes me feel to find everything we had was flawed?
Was I simply and always invisible to you – like a specter it would seem?
Was I a sand man, but a man made of sand, who would blow apart and disappear?
However, and it might just amaze you to learn, that I still love you;
the same way a verse loves a couplet; the same way a song loves a rhyme.
You could change your face, hair and name. You could flee to a foreign land,
and still I would have nothing but romanticised feelings for you.
If you want these feelings I have for you to end
you had better get yourself a gun for hire
because I am not ever going to stop loving you,
even after all that you did to me and I to you,
because I love you now, exactly as I loved you then.
I have always loved you, and I fear I always will.