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The Nostalgia of Feeling Love Again

There was a time
I would soak tear drops
in a napkin,
but now, the nostalgia
has become so morose,
even tears
are unable to ascertain
the complexity of my agony,
and the grieving turmoil
is thus, unable
to be conveyed
on a physical scope.
My heartbeat,
a depleted vial of energy
does not know happiness,
and escape from this delirium
is tantamount
to feeling love again.

Sensible

If it were sensible to love you,
then everyone would do so,
and as I sit across from loneliness
in this kitchenette, I contemplate
how the table, much like my heart,
pivots on an angle.

To which would I be referring,
the blistered legs or decayed heart,
when I gently touch the texture
and wonder if its origins
are similar to my own?

Once proud and strong
in a wilderness of shrubbery and undergrowth,
now that which stood for centuries,
admiring the still changing world,
was crippled most severely
by a single blow.

I, who sits beside myself
acknowledges such strife,
a liquid beverage running like a busted tap
along the curvature of my face.
A salty droplet collapses
upon the table top, the misery
of both myself and the furniture,
which helps keep me upright,
becoming unanimously combined.

Where one mourns the loss of comradery,
exhibited from the fellow environmental beasts,
I cry anonymously for a woman,
struck down by an avalanche
of lightning fast pain.

Never will you return to the great beauty
I fell hopelessly in romance with,
and out of all the patron’s in life’s orchestra,
this fair princess of goodly will,
now isolated and distressed,
is the one tender soul who never did deserve
that which indefinitely ruins you.

Men Don’t Cry

It is said by some that men don’t cry,
but what is this liquid beverage
streaming down my cheek?
Fueled by consistent woe,
a waterfall of triumphant plight
threatans to crucify this face
of mine with endless grains
of salt. My face will become a beach,
but the touch of gorgeous women
will be absent from its barren fixture.
If only there was someone
for me in this mating game,
but never do bachelorette’s
fall for men, plucked by the pull
of exponential sadness. Women
adore men of strength and honor,
and sadly, I am out of both.
I could cry aloud about how content
I am with the current situation,
but the honest truth
is that life is better lived
with someone there beside you,
and in my case the reserved seat
has remained vacant for longer
than I could ever hope to fathom.
The pain of never knowing
love is drenched in blissful ignorance,
but the agony which consumes
my now wretched heart
is from having this glorious emotion,
and feeling it ripped
right out from my arms.
If only I was empty, then never
would I be consumed, and instead
of love, all I feel is the touch
of absentee happiness,
and to leave this planet
with such awful err, would be pain
beyond all possible comprehension.

The Troglodyte of Unrequited Love

Darkness crawls in from the corners,
pulling the shades down over me
until I am drenched in the pitch of a
sadness that sees no end in sight. If
this is the punishment for falling in
love with an unattainable damsel,
then I happily relinquish my
feelings if it means I may be spared
such repercussions, even though I
realise an even darker doom awaits
me at the conclusion of this
transaction.

Like all love that is unrequited, I
inevitably wanted more, and when
my feelings reached an intensity
from which an explosion of internal
madness was the only eventual end,
with much folly I announced to this
here universe how I loved thee with
all my heart and soul, to be recieved
only by a nothingness that blighted
me with an ocean of unrelenting
tears.

Much like the break-up I never did
see coming, I found myself
corrupted by a contagion of the
heart, where the only antidote was
what remained consistently
unavailable. Did I ask too much?
Should I have asked at all? I
wanted you to like my words, and
the man I have grown to become,
but never did such a feeling
consume you in its entirety, and
never will it do so.

I gain the most happiness I have
received in days however by
scraping a blade I hold so tentatively
across my skin, shedding my
exterior as red water weeps upon
the floor. I profusely pulverise my
external frame, obliterating that
which tethers my aching heart to
this ever hateful world, as my final
goodbye is written in the cadaver I
leave behind, which produces the
only ounce of happiness felt by all
who have had the displeasure of
knowing my foolhardy heart.

From the beginning, in my eyes you
were a gem that just appeared on
the horizon, illuminating the
portions of my charred existence
with an angelic light like none that
has ever shone before. This effigy
of gorgeousness may have become
corroded with the truthful touch
of barbaric honesty, but because I
am a hypocrite, I will happily
denounce my sadness in exchange
for a moment with your smile.

Upon the Moment of Love’s Tender Touch

‘I’ll go out with you for dinner’
said the woman who had attracted
my attention span, but never
would she really like me; want me;
love me, so it be pointless to accept
her invitation, unless she is capable
of proving her affections to me.
I never asked her to go to bed
with me; just to prove her love
was true, and since such a concept
is obviously far too difficult
for her to comprehend, it is obvious
that I am not to be blessed paramour
of a future yet to see the sun
of a new day; I am simply a stand-in,
until the moment she meets
the man she can truly love,
and once again I will find myself
essentially alone upon this tragedy
coming to fruition, and my shadow
is all I shall have for company;
and that is the worst fate any romantic
could possibly ever endure.

Unforgivable

Loneliness, will you abandon me this night
in replace for an infinitude of love
as unending as the time? Will you
give to me but a moment to have a life
with a beauty, who ought to have her
features draped across the stars for all
to see?

I proclaim that I be ready to remove
all that has halted my journey towards true
north, where the angel of my blessed dreams
waits upon a pedestal of scented roses for
my passion, which I will gladly give to her
in a chalice that has been emptied
of all the sorrow that it once contained.

A promise of love eternal and infinite
would be met with happiness at the gates
of true romance in novels written by those
who believe in endings which conclude
with the sound of wedding bells.

Instead, I sit before a pedestal which
encapsulates all of my mortal failings,
my tears salting all that I look upon
in these moments of undone despair.
Where once I thought I could find
happiness, I have discovered that I
am merely a fool, whose punishment
is that taint of disrepute which lingers
upon my skin.

I am no murderer, and I am not
responsible for the breaking of many
a young woman’s heart, but I do
solemnly swear in the courtroom of
love, that I, the writer of these here words
am guilty of asking a young maiden
to enjoy a dinner with me.

She waved her hand and could not
submit to the allure that I had thrown,
my chivalrous attempts at romance
being but a shallow pool in contrast
with the ocean of eternal magic she
wished to have bestowed upon her soul.

The answer ‘no’ would have been all that
surely did suffice, and I would have been glad
anyways, for her voice, like lavender, had
draped itself across my ears. But no, she did
not dare stop at words, for the moment
was to play itself out within the foundations
of her mind every night when she tried to
simply rest, the nightmarish imagery of
my love confusing the sanctity of her mind.

So, she shot me looks of venom, whenever
our paths did happen to cross, and I be
lucky that I am naturally immune to the
toxicity of her now rancid flavored eyes,
which were once so delicious, that no man
alive could have fought the urge to sacrifice
his very soul in exchange to look upon
such masterpieces.

I never meant the pain that now rampages
like an unrestrained fury through her mind,
but I on the other hand find utter strangeness
in what has here transpired. Could my
affections really be so horrifying? And if so,
what would need to be done to see to it
that I am eternally forgiven?

I wrote this in regards to a dilemma that I at present have. A few months ago I asked a young woman out, to no avail, for she was already in a relationship. I am uncertain of her status at the moment, but am almost certain that it may have changed. My question is; should I ask her out again? Any answer would be surely appreciated.

Thank you for reading ladies and gentleman!

The Necessary Lie

I am that terrified man
the people witness upon
the street; haunted by
the potential death of a dream
that he wished to have come
to fruition, but never did receive.
I loved with an unstoppable
emotion, contained within
my heart of hearts, for if you
were a collectable my dear,
like a trading card and such,
never in all my years
would I consider giving you up.
But these feelings, like a specter,
they remain undetected,
because there is a force
so mighty, halting my heart’s
voice from dominating the airwaves.
I do not believe in honesty,
for the truth would hurt
your heart, and instead of seeing
so much clearer around
every turn, you would feel so uneasy
at the thought of laying
eyes on me once more.
Lying may be sinful,
and leave your heart bereft
one day, but tomorrow
it will do nothing short of relieve
you of all pain, so you may
be the woman you were
always destined to become.
To ensure the promulgation
of this eventuality,
I go without the woman
who could do me good,
for you deserve more than
my hand upon your shoulder
or my love within your heart;
you deserve a life of beauty,
and my very existence
is the opposite of everything
I would ever want for you.
And so, with this thought
in mind, I convince myself;
you don’t want my love;
you don’t want me, neither
of which could ever satisfy
your soul. The sparkle
in your eye shall dissipate
when you look to me
with the truth on your mind,
belittling you so, like a morbid
plague, and to avoid
this circumstance, a lie
is thus necessary.

To the Thief of this here Heart

This poem will never be perfect;
it will only ever be good enough,
about the time I discovered fair beauty,
who captivated me with her ravishing features
before being diminished in the fog of life
the moment she dismissed me.

I asked, not to experience a moment with her,
but to have an entrepreneurial romance
that would span the longevity of time,
for apart from her, initially, I had no intention of ever being.

I wanted to caress her many alluring features,
and taste the finest beauty imaginable
on the palms of my smooth fingers,
as though she were a beverage
any man alive would love to sample.

I treated her with kindness,
for she was deserving of only better treatment,
and my true desires I attempted to keep hidden
from her massive, searching eyes.
In but a moment she cut me down to size,
as though I were a piece of fabric,
and she, a majestic bladed instrument,
that had spent an eternity opening the chests of many men
and relieving them of their centrepieces.

I could have kissed her,
and I wanted to with all my heart,
for never before had my lips touched those belonging to such an amazing being,
but like an angel, she flew away
before the seed of possibility had even begun to grow.

I should have known an unfathomable Goddess of such unequivocal beauty
would have her heart belonging in the safe of another,
and no matter the hours spent attempting to crack
the unbeatable combination on the locking mechanism,
never would I open the muscle
which holds all of her love to bear
and hold it in my possession for but a single moment,
indoctrinating her emotion to become my own,
as I feel it ought to be.

I bowed my head and let her leave
the moment she had said the words that needed expressing to my ears,
for yet again the world smiled kindly on another man
that surely was not me.

To say I dislike the fact I lost the woman I had fallen for,
(like falling from the cloud cover to the world below,
only to find that which had once resided inside
the bounds of my mortal frame collapsed around me on the floor;
a puzzle beyond solvable intent)
is barely an accurate description remotely close to the factual truth.

But I be formal and polite,
and lucky to have a flicker of her generous attention
bestowed upon my features.

With this thought in mind,
a sigh of thanks filtered through my lips and drifted to her ear,
before depart we did,
in a moment that made moving quickly look almost slow in speed,
because I barely knew she were gone from me a second later,
until the punch of loneliness slammed into my chest,
and wrenched my heart out from inside of me
and onto a frozen platter of belittled lover’s hearts.

I saw her again, whilst heartless,
but far from me she was
and follow her forward unto her destination I could not,
and see her again, sadly, I never will.  

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.