The Call

You called-
After so long,
How long? -
You called.
You asked questions,
And I answered.
You were polite,
You blatantly ignored our history.
As a lady,
I extended that courtesy.

Hearing your voice though,
Set me back
Like a time machine,
Endlessly moving back further and further
Into the abyss.
you said you loved me still.
What was on your mind?
Why after so long?
I wondered.

I heard.
I bled inside;
I opened up like an umbrella
That guards one from the rain.
Your words poured down on me like a storm,
My very being washed away.
I tried to hold on,
But I still got wet.

Words so close to feelings, suppressed,
That which I guarded jealousy
Was laid bare before you.

You called to say -
What did you say again?
Oh, yes.
Right.
Wasn't I quite a lady when I said I loved you, too?
But,
Did I say it then,
Or so long ago?

For the Moment

I stand on top of this deserted roof.
the orange sky illuminates my soul as I watch the city above and below.
For the moment,
The world seems so simple and carefree.
And its sole purpose of existence is for me to see.

I unclasp my fist and hold on to the dirty locket.
A pretty little heirloom.
Somehow, in the mix of tragic scenes,
I managed to keep a firm grip on it.

For the moment,
I am inefficient.
I am a barrier to any positive or negative thoughts.
I allow the wind to caress my frame gently.
I let its fingers run smoothly through my hair.

For the moment I paint an ideal picture of what life would be,
Had I only ever saw what was in front of me.
I watch the birds fly to and fro,
Blessed with ignorance to the cruel world.
I wish to be one of them - free.

For the moment,
I do not exist inside myself.
I move closer to edge and look down below;
The little souls all move on missions.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes.

For the moment,
I am unaware of what I am doing,
Of the motives behind my actions,
Or to whom and what I am trying to prove.

I let go of the locket and let it fall...
Down, down, down...

For the moment,
I prepare to take the extra step -
Then I stop.

I changed my mind today,
I shout to the birds.
Don't despair - tomorrow we will take a flight
In the setting sun together.

For the moment,
It isn't my time,
But in a moment,
Everything can change.

The Past

I wonder
When it will end,
My mind ponders
Which way I will bend;

Should I run as if demons
Were on my track?
Should I stay
Without looking back?

Looking at the past,
Wondering the future,
It would seem so absurdly fitting
that I understand the present.

I can't stay.
I must,
I have to look away,
Or risk turning into a statue
At the smallest glance over my shoulder.

Feelings of joy are lost
Never to be found or felt again.
The laughter is gone,
The towers of dreams have collapsed
To heaps of rubbish.

But I must take a glimpse
At who I was then
To even comprehend who I am now.
I take a peek -
A short, fleeting peek
Behind me.

And then I turn rigid.

700 Days

For nearly seven hundred days you were my friend.
We did as friends do;
The laughs, the whispered secrets,
The gossip,
The tears.
What more could two lonely
Souls do for one another
But to be friends for
Just about seven hundred days.
Not too short, nor too long,
Just enough time to capture a heart.

You were organic, wheat.
Me?
Produce, sugars.
Us?
Water and vinegar.
Products of love.

Tales of abuse and bitterness
Were alleviated
By grandiose stories of
Something beyond the Bay;
The sky scraper,
The notebook,
The man.
The lines between struggle
And imaginary difficulties was blurred,
So that, in the end,
All there was was problems.

My friend of seven hundred days,
Where are you now?
Have you settled your peace in your land?
Where have you gone?
Are you happy?

There were promises,
As most friends have,
Of keeping in touch,
As most friends say.

But us, we knew.

After seven hundred days,
My friend,
We knew it wasn't true.

The Reflection

Morning rain clouds touched the wall.
His shadow,
A looming seven feet taller than him,
Omniscient in all the wrong ways.
His footsteps,
The drums of despair,
Resonate in my chest,
Its echo calling out to the door ahead of me,
Willing me to make a move.
And then, oh -
That solid silver he grips
Reveals my shattered reflection,
So sharp, calm, forbearing,
Yet graceful.
What a familiar kind of silver.
He holds it menacingly,
Just three inches from my face.
I see the blurry outtakes of a still film.
Myself,
Crouched in a fetal position.
Acid filled tears
Falling on deaf ears.
Blood on the walls,
A piercing pain on my inner thigh
Burns with question marks.
Had I ever known how to fold clothes as even as squares,
Tie a tie on good timing,
Or assort canned goods label facing forward,
Without instructions,
I could have lived the life of a happy woman.
But I am dumb,
He tells me.
I am a rock without strength.
I repress the thoughts of escape,
For fear of going to Hell.