The End
I can’t understand you.
My mind is twisting in knots just
so I can gently touch the truth that
you delicately weaved into existence.
That you spun with hands tainted with none other
than the harsh arachnophobia that you knew haunted me.
That you wanted to haunt me.
I can’t function properly near you.
You have made my reality something ugly,
something I want to spin, myself, into one of those
beautiful fantasies that you taught me to make.
That you trained me to make.
The ends of the web sparkly with the dew of a
mid-afternoon rain
attaching gracefully to a graffiti stricken wall,
dead insects harvested in the middle of my web,
ready for me to devour at the earliest convenience,
or maybe your earliest convenience.
The words of the richest sugar coated delight
are now beginning to poison me.
And I fear you know it.
Every sentence that you create is just another note
-out of tune
crashing into my ears at the velocity of a derailing train
-making a sound very similar to the train
Making all other sound incomprehensible and dead
Your words are stunning in every way possible.
Boundless
exotic
sweet
Completely intoxicating in every way
including their lack of that which beauty relies: truth
And so let it be obvious that
I can’t listen to you anymore,
I can’t simply remain here as I once did and
absorb all of the lies that you think I should believe.
All these childhood promises are merely frustrations to me now.
Frustrations that I want to just let go and
pretend like they were never there,
kind of like you, in a way.
It is easy to cause pain.
even easier to make it seem as if the pain
that you created was a farce to being with.
It existed. I know it was there because
your spider- stained words are still squirming through my brain,
webbing through every single thought
memory
idea
reflection
with uncaring yet amazing literacy.
Striking away all previous designs with that same
disregard I remember from you,
but also striking you away.
Just the way I want it to be.
Your words are self destructing at the rate of that train
-do you remember?-
the one that was once crashing into my mind,
and is now crashing through it.
Every moment that you spent
with those intricate weavings has been proved wasted
for they no longer exist well with me
and their false beauty has faded into just what they have always been:
just a web attached gracefully to a graffiti stricken wall,
curse words
peeling paint
rusted, bleeding pipes
and all.
And you. There . Giving me that alluring smile.
Begging me to believe in you,
though knowing that your fairytale lies have ceased to live in me
and that the last page of your well- illustrated book
have already neatly flourished the words:
The End
My mind is twisting in knots just
so I can gently touch the truth that
you delicately weaved into existence.
That you spun with hands tainted with none other
than the harsh arachnophobia that you knew haunted me.
That you wanted to haunt me.
I can’t function properly near you.
You have made my reality something ugly,
something I want to spin, myself, into one of those
beautiful fantasies that you taught me to make.
That you trained me to make.
The ends of the web sparkly with the dew of a
mid-afternoon rain
attaching gracefully to a graffiti stricken wall,
dead insects harvested in the middle of my web,
ready for me to devour at the earliest convenience,
or maybe your earliest convenience.
The words of the richest sugar coated delight
are now beginning to poison me.
And I fear you know it.
Every sentence that you create is just another note
-out of tune
crashing into my ears at the velocity of a derailing train
-making a sound very similar to the train
Making all other sound incomprehensible and dead
Your words are stunning in every way possible.
Boundless
exotic
sweet
Completely intoxicating in every way
including their lack of that which beauty relies: truth
And so let it be obvious that
I can’t listen to you anymore,
I can’t simply remain here as I once did and
absorb all of the lies that you think I should believe.
All these childhood promises are merely frustrations to me now.
Frustrations that I want to just let go and
pretend like they were never there,
kind of like you, in a way.
It is easy to cause pain.
even easier to make it seem as if the pain
that you created was a farce to being with.
It existed. I know it was there because
your spider- stained words are still squirming through my brain,
webbing through every single thought
memory
idea
reflection
with uncaring yet amazing literacy.
Striking away all previous designs with that same
disregard I remember from you,
but also striking you away.
Just the way I want it to be.
Your words are self destructing at the rate of that train
-do you remember?-
the one that was once crashing into my mind,
and is now crashing through it.
Every moment that you spent
with those intricate weavings has been proved wasted
for they no longer exist well with me
and their false beauty has faded into just what they have always been:
just a web attached gracefully to a graffiti stricken wall,
curse words
peeling paint
rusted, bleeding pipes
and all.
And you. There . Giving me that alluring smile.
Begging me to believe in you,
though knowing that your fairytale lies have ceased to live in me
and that the last page of your well- illustrated book
have already neatly flourished the words:
The End