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Lost
I once met an empty ocean, she insisted that she grew from a single raindrop that fell from God him-self’s eye. With every decade that went by she sank a little deeper and became more vast, from continent to continent, she stretched like limbs after slumber. She fell in love with the heat of the sun, and knew that is exactly the company needed to be kept. Growing larger and larger confusing centuries with months.
She swallowed sailors that attempted to brave the storm, holding their souls in the palms of her hands, she kept them from harm, well further harm that is. Outstretched from pole to pole she wept, Knowing the world feared her immense size, she began to lose faith in her own existence. Wondering why God allowed her to fall to Earth and become what she had become. You could not even hear someone yell across her anymore, not even an echo. She believed becoming larger would cause the world to be more accessible, but, in turn, pulled them further apart.
Just as she believed she was completely forgotten about, she saw a ship. Excited by her new companion she threw waves toward it in attempts to gain attention and show she was still there, causing the ship to rock. Eventually stimulating the water enough to make it tip. Spilling black blood all across her.
Suffocating her very being.
Her, having seeing,
Noticed by the world again and not just a name on a map.
She finally felt alive again.
Choking from the ships blood filling her lungs, she was finally important again.
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The Beating Of Your Heart, Baby
I’ve been stuck on a mental tangent lately, and it’s sparking a lot of nerves in my being. However, the question is, when did sex become “fucking”. I feel like in our generation, Making love is becoming extremely endangered much like chivalry. Sex has become something so “normal” and the feelings behind it don’t mean anything. And that personally worries me…
When did this happen? When did it becoming just getting yours, or off in general? Because based off a lot of people’s pasts, they would fuck just to fuck, the “Love” was never even there to begin with. It’s not held to a high enough standard, it’s given away way too easily. It’s solely based on physical attraction anymore. “Oh, he’s hot. I want to fuck him.” Where did the self respect go? Giving yourself up should be a gift, not an expectation. I can recall my freshman year, all of the girls would pick just anyone to have sex with just to get losing their virginity over with.
The passion behind it is dying like a bullet shot through the head of the weak minded. I guess posting this doesn’t even make me a “man” in today’s standards. To the majority I would be considered “gay” or a “bitch” for having actual feelings toward the act of making love. Calling that in general is almost a sin in itself anymore.
Where did using the beat of your lover’s heart be the soundtrack of your love disappear? Using it as the tempo atop the sheets, pulling each other closer to one another and not just physically? Sex should be something that you crave to have that ultimate attachment with the person you love, not just to bust another nut. The condom has become the glass slipper of our generation.
Should we blame John Hughes? Should we blame the media in general?
Possibly.
But what would that do? Just give us another thing to point out frigged fingers toward for why we are all becoming hallow shells of human beings? Or can we even be considered human beings anymore since we have become some primitive. The only thing that separates us from neanderthals is a thin layer of latex…
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There’s A Chatter In The Space Between Ice And Bones.
I’m not sure what to describe this void I feel lately, is it my imagination, or am I spot on?
God, I hope not…
Every night I can’t sleep anymore, I’ve been laying to rest with a corpse for a month or so. Day-in-and-day out. I feel as if her passion is fading.
Passion, that’s a funny word. Say it with me “Passion,” it can mean several different things and I feel like each of it’s definitions are linked together in this case. You’ve lost your passion in what you love, the drive, and I feel like that’s exactly where your passion toward a man, you used to not be able to get enough of, was consumed by. I have finally figured out the burdens you carry with you, and I have a terrible feeling that I know the person who did this to you very well…
The sight of him each day has made you sink lower, turn into that hallow shell you wither away to each night. I hate where this is going, depression is setting in on both parties because they know each other knows, but don’t want to say anything.
He loves her with all of his heart and can’t seem to get her back, she’s checked out, not from their love but her love for herself, you know? It’s hard to love someone else when you have stopped loving yourself.
I am the hull.
The hull of the ship that has brought all the pain to your eyes. I lay awake each and every night, heart thumping, can’t breathe. Because I cuddle myself in with a corpse of a girl I can’t live with out.
She is still warm, but I can feel the chatter of her bones throughout the night. She doesn’t even realize how great she truly is, if only she could see herself the way I do.
I am to blame for all of this…
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The Smell of Summer
The sound of rushing water from the stream, birds chirping, and the rocks rubbing against eachother like firecrackers beneath our feet. The gentle pitter-patter of stones hitting the surface.
I need the smell of summer, I need it’s noises in my ears.
Throwing smooth flat stones skipping across the water (or as best we can). When we were out there, it seemed as if time stood still and that moment would last forever. And it would have if the sun didn’t settle down in the horizon awaiting its good night kiss. I saw a spark in your eyes that evening, one I haven’t seen in a while. It warmed my heart and it resonated around my very core, ricocheted off each and every bone in my frame.
Lighting up cigarettes on the edge of the water and leaning close to eachother, leaving the surroundings do most of the talking. That light looks really good on you, but who am I kidding, you’re beautiful in every way possible. Basically the moral of this story is…
I love you. And nothing is ever going to change that in my mind.
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lavieenwords asked: I think your cat's name is the funniest thing. Thanks for putting a smile on my face while I'm slaving away on this damn paper :]
Hahaha I’m glad you enjoy it.
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It’s alright, the camera’s talking.
