The Unspoken

transitions

Laura — Wed, 19 Aug 2009 05:16:25 +0000

I miss the happy careless days of my childhood. I miss when dreaming held hope for a better day and new possibilities, when my greatest fears were what lurked in dark corners of the closet. I miss the simplicity of my thoughts, desires. I miss that reassuring easiness, that echo that resounded in my soul saying “everything will be alright.”

The Descent

Laura — Wed, 19 Aug 2009 05:11:05 +0000

The weather bleeds ignorance to the changing seasons,

spawning thunderstorms of vivid emotions,

each a subtle but startling disposition to the next.

Unearthed longings, displaced desires,

cascade like waterfalls off cliffs of despair.

Leaves once an emerald green fade into a crimson red,

a dead and decaying love.

What of a tortured soul could you ever hope to spare?

Cold and unloved the trees stand bare.

Watch now, a once perfect facade fall away.

Who now will you point your finger at when there’s no one left to blame?

Rain keeps misery company on this desolate night,

and the moon, ever so softly,

creates the perfect silhouette over the branches of lost time.

There’s just one etching in the bark,

the tree of eternity,

“My heart, my soul, my love, forever yours will be.”

Inconsolable Shadows

Laura — Wed, 19 Aug 2009 05:08:54 +0000

No matter how much you try to deny it,
No matter how pretty the facade,
No matter how perfect the lie,
You are irreparably broken.
Scarred.
Damaged.
Desperately you seek someone,
Something, to
Mend the hurt.
Stop the pain.

You can be doing so well.
You can go months,
Years even,
Without succumbing to the evil,
The evil that lurks,
Like a menace,
In the darkest crevices of your mind.

But in an instant,
Without warning,
Everything comes flooding back.

Your memories,
Once confined deep in the subconscious,
Escape.
The source of the restless sleep,
The nightmares,
The distrust,
The deception,
The charade,
The confusion,
The insecurity,
The hurt,
The infamy.

When memory lays its deathly silhouette,
It’s too late.

The relentless pain,
The impeding emptiness,
The dismal hopelessness,
Ravage your core.
In a desperate attempt of salvation,
You hurl yourself into a casket of old habits.
And so,
In trying to overcome the inevitable,
You do things you hate,
Things that would make other’s skin crawl with disgust,
Things that make your thoughts disappear,
Things that replace one pain with another,
Things that give you control.

There’s no stopping this endless cycle.

the art of growing up

Laura — Wed, 19 Aug 2009 05:07:08 +0000

So, I’ve come to a point in my life where I find fear and insecurities have taken the place of determination and strength. The future I have always dreamed about has never been closer, the door of opportunity is wide open and I yet I find myself unable to move. The questions that have always plagued my restless mind have multiplied and re-multiplied to the point where I can’t lay down and fall asleep anymore. Tylenol PM has become my insomnia’s worst enemy and my best friend. It’s almost like the part of me that has always wanted to go out and achieve has died. It’s as if I have no ability or will to do anything anymore. I really don’t know what has come over me. Am I scared? Is this what it feels like to be only months away from graduating, only months away from beginning the rest of your life, living the way you want to live, surrounding yourself with scenery, the atmosphere, the people that YOU want to be surrounded by? Am I just scared? Or am I just pathetic, pathetic in the fact that I’ve spent my whole life striving to reach this open door and now I’m standing only feet away and can’t find it in me to pick up my feet and move. I used to be happy; content with all the little things, nothing and no one could bring me down. Maybe it’s all in the art of growing up, of realizing that friends will let you down, that family will let you down, that everyone will make you hurt, that there is no one who deserves your trust, that life is and always will be a trail of faith and as soon as you pick yourself up and find your bearings, there will be someone or something that will send you plummeting back to the ground. Maybe it’s realizing that no matter how much effort you put into something, no matter how much time, no matter how much love, no matter how much care, it can and usually will go unappreciated. Perhaps it’s in the perplexing and painful art of growing up that we finally release stupid childhood dreams, that we close the door on all the insignificant little things that bring us that initial happiness. The stuff that within the hour, or day, or week leaves us like a feigning drug addict makes us feel as if our world is bleak and gray without it, as if we can’t function. If this is the art of growing up, then I have mastered it indefinitely.

Inquisition

Laura — Wed, 19 Aug 2009 05:00:42 +0000

Inquisition bears a price to be paid

What more can one ask

If not in vain?

And still so many questions

Consume my mind

I could ask a thousand answers

Baring no witness to time.

But would I be so bold to ask

The flavor of your skin?

The warmth of your touch?

Would I be so daring

To ask you once again

Where your heart truly lies

With whom your life you plan to live?

Do thoughts of me consume your mind

As oft as ones of you consume mine?

Do you even think of me at all

If so in what demeanor?

And here is where a question finds me still

As my mind lingers between valleys of unconsciousness and confines of awareness

blatant curiosity and inquisition aside,

Do I really desire to know the answers from which these questions I pry?

For what of the answer once it is conceived?

What consequences will it bear?

To what extent will they proceed?

While I lay awake on this desolate night

A thousand dilemmas encasing my mind

The troubled mind that beckons for peace

So desperate it contemplates an eternal sleep.

The antagonist, the enemy,

these questions from you I do keep.

Innocence

Laura — Wed, 19 Aug 2009 05:00:00 +0000

Six pounds and fourteen ounces,

Her eyes unscathed by images,

Images of starving children and battle fields.

Her small hands clean of blood,

Her ears of evil.

Her heart,

Yet to be betrayed by those it holds dearest,

Yet to be broken,

shattered under the weight of

Broken promises and expectations.

Innocence.

Something one can’t touch or taste,

Blind to the human eye.

Something that cannot be bought.

Something lost but never found.

Gone but never forgotten,

Stolen but never awarded.

Innocence.

Something the homeless man on North Avenue once knew,

Something the whore on 8 mile once knew,

Something the heroine addict,

twice through rehab, once knew.

Something the mud caked soldier in Iraq once knew.

Innocence.

Something I once knew.

Desire is poison

Laura — Wed, 19 Aug 2009 04:55:04 +0000

Inquisition plagues a restless mind. Thoughtlessness provokes thought. When trust lies at the depths of the ocean of foreign and self betrayal what does one really have to offer? Their soul sold, innocence stolen, dreams vanquished, and optimistic disposition replaced. A has been, a once was, A lost cause of tattered and torn memories and promises of tomorrow. Incomplete in a most solemn way, one tries desperately to fill the void in vain. As it gets harder and harder to muster enough energy for a simple breath, your heart stills, facades fall, and your soul implores the answers to questions your mind never wants to acknowledge. Is there no hope for the broken of ever being repaired? No possibility for the empty to ever feel full again?

another middle-class tragedy

Laura — Wed, 19 Aug 2009 04:52:56 +0000

There was a house there on King St,
a beautiful pathway to the door.
There was a half acre of trees in the backyard
The kids believed to be an enchanted forest.

There was a bay window in the living room,
a big screen TV in the den.
There was a bunk bed in her bedroom
She had gotten brand new when they moved in.

There were baby dolls in the corner
And butterflies on the walls.
There were books sitting on her night stand,
Dr Seuss’s Cat in the Hat and Fox in Socks.

There was a nightlight by her dresser,
A flashlight in her drawer.
There was a monster under her bed
She swore she’d heard snore.

Then came the for sale sign in the front yard,
The box for all her toys.
The divorce lawyer on the telephone,
custody trials and floating loans.

There were months spent at grandma’s,
A couple of years at Hanover Grove.
Now she’s a bit older,
Still too young to hold her own.

There are lockers at her new school,
lots of kids that are into drugs.
She has 6 different teachers ,
Loads of homework and no time for fun.

There’s a house there on Palomino,
A huge oak in the front yard.
The windows are out dated,
Making it easier to sneak out.

There’s caution tape plastered all over her door,
a do not enter sign on the knob.
There’s a stereo on her bookshelf
she uses to drown everyone else out.

There’s a snow globe on her dresser,
a stash of daddy’s pills under her bed.
There’s a monster in her basement,
But it’s family that let it in.

There’s a journal under her pillow,
the pages scream suicide.
There’s a heart in need of mending,
wounds too deep for the human eye.

There’s a lost sense of conviction
A desperate plea for sanity.
There’s a little girl that has gone missing,
Another middle-class tragedy.

November Road

Laura — Wed, 19 Aug 2009 04:50:34 +0000

I got behind the wheel,

Like so many times before,

Memories overcame me as I softly shut the door.

I felt the warm august breeze

Tear through the November cold.

I could hear the sound of your voice,

Softly painted with velvet and gold.

I envisioned your delicate face,

As you found your favorite place.

Your phone set down by the amp,

Guitar in hand, ready to play.

Lost deep inside the music,

Entranced by your radiant eyes,

Crazed by an indescribable hunger,

Enthralled by the speed of the ride.

A beautiful illusion,

An unearthed desire,

Your caring, your kindness,

All bringing fuel to the fire.

Endless talks from dusk till dawn,

The questions, the secrets,

All strengthening the bond.

The happiness, the sorrow,

The laughter and tears,

The release of burdens,

Carried for too many years.

I snapped back to reality,

Tears dripping softly down my face.

I stared out into an eternity

Of cold November rain.

I turned the keys in the ignition,

I put the car in drive,

And down the road I sped away,

Leaving all my memories behind.

Behind the Scenes

Laura — Wed, 19 Aug 2009 04:45:30 +0000

Expectations, fears, goals,

They all consume my mind.

Scars and tears of secrets left untold

Leave me lost and blind.

Strength, intelligence, stability,

A mask i often wear.

Weakness and insecurity,

Cries for help no one can hear.

I wished on a star last night,

The brightest my eyes could find.

I asked god for forgiveness,

Strength to leave my past behind.