Orange Mark or Stain

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Emotions sometimes bring about the reality in your head.

Submitted: August 18, 2012

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Submitted: August 18, 2012

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Sitting here as the water slowly begins to fill my eyes I sit back and look to the sky. A gentle breeze tonight, it’s rather comfortable, yet why do I need feel so uneasy? I’m hearing God call out to me but I don’t want to listen, there is too much on my mind. As the nerves in my temples continue to pulsate I become rather angry and annoyed. Writing this down I see the ink bleed, somewhere deep down I want to cut myself and feel exactly what it’s like to write feelings onto paper.

 

Looking to the sky again there is a sense of hopelessness that overwhelms me. I clutch my sweater a little closer to my skin as the wind engulfs me with its presence. Things could be so much better between the two of us I thought. Yet, there seems to be something missing that continues to bother me. When I think of you it makes me want to do better yet, I feel that my actions and words mean so little to you. You don’t want to understand where I am coming from; you won’t give me the benefit of the doubt because it will only make me feel comfortable. No longer will you decide to make this about me. Words spoken from your mouth make me shiver; again grabbing my sweater I can no longer think of you.

 

I want to go inside my house; however, something has trapped me. I cannot move. Could this be your sense of urgency to come home to me? Slowly caressing my head as if I was an infant in your arms, damn I miss those passionate days. It seems that all of those have faded washed away at sea no longer to be found again. I was stupid to have cheated on you with another; my punishment was banishment from your internal rhythmic instrument, that which you call your heart. I continued to break it every time that we were apart. I don’t understand this conception of love, this emotion that you have bestowed on me is something that is unknown. The sky and your grace have me motionless, my bones already brittle start to break with the thoughts of you saying how much you don’t care to know of my true desires. You don’t accept me as a person; however you have come to deal with me as an individual.

 

My pen is cold, yet the pages are hot, fueled with the pain and distress I have cause against you, a fool they say is wise, yet a fool in love is always disguised. He waits patiently for his arrival to show his moral self, however he doesn’t know what lies in front of him, that which is a test called love. What are you doing to me? I no longer feel the breeze; it has walked out the door. Again abandoned, footsteps imprinted in the sand reminding me of us, now the current makes it nothing more but mush. I hate these things called feelings they do me no good, yet God put them in me for a reason. There needs to be some understanding behind them. Clutching my pen tightly I bite into my lip blood drips and splashes onto the paper, I write through its dry orange mark. Maybe this is it, I’ll begin to write my love story with you or will this be the end that I have dreamed of.

 

You by my side till the death of us or a lonely knife slash to the throat. What will be the death of me? Who knows yet in the sky tonight it shows me a path, a path to everlasting love with you; at least I hope this is true. My lip stings, I can taste the red against my tongue. This reminds me of your soft body, moist and tender you were and thus I hope to endure another round of your love. Damn, something isn’t right I’m all over the place, flustered. The grip is gone; the pen has dropped from my palm. Brain is splattered across the lines. I want to rip out these pages, burn them, watch them turn to ash thus diminish our past and start to love again. Yet, nothing seems to hurt you when it comes to me anymore; you just seem like the type to just be there cause you care. I guess this is why that tear slid down my cheek just now. God must be talking to me again; he is telling me what a child I have been. He has given me the opportunity to be human, but I cannot take up the cross and walk with him. Too much stuff on my mind, this is the point isn’t it?

 

Maybe a bullet would do the trick, but you have already shot me with it. I’m dead knowing that you are not fully with me, laying in an hospital bed,  tubes coming out of my flesh waiting for you to pull the plug ending this life which I did not deserve with you. How you must hate me. Could it be more than me hate myself? Smacking my brown skin I could feel the tension within my jaw, I needed that wakeup call. Picking up the pen again you come to mind, the time now five in the morning. Night turns into day and again my hand is flowing gracefully against the tree fibers.

 

I stop.

 

The sun rays begin to appear from beneath the clouds, it’s smiling at me. I can’t write any more about this humanity, I need you here now next to me, come home my dear, but no, wait. There has to be something more. You don’t need to deal with a fool but a man who is in love with you. The sky is getting brighter yet my heart is not. I dim my eyes; don’t want the sun to overwhelm me, no longer do I want to feel trapped inside my own reality.

 

The pen and I are no longer one; I want to be one with you. My heart is dead though and I burn a gash into my mental. I look below and notice the ink sliding from my heart. I have stabbed that which the feelings were once apart. I guess what they say is true, “a man’s desire come directly from the heart spoken through the tongue.”

 

I spoke not from my heart yet from my words. All I wanted was you to understand. Now the day is here and no longer will a tear fall again from your eyes.

 

The test you gave me was love, yet I wasn’t a fool in it. Only disguising myself with thoughts left though that orange stain…

 


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