My Broken World

You asked things of me

You assumed to know all about me

I started out as your own kin’s minion

It was this brood’s flesh I thought I’d own

Then you shimmered your way through

What else could a hungry heart and thirsty tongue do?

Hand in hand we swayed to the beat

Hips to waist, we can kill with our heat

Pulses racing,

Shadows gyrating

Your evil eyes mirrored unspoken sin

With every caress, I wear that evil grin

You moved scrumptiously closer to be with me

If only I could effervesce with that body

Clad we are in each other’s sweltering arms

To prying, wanting eyes, we were like fiery red-light alarm

You breathe me in as we lay almost lifeless

The lowly earth would be shamed by what it witnessed

And with your poison ivy lips,

I died with that one searing kiss

*** written on the 17th of September 2k9, 620pm. are you just burning?

Love is obsession, fascination, castration, illusion, delusion and damnation all rolled in one blinding, oh so intricately wrapped up package. I’ve lost count (or maybe am just too lazy to even bother) as to how many times I have allowed myself to be blinded. Like a shiny new toy, they all made me go all excited. Guts tied up in knots. My eyes glisten in awe. Their presence whets my appetite. You’re all jittery to the point of throwing up. Wonderful eh? The days draw to numerous endings, weeks while away, and months move along; then you get tired of your shiny new toy. Well, it doesn’t glow the same way it used to. You’ve seen all of its flaws and your lack of regard quickly ensues. You end up wanting a new one, need a new one, more learning, less breaking. At times when you get tired of a toy, you bash it to oblivion. Or leave it to rot, if that’s even attainable. Then again, some of your toys have a way of fighting back. They break just when you begin to enjoy playing with them. They’re all ruined and you know for a fact that they were not manufactured in bulk. The toy factory cannot give you another one like it. Maybe a replica, but would you actually revel in a copycat? Could you fool yourself into taking it as if it was the same thing which dared break before it could live up to its purpose? Toys, they all were, no matter the presentation, the price, the way they were handed to you… every single one is a material for pleasure. But pleasure is subjective. That which was intended to bring forth such feeling may actually be the trigger to feel bereft. Displeased by a plaything, what miscreant would live with that defeat? Toys come to life when you’re asleep, old folks use that as a scare tactic but who’s to say it is absolute fallacy. At times when you are actually at peace communing with your unconscious, these ragdolls may very well be getting on their feet, replacing your air with poison, your dreams with nightmares and crushing your frail heart till you breathe only their names. I loved these toys to the best of my understanding as to what constitutes the word. You see, when I called you my toy, it was as good as saying, you were a part and parcel of my stitched-up, pattern-filled, dirtpile self. Another’s wind-up toy, I once was too.

I sat for hours clicking away unable to get to what was really my original intent… to write. I let days pass in order for the surge of emotions to be put to a calm mood. I did not want to blurt things all out of being emotional or put on the wrong impression that I was slighted. That has long been the case. If my heart is broken, it broke a long time ago and should very well be fine by now. There are farewell parties, the curtain closes after every show, the last hurrah for a bachelor/bachelorette and similar things. It’s all about ending things with a bang and somewhat a toast to a whole other undertaking. The last page of the book you could not put down till you finish it, that last sip of your frappe, the last bite of your glazed donut, the last slice of your favorite pizza… all good things must come to an end and this is exactly how the story would go down. Or should go down may very well sound better. I am not feeling pangs of bitterness, much to a friend’s chagrin. I am not feeling the loss for I haven’t really had anything in my barren hands for quite a while already. Nothing can possibly happen anymore; for it was an old story that hasn’t been read in ages. Nobody sits around to hear it being told no more. It was no fairytale. There were no white horses, a secret garden, fairies, a kiss that would awaken you from a century long sleep and all other things that make up those childhood fantasies. There were cabs and buses, cakes and presents, onlookers and yeah, that one kiss that led to moments of yearning. I was not warned as to what I was trekking on. It was a path of rubbles and splintered glasses. Had I taken a closer look, I may have also seen the carnage that precedes me. These are the bodies of former lovers that were so conveniently thrown at the nearest dike after they have served their purpose. Ditched after being all used up. You see, sometimes leeches come in the brightest of form. And that ray of light which surrounds them can make you mistake them for angels walking along with a lowly human like yourself, making you prone to a feeling of being granted a great endowment. But see, that light is a mere deviation from what is truly hidden beneath. It is a necessary ploy to make you covet them. And the moment you do, you are the fallen. In my case, it felt like being a participant in a magic show. No, my body did not have to be cut in half. Rather, that other famous trick of making people fall into so-called deep sleep and make them float. Voila! The shoddy part is, after the show was done and the masked magician left the stage, I was left there floating into nothingness. Somebody forgot to wake me up from that illusion. Hence, the feeling of being trapped hunted me like a hyena chasing a gazelle. I was still hoping that my masked magician would return to me and bring me back to a reality that is untainted. Only, magic was already being played with another, in a manner of speaking. I was at least all too willing to settle as my magician’s Familiáris. But my mind is as erratic as the tides in the ocean. And so now, I have decided to severe all ties. How can you be possibly friends with someone who can bring you down neck deep and still slander your heart so keenly without batting an eyelash, and without them knowing? That’s just torture I tell ya. And I think I am cutting my membership from that fan club. Ball and chain starts to look less appealing to me with each passing day. I have time and again said that my magician would be the fairest of them all. But maybe I forgot to put into consideration that magician was also the most unfair of them all. What tragic irony. Was this ever worthy of being labeled as a love story? Maybe it’d me more aptly termed as an obsession story or a fuckinshittylosercrap story. And like all horrendous nightmares and striking dreams, I needed to wake up.

Now I’m gonna get back on my feet, I still have precious moments to live and hearts to break… I kid.

OSSY™ WILL NOW RETURN TO HER FUCKED-UP REALITY.

BRING IT ON!!!