Ashley
Bluelight Crew
Caustic Words On A Stormy Night
The words you spoke on a stormy night,
drove daggers right through my heart.
Those phrases you delivered, so casually,
tore all of my dreams wide apart.
The sentences, so brutal and coldly put,
left me truly speechless, aghast, and
the wind and rain decorated the scene,
cruel and soul less, a handicapped race
that was simply doomed from the start.
You screamed at me your wish that I
no longer took a life filled breath.
With that unrestrained hatred, you
orchestrated the funeral of my spirit, and
passively watched it's unjust, premature death.
I don't recall observing you shed a
single tear, your evil side exposed
in all of it's morbid glory, the side of
you that I recklessly failed to learn to fear.
A glimpse into the depths of your depravity,
which into I had never even peered.
As the extent of its maturity had never
been exposed, not by excess wine nor by beer.
A side of you devoid of any slight resemblance,
to the person I thought that I completely did know.
To the shadows about our bedroom, you adhered
a few select memories, of the many years we shared
as television stars in our own private show, thus
I suffer torture in the dark corners of the room,
and those visions of the past utterly saturated
with love, they violently tear and shred the image,
that I held so very dear to me, of exactly who you are.
I heard the rain begin to create music
upon our tin roof, as the storm rolled in, and
a perverse wind rattled the shutters hard enough
to cause an audible and eerie moan.
As you threw objects of sentiment at me, from
all around you, pictures and drawings and letters
that made up the landscape of our home, items built
with a special little part of each of us embedded
in their construction, as you shrieked with
rage and with your now vicious tongue, moved closer,
nearer, and swiftly, the stuff of vivid nightmares,
like some kind of incurable disease, you rapidly
attacked me, and I became infected with horror,
I trembled at the knees.
The ground shook beneath me, and I could feel my heart
beginning to bleed, flooding my insides with
gut wrenching agony, I am just a prisoner, serving an
indefinite number of years. Your taunts struck
my ears, I watched your lips manipulate the caustic
hateful speech that deafened the constant
rhythmic sound of my heart beat, the only sign that
I still remained alive, as for a minute, after
you told me, with who you had consummated the
tragic relationship, that you now found yourself
apparently happier in, I was sure that I would die,
both the physical vessel I inhabited, and whatever
hope I always had tucked away deep down inside.
The sheer amount of calculated lies, that you had
laid down for so so many nights, the dark hours that
pulsated with such obscure vibes. I had sensed
something was askew in the foundation upon which
together we once grew, visions of intertwined fingers that
fit perfectly, artistically too, as together we held
hands and walked beneath the beams that shone
down from the moon. It is visions like this, that I am
taken by, then momentarily transported from the room.
Your voice comes back into focus, and you
determinedly state the enormity of the hate
that you have for me, and the steadfast certainty
that you and I will never again be.
Claps of thunders made our little
tin roofed house shudder, and on that night
it began to shake apart, our jointly created
amazing private reality. An interpretation of our
existence that was filled with love
for the other, almost so strong as to cause pain.
Once upon a time, we would have sacrificed ourselves
to save the other and wrongly taken the blame,
from whatever or whoever cast it our way, diving
deep into flesh searing gasoline flames. I
retreat into my imaginary world and
visualize your name, and the way you uniquely
ink it on parchment, with that sexual curve
on the J, no hand but yours could write it the same.
The letters that comprise your elegant
looking name, and the sound that it
tends to make, when I softly whisper it within
my brain. On this night in February, I did
learn that so very much of you had changed, the
person that I fell so violently for, she is
missing, now seemingly insane.
The brush strokes of your character became
blurred and foreign to my eye, as well as to my
lips, my ears, my thigh, for every move you made
on that stormy night, contradicted the way the
little girl I first met, it seems so few years ago,
an undiscovered princess that once called
me her soul mate, dealt with the chaos of life.
The storm raged viscous like for hours, putting pressure
upon our little house, and the enormity of the
destruction within the bedroom in which we sat, was
enough to wilt fresh flowers and disassemble a
once intact and happy man, into unsorted piles
of mismatched disfigured human pieces.
Over by the living room, lay a segment of
my soul, and by the fireplace where no heat
emanated from blackened coals, and in the middle
of the hallway a fragment of a heart, still
furiously attempting to beat despite
missing the other crucial parts.
A.
The words you spoke on a stormy night,
drove daggers right through my heart.
Those phrases you delivered, so casually,
tore all of my dreams wide apart.
The sentences, so brutal and coldly put,
left me truly speechless, aghast, and
the wind and rain decorated the scene,
cruel and soul less, a handicapped race
that was simply doomed from the start.
You screamed at me your wish that I
no longer took a life filled breath.
With that unrestrained hatred, you
orchestrated the funeral of my spirit, and
passively watched it's unjust, premature death.
I don't recall observing you shed a
single tear, your evil side exposed
in all of it's morbid glory, the side of
you that I recklessly failed to learn to fear.
A glimpse into the depths of your depravity,
which into I had never even peered.
As the extent of its maturity had never
been exposed, not by excess wine nor by beer.
A side of you devoid of any slight resemblance,
to the person I thought that I completely did know.
To the shadows about our bedroom, you adhered
a few select memories, of the many years we shared
as television stars in our own private show, thus
I suffer torture in the dark corners of the room,
and those visions of the past utterly saturated
with love, they violently tear and shred the image,
that I held so very dear to me, of exactly who you are.
I heard the rain begin to create music
upon our tin roof, as the storm rolled in, and
a perverse wind rattled the shutters hard enough
to cause an audible and eerie moan.
As you threw objects of sentiment at me, from
all around you, pictures and drawings and letters
that made up the landscape of our home, items built
with a special little part of each of us embedded
in their construction, as you shrieked with
rage and with your now vicious tongue, moved closer,
nearer, and swiftly, the stuff of vivid nightmares,
like some kind of incurable disease, you rapidly
attacked me, and I became infected with horror,
I trembled at the knees.
The ground shook beneath me, and I could feel my heart
beginning to bleed, flooding my insides with
gut wrenching agony, I am just a prisoner, serving an
indefinite number of years. Your taunts struck
my ears, I watched your lips manipulate the caustic
hateful speech that deafened the constant
rhythmic sound of my heart beat, the only sign that
I still remained alive, as for a minute, after
you told me, with who you had consummated the
tragic relationship, that you now found yourself
apparently happier in, I was sure that I would die,
both the physical vessel I inhabited, and whatever
hope I always had tucked away deep down inside.
The sheer amount of calculated lies, that you had
laid down for so so many nights, the dark hours that
pulsated with such obscure vibes. I had sensed
something was askew in the foundation upon which
together we once grew, visions of intertwined fingers that
fit perfectly, artistically too, as together we held
hands and walked beneath the beams that shone
down from the moon. It is visions like this, that I am
taken by, then momentarily transported from the room.
Your voice comes back into focus, and you
determinedly state the enormity of the hate
that you have for me, and the steadfast certainty
that you and I will never again be.
Claps of thunders made our little
tin roofed house shudder, and on that night
it began to shake apart, our jointly created
amazing private reality. An interpretation of our
existence that was filled with love
for the other, almost so strong as to cause pain.
Once upon a time, we would have sacrificed ourselves
to save the other and wrongly taken the blame,
from whatever or whoever cast it our way, diving
deep into flesh searing gasoline flames. I
retreat into my imaginary world and
visualize your name, and the way you uniquely
ink it on parchment, with that sexual curve
on the J, no hand but yours could write it the same.
The letters that comprise your elegant
looking name, and the sound that it
tends to make, when I softly whisper it within
my brain. On this night in February, I did
learn that so very much of you had changed, the
person that I fell so violently for, she is
missing, now seemingly insane.
The brush strokes of your character became
blurred and foreign to my eye, as well as to my
lips, my ears, my thigh, for every move you made
on that stormy night, contradicted the way the
little girl I first met, it seems so few years ago,
an undiscovered princess that once called
me her soul mate, dealt with the chaos of life.
The storm raged viscous like for hours, putting pressure
upon our little house, and the enormity of the
destruction within the bedroom in which we sat, was
enough to wilt fresh flowers and disassemble a
once intact and happy man, into unsorted piles
of mismatched disfigured human pieces.
Over by the living room, lay a segment of
my soul, and by the fireplace where no heat
emanated from blackened coals, and in the middle
of the hallway a fragment of a heart, still
furiously attempting to beat despite
missing the other crucial parts.
A.
