B

You martyred yourself have you? Somewhere down the line the message has been lost and the over all sweetness in the air has gone stale on the tip of your wet tongue. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust they say, but what does one do with themselves if they truly believe they are one of the children born as nothing more than a sentimental spec of dust and burnt away human flakes. Created simply to exist, floating on the high notes of a song from a far away land caught in the wind. Perfectly designed to engulf another being in the array of sensual dance and burning cinders. A magnificent showcase of raw fire and eternal burning emotions, until finally the light flickers out and the martyr is once more an endless stream of nothingness, there for the taking. 

Her hair just brushes past her shoulders, begins to flow over her white gown; dripping half in sweat and dipping half in water. She is thinking about all the humanity that surrounds her and how they all share each others breath. When she takes her first stride and walks the concrete streets, meeting every curled face that drifts through her passing step. The tick, tick, ticking of every stride. A siren bell ringing through her ears. Is it not strange and perhaps quite fictional; How much the eyes of a man can hold within a few seconds of a swift gaze? Like a poor grazed deer, caught in the headlights. That slight cut crease in a smile from another uncomfortable, contortionistic mask to design each individual little bitter scar from the bomb struck days that have perished and all but turned to dust. Except there was no bombs. No nuclear warfare or fall out, just a bunch of educated savages that built an economy to make the small and insignificant things fall, while anything with a bit of strength and size held everything up. Now it is standing, and now she is drowning.

Where do you begin to place yourself? When do you stop asking questions? What the fuck am I doing here, what am I saying? Am I even making sense anymore. Tell me an answer to one of these questions. I begin to beg and plead with the world, dropping to my knees I clasp on the jeans of my friends. Not waving but drowning in the ever growing oceans of similes for minuscule acts of kindness that mean the world to me.

Why am I always hurting your feelings, its absolutely exhausting. I hurt and I must always get myself back up, Always fighting my own corner. There came a point and it feels like you have given up on me. My sadness doesn't hurt you, my pain is mine and mine alone. I throw my heart soul and all of my dedication into your world and your happiness and I think that's my mistake. I've become dependent. You saved me when I most needed to feel some love. I saved you when you had no other way but death. But now were both alive, but I think I need you more than you need me. I think our expiration date has come. I think it’s slowly slipping into a pit where neither one of us will be happy. I love you with every ounce I have. Every little part of me. So I wont let go. I will simply drive you into a solo world or the arms of another. There is no other way... None that I can see anymore. 

Wanna be heard, speak louder, want to be respected, hold your ground. Or better yet take me on that Mary go around and tell me how the leaves fall in autumn because slowly yet surely this façade of Jokers VS Harlequins is getting old. My face is melting away with the spring sunshine and the old winter snow is dried up. The humour is dying and so is your last petal. Petal.