Green with envy is the rule of thumb, a green thumb, a thumb of nurture and love. Why can I not see myself feeling compassion for you before my knees? As if you knelt down to feel the toes beneath my feet. As if you meant everything to me. But I didn't mean anything to you, green with sickness, green with disease, is the burden I have carried on these. It weighs heavy on my shoulders, like a large boulder, my body collapses from the mass of the unforgiving earth as I sink in its green mouth of foreclosure. What I knew, what I thought disappeared midst the fog in the eerie green light across the bay of the west egg. The horizon in the east to bring a new day is a sham, for it will end in further dismay. Disarray, of the green ray, the light of a resurrecting life. A life which cannot be seen through the eyes of another, through green spectacles, through a rod of flashed lightning, an inventor of WE. Of a society that should have never been, destroy the green spruce replace it with the color of a filthy black, kill the green waves, execution to my heart which beats the blood of a deepened thickened dark green, the ice that slips on the winter wind among the frozen trees. Frozen and frigid are our hearts, cold as ice, mottled slated sheets of confusion among the desolate green rain. We find ourselves, sunken, rotted, feeling sorrowful along the green bay, which will not nor ever bring life to my dead eyes on this unspoken day.
Everything is but a dream, inanimate we are. Consider our actions as acts of nothing; we are nothing more than a caricature, of black and white. There is no color, no passion no light in your eyes. Can I call you heartless, cold, stiff, and unemotional, there is no heartbeat, like a dead man. You are nothing more than a dreamer, although not a believer. You cannot be contained through a photo, through photography; you are unsuited for such creativity, no originality.
But something even more important and valuable to me, love, you can never possess it. A feeling too strong, for the strong of heart, I guess that makes me weak, among the meek. You are nothing more than a picture upon a blank wall, a wall without a color of blue, pink, yellow, red, cream, violet, green, periwinkle, nothing of that sort. I cannot even begin to feel the beat of your heart when I am with you. I wish you knew how I felt, tired, worn down, as if going out was more of a chore. I look into your eyes, lifeless, blue, green, brown, and no but white. Are we not to say that we were not meant to be? I do not understand why you can never love me. Its flat, there is no motion, there is no flutter, as my heart once had at the sway of the wind, the scent of your cologne stung my nose. Now I cannot even smell it, the nervousness I would have when in your presence, it has turned into scornful, hard to swallow nausea. I want to be able to sing your name, to express my greatest gratitude for being your love. But it would be a dream, my life is but a dream. ‘’Life is like a worn out, old, tattered t-shirt, and my favorite one at that. This materialistic item is something that I am comfortable in, but would not be caught dead in, in public. Life is similar to that of a spinning turbine, a turbine which appears harmless much like a fan spinning, a bee pollinating, or even the dew on a petal of a flower. It seems so sleek so shiny, enticing in every which way, much like the lust that drips upon someone’s lips for their most sensual desire. The color pink is the truest color with the mix of purity and dark betrothed color of the crimson red that mixes so commonly, every evening of every day. The moment of life meets death, when exhilaration meets exaltation, the moment which defines a life. The life of you the life of me.‘’ It is unfair, it is unfair that I can only see you smile, but never feel your smile. Is it fair for me to wear the color pink while you wear a shade of white, white, ivory, a pearl anything would suit you. It would fit your smile, your glistening teeth, your shinning pair of eyes, a coffee brown against the white, a color so impure but so lovely at sight. Would you be my inspiration if I asked you to be the apple of my eye. The setting for passion, for desire.
When I think of you I find myself at a loss for words. I write beneath a suddle light, amongst the ongoing of persisting fumes of caffeine and coco, as if in a daze, a fog, a mystical wonder of dis-belief as I desperately begin to explain my continuous motions, my pen to my paper, the words in my mouth that I cannot even find myself to mouth. The thoughts, the thoughts, the thoughts, my thoughts, but most importantly your thoughts, of the thoughts. All that I have felt logical, all that I could have possibly reasoned could not have lead me to the theory, which has zero to none of relativity. Why can I not surrender, cease my lips, harden my heart, no longer be vulnerable, but the only thing would be to be vulnerable. Vulnerable am I? Weak, perhaps even meek, it is all you that I seem to seek. Something so close to perfection, of the babe that lie beneath the cradle of Joseph’s feet. Love, is such a strong word, an adjective to my noun, Y.O.U. I wish you could hold me in the unsettling rain, shield me through the raft of the heavens from above. If only you could feel my heartbeat, to know I exist amongst the bleak, awaken me from my sleep. Vitalize my generosity, give me a kiss on the cheek, why can’t you love me the way it was meant to be. If life were a cinema it would be you, act portray injustice, indignity with your malicious, cruel demented lines. Tell the director anything to have your role, to have a position. Sing it, feel it, live it, be it. Revolutionize me as I am your audience. Levitate my body from the force of gravity which keeps me grounded, counteract my interpretation of me, of beauty of my love for you. Prove me wrong, prove me to be erratic. As if I were the one in sheer agony, but beneath your concealed composure, I see a feeble child, a person in need of love, in need of me. A cinema are we, to adumbrate our consciousness, to obliterate one another. To no longer remember, to simply forget, life can never be a cinema. False, debauchery, seldom, secluded and isolated from the world, yet it matters as to what opinions arise to the occasion of you or me as a topic name, completely up for discussion. Would you praise me for my person or degrade me when I am not there to listen or to take action. Would you act out of your character for me, would you scream my name from a mountain top as if in a movie. Sing an opera in a film to commemorate me, honor my character with the slightest of a gesture. Love me the way actors can love in a cinema. The way life was meant to be.
I could compare life to as if. As if being on an ultimate high, to where heaven would begin, and never end. To a place where I could scream my name from a mountain top, to where the feeling of invincibility will be upon me. To the dire need of a touch, to the lusting desire of your lips upon her, as if I envisioned it on me. To a place where there is no judgement or passed by commentary as the subject matter, to where I could feel no pain. Where I would never fall in love, never feel rejection or hate. As if the music that was loudly playing, became a wonderful melody, nearly mute to the deaf ears that I possess. A place where everyone is beautiful at first and last glance, a perception may change the vernacular region. To compare life to obscene measures is not canning, and therefore must be promoted in a different spectacle Perhaps my so called love for you is my life, in hopes that you may see me beautiful at a first and last sight. When you can no longer judge me, or have a sense of morality, or a mentality, while the up beat song of Come on Eileen Plays while other girls dance upon the floor. The floor in which excretes bodily fluids, of multiple heartbeats. As if life can be compared to that of a river raft floating amid the thrashing waters of an upcoming waterfall, the life of a teenager, unseen and unheard. The lifestyle of relaxation, a certain form of determination, the upcoming years of being one with the ground, face flat on concrete, at rest at ease till one must appease and wake up to the sound of alarming rings. Life is much more extravagant than made out to be, the high life, the spot light please shine upon me, the glory the honor and devotion from one to another provide me energy. As if this life could ever be me, to wish this life were me, to fall for temptation, to destroy the apple from the Garden of Eden, Rather take a bite and partake in some extreme measures.
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