I have disappeared.
Slowly fading away, like the early
morning mist, drifting away into the
unknown, with no path, no destination
in sight, I simply faded away into the darkness.
I was beautiful once, I swear it,
full of life, passion, and dreams,
I sure was a sight to see.
But something went cold inside of me,
late one evening when sleep seemed like
something I had only read about, but could
never fully grasp, I laid awake, staring at
the cracks in the ceiling, wondering why
my life seemed so empty.
At one time I was loved,
it was my warm and caring heart,
my smile that lit up the dark city streets,
and the wild dreams my mind would conjure,
I made it easy for men to love me.
But there is a difference between lust and love,
and I found myself sleeping alone each night
tangled in cold sheets, wondering why I had
made it so easy for men to leave me.
So I began to fade, drift, dissipate, become smoke
and disappear into the darkness of corners,
silently transforming into a transparent girl,
the illusive, absent lover, the one that years ago,
you longed to make your own.
I ran away from the city, from the light,
and to be honest, I ran from myself, my fears.
And now I will remain to you, only a memory,
the shadow, the foggy image of the painted dreamer
the girl you once loved.
I became a memory,
a sheer thought of what
used to be, slowly fading
with the passing moments.
I am something you try to
hold onto, but sadly, I have
perfected the art of transforming
into the autumn breeze, quickly
slipping away, to reside
amongst the clouds, or wherever
the wind may take me today.
But even when your memory
begins to decay, the gaps in
time you struggle to remember,
it’s the hurt, the pain that will
stay with you the longest,
possibly until your eyelids
retire for the final time.
And that’s what you have harbored
deep within your heart, the pain,
the hurt that I caused.
I have become the bubbling resentment,
the bitterness hidden in the corner of
your sneer,
I am the painful past you beg
your mind to repress,
I am the broken pieces of your heart,
each and every one of them.
And maybe I am just a fading memory,
a past you had to abandon for your
own heart’s safety, but I know, deep down,
you will never forget me.
Isn’t it strange how a
title changes everything?
How it’s almost as if the
chase, the challenge,
and sometimes even the
excitement becomes somewhat
of a distant memory, the
moment a title is placed.
The power of a name,
the finality, the gravity of
a manner of identification,
it’s almost incomprehensible
when you really think about it.
Love, now that’s an even
stronger, more powerful
word than any I’ve ever
heard before, but can
love be yours?
It’s not a tangible matter,
nothing of breathing
existence, yet we all want
a love to call our own.
Love is a free spirit,
a chaotic mess, a wild
breeze that rattles your
dry, summer bones.
Love is not something
to be tamed, and we all
know better than to
chase after love, we know
we should let love run
it’s course, similar to
a natural disaster.
I can’t call you my love,
because I refuse to ruin
what we have with a
simple title, that in all
actuality, is not
simple at all.
Sometimes, placing a
name on an emotion,
takes all meaning away.
These sheets are a cold
reminder of nights we shared,
such frozen nightmares.
Sometimes I think of death,
not in a morbid way, but it’s
almost as if I daydream about
what it will feel like to be only
a memory, an image trapped
in a photograph tucked in a
wallet, or maybe under a pillow.
What does the song sound like,
the one that plays right before
you meet the devil?
I remember once you said my
smile lit up your life, does that
mean you’ll live in the blackest
of days until you join me, lying
next to me in the soil, buried
six feet under these screaming streets?
I dream of death, of the day
I come face to face with the
Reaper himself, the one
lurking in the darkest corners
of my clouded mind.
I dream of how I will be
remembered, if even at all.
When I’m gone, one day my
scribbles on these pages will
turn to dust, and my body
will wither away under your feet,
but please, all I’m asking, is to
remember that once I was
beautiful, passionate and yours.
Everyone wants to be remembered
I just don’t want you to forget me.
I found myself in this familiar
blurry state, I can’t say I
remember being here before
but the warmth on my cheeks
and the whiskey on my
breath tells a different tale.
I spoke in smoke signals
and recited the most
beautiful words that I
memorized and pretended
were mine, I pity your
foolish heart and the way
that I deceived you so.
But this is the manner of
my heart, and the way
things must go.
