suspendedinEcstasy.

On the recently frequent occasions I’ve found myself alone thinking about all of the aspects in my life, I think back to what has occurred over the last few months or so. Those last few months managed to become the epitome of the phrase “emotional roller coaster”. I was rocked around by the tides of disappointment and pain. I’ve been torn to shreds by the dogs of consistent heartache and rejection. Song titles that were synonyms of my emotions were the only songs I played. I was stuck. To add more salt to my many wounds, the cure just so happened to be the cause, so I was left paralysed in the centre of a blood stained amphitheatre battling myself.
Once I realised mercy and forgiveness would be the only way to overcome all of the pain and put my new found theory into practice, I felt as if I was trying to fill a void of loneliness by tolerating bullshit from this said “cure and cause”. Was I? Yes. Would I do it again? Without a doubt in my body.
The pain and disappointment I had felt due to one person had scarred me in ways unimaginable, but the lesson I learnt from it? And the love that blossomed through it? And the strength that came with it? I can only be forever grateful.
I can only describe the feeling as a workout, similar to one at a gym. I was being broken time after time, my muscles were stretching in ways I had never felt because I never felt I had reason to reach for anything. My body was fighting in ways I wouldn’t have even been able to think of because I never had anything worth fighting for. And now I do. I have the love of my life standing in front of me, loving me for who I am and who I’ve failed to be. He’s loved me for my flaws, my insecurities, he’s loved me for everything. And there’s someone who sees and recognises what I have. There’s someone who wants it too. I could let him be with that someone, or I could fight the tides and overcome the war I’ve been facing all along. The truth is that I was not battling myself, I was battling someone else; and the only way I could succeed is if I looked towards the strength I had gathered after stretching and reaching and fighting all those days ago.
Now I am at the amphitheatre. Now it is my time to perform. I am no longer paralysed, and I can no longer be dormant. I will fight, and it is only when I lose after trying with all I had, will I then surrender what I believe to be solely mine.

Can anyone, through my words alone, notice growth in my life?

Regularly on an early morning like this I sit and question my prior decisions.

Decisions based on what felt like tangible emotions, but could never be as emotions can barely be sensed let alone touched.

I would sit and wait for some sort of response and hope it reassures me on my emotionally based decision. I wait for the response to envelope me like a response to a love letter, that our love would be better, that our love was worth this.

Sometimes I question my ability to manage the hands of time. But of course, time is not employed. Time is a benefactor, a silent and (like emotions) an intangible entity, who gives and is unable to take nor hand out second chances.

While I attempt to manage the self-employed, I try to better myself as a person. Perfect my imperfections and straighten out the kinks of what can only be described as a coarse, nappy bundle of flaws. I’m trying to perm the unpermable without checking what’s dying in front of me. Whilst attempting to manage the unmanageable and perfecting the unchangeable flaws, I’m failing to steer the vehicle of love and pride and principle thus letting it roll all over me. Flattening the coarse curls that are my flaws, but damaging me simultaneously.

I guess what I am saying is the bundle gave me life. The conglomerate of flaws and imperfections tied in with my pride and principle kept me a little less dormant than I am now.

And now?

Now I am dormant and broken, ready to grow and become the person I never saw myself being, but being it.

Regularly on an early morning like this I sit and question my prior decisions.

Decisions based on what felt like tangible emotions, but of course, could never be as emotions can barely be sensed let alone touched.

I would sit and wait for some sort of response and hope it reassures me on my emotionally based decision. I wait for the response to envelope me like a response to a love letter, that our love would be better, that our love was worth this.

Sometimes I question my ability to manage the hands of time. But of course, time is not employed. Time is a benefactor, a silent and (like emotions) an intangible entity, who gives and is unable to take nor hand out second chances.

While I attempt to manage the self-employed, I try to better myself as a person. Perfect my imperfections and straighten out the kinks of what can only be described as a coarse, nappy bundle of flaws. I’m trying to perm the unpermable without checking what’s dying in front of me. Whilst attempting to manage the unmanageable and perfecting the unchangeable flaws, I’m failing to steer the vehicle of love and pride and principle thus letting it roll all over me. Flattening the coarse curls that are my flaws, but damaging me simultaneously.

I guess what I am saying is the bundle gave me life. The conglomerate of flaws and imperfections tied in with my pride and principle kept me a little less dormant than I am now.

And now?

Now I am dormant and broken, ready to grow and become the person I never saw myself being, but being it.

Do you watch adventure time?

The autumn leaves fall like they fall in the place they call it fall instead of autumn. And the many dreams I had dreamt and once dreamed to reach no longer seem important, I. 

Had many reveries about who I’d be. What I’d be doing in a year or three. Now?

I don’t even know who I see when I see my reflection. I’m a bundle of unaccepted imperfections. And I don’t need no acceptance. Not from society, or anyone who isn’t me. But when I look at me? All the Kors’ in the world couldn’t tell me who I’m watching. 

My body’s clockwork’s malfunctioning, my brain is malnourished I’m. Fed with equivocations of life. And fed up with these friends who just lie. In the bed that I made, with the dues that I paid.

Until I’m stripped bare. 

Till’ I’m falling. 

And I’m fragile. And vulnerable and lonely and welcomed into uncaring arms. 

And my heart is being caused harm my. Heart is being caused harm do.

You even care? Seven years.

And now I’m here.

On my Jack Jones.

Or my Norah Jones.

Little girl with nothing wrong, and she’s all alone.

How are u?

Reveries of memories. Boulder-heavy heartbeats. Thoughts and dreams of things not seen and him and she became a we.

Incautiously. Imprudently. 

Blasé fantasies of those grooves being filled with fingertips and these exhales filled with moaning wishes. Rubbed just the right way and the wish is mine to keep and now she’s fiending. Lips sodden. Heavy breathing. Utopia begotten. 

Fingers grazed over the wounds of yesteryear. And he wipes the tears of her prior fears. Her tears are dry, she needs him now.

Surreptitious prayers, on her knees for now.

Nice and slow, feels him coming down. 

Deep strokes had her drowning. 

Breast to back, back to back.

And then her eyes opened. And the reveries desisted.

Direct and full of speed.
Glitter and sugar continued to bleed. Through her thoughts. They drowned all rafts of logic. Daft thoughts and shit, that sun just wouldn’t set.

Morning kisses and salutations. Substandard and satisfactory he. Melted her walls of distrust as he thrust his love inside of her.

His pillow was full of love for her, and she had trusted every word she.
Never had it this good before.
She’d never been a beggar, but she’d never been so poor before.
She’d never needed someone more before.

Climaxes took Isaac to the mountain. She kissed away her happiness, no knowledge nor qualms and she.

Didn’t even notice the sun was setting.

Infatuation swallowed her whole.
Black holes of ignorance left her alone.
Did she forget she was nothing but fool’s gold?

Violent violets in the sky with the sun as it runs from the day and hides.

Behind the mountain and watches on.

Reverent silences for the slaughter of the lamb. It’s the only way, he directly states.

Direct and full of silent haste.