Without You
I cannot write freely here when I am not right nor am I free; I am bound up in the very tangled webs I weave, and I am tripping on the nonexistent strings attached -- to you, my friend, they were attached, and to your heart belong the strings that I now tread upon, for I have danced with death so many times to teach you where to place your feet, and you have shoved me back into his arms whenever Hers caressed your skin; well, it's your turn now to court your ruin and to let emotion spin you across the slippery floor while I watch you fall and watch you stab at me as you have so often done, but in the heart of hell there is no direction and so you turn the sword back inwards upon yourself; and as I watch you bleed disease upon the floor of the pit you dug for me, watch the bullet ravage your heart from the backfired gun you aimed at me, my logic regales me with tales of the baseness of relishing this accidental revenge, but still will allow my baser side to enjoy this treason as its last cold meal...
But I cannot help but remember that you could still crawl back up into the sun and have your pedestal once again, but I cannot so ascend lest the ghost of you should shift the spotlight onto the cracks in my foundation and my unstable grasp upon the sky come tumbling down in a rain of mud and stone; these cracks, it is a tangled web they weave, from the past to the present and onward they go, hell bound for a future of the undermine of all I could have ever been without you.
©2000 Elizabeth Hebert
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