The biggest downside of being a creator is the mental hell we tend to inflict on ourselves. People tend to describe artists as "tortured" for a reason. We see things in a different way. Anyone who creates will agree with me. We take a lot in and intepret it in our own way. Sometimes it can get a little overwhelming. For the most part, I'm a pretty upbeat guy. The verses that follow did not come from those more serene moments in my days. This page was one of the hardest to create four years ago because it brought back a lot of feelings I chose not to dwell on anymore. I put them here for one reason only--to let anyone else going through a bad time know they're not alone.
This first one is about the only person I ever truly loved. It was a situation where I waited too long to say how I felt and by the time I did, it was too late. This happened over seven years ago, and I still think about it from time to time. This one starts with a quote from a movie I had seen at the time I wrote it that just really reminded me of the lost love. God--I write that now and roll my eyes, but at one time it was what I felt
"I don't want to be sixty years old and seemingly happily married to someone I know is second best, and all the while thinking of the blue-eyed angel that breezed in and out of my life and never even gave me the chance." --Frankie/Dream for an Insomniac
Begging the Lord,
in whose eyes I am
a mere abomination,
praying for a fairytale
in the once upon a time
stranger to such fantasies,
demanding the kinship
(and attention)
of my only brethren.
Two years,
(almost)
years that will never return,
but shall
(sadly)
surely
be followed by dozens
more fierce in severity.
Where is my blue-eyed angel?
Give me just one more gust
of a blustery day before
this storm is done passing.
Do I,
who walks through
every walk of life
(and marks many)
I,
who understands
more than most
(and yet so little)
I,
infinitely locked
within this struggle to do right
(and yet be happy)
Do I not deserve at least this?
Or will I wallow
to an early grave,
surrounded by
the feline facades
hindering to me
from the moment
my starved existence
was branded into this
the world that could
never understand me?
An enigma--
I used to think he was
you--
but now I see
it is I,
the one who suffers from self,
narcissistically despising
myself nonetheless,
waiting for the ray
that may never again shine,
(that perhaps never did.)
And with the setting sun,
I enlist another
in a string of
whimsical wishing,
that this barrenness of soul
be taken from me so that
I might once again unsheathe
the dying morsels of care
from this bleeding,
aching heart--
my cross to bear
in these times when
matters of the heart
no longer matter.
To my blue-eyed angel:
I wish you well,
but know this:
in this world,
you and I are
one and the same:
an abomination!
Hide now,
all you want,
but it is still written,
in their books,
it is written:
See you in Hell!
