chaoticedge

The world sees your bracelets as intriguing style, trappings of a distant culture to match the fiery demeanour. I see those bracelets as a curiosity, hiding precious inches of frayed skin betraying stories bled out.

Embrace me. Taste blasphemy teased from the corners of soft lips crested in a wistful grin. Tell me you understand now. Tell me the truth. That we are divine and gods among nature. Tell me we are free. Because our old God had nothing to offer but shackles and disdain. Hold me close and whisper your truth. That you are scared, but thrilled. That you are alive and this moment will never happen the same way again.

I remember the delicacy, the dance. Flickering flames in a windless tunnel. Scared to even whisper, for fear of snuffing out that creative glow. But that dance defied our reason; our silence. It was beautiful. The way two ghosts circle around the one living connection. Haunts too curious to let go so easily. We kept those flames lit as best as we could. That creative blue spark. Because we understood each other, until we allowed time to diminish the light in natural decay. And now I have reignited my melted and disfigured candle. Chipped away the wax to mold something new. And that little flame is growing in a new and unexplored tunnel.

Pretty in pink bombshell what a little cliche. Grows tired of her playthings and throws them away. Daddy never said no so she'll never grow. Never know she's a flat-out ho. Take for granted the good she's got like a small child touching a stove she'll be burned just to see it's too hot. But that's her life. She'll fill it with strife. Crossing someone's wife uncovering the trials of a lowlife. Take these words as a cautionary tale. Because we all know this girl. And know she will fail.

I remember a place where I was free. When I knew that I was divine. A fucking goddess weaving wonders with each word carved into the empty page. When I was something more than this shell. When the world was more than trials and every new struggle was a moment to grow. I miss it. That place. My muse is a fickle bitch. Trapped at the bottom of wine bottles and the burnt out joints that litter my balcony. I miss that place. Where love was it and none of these puzzles.

Breathe. Pulse quickened, eyes narrowed. Start the chase. Start the chase. Palms sweaty, limbs tremble. Don't get caught. Don't get caught. Swallow nerves, force a smile. Just a taste. Just a taste. Breathe. Time slowed, feet miles high. Ride it out. Ride it out. Focus lost, nerves frayed. Ignore the fall. Ignore the fall. Sheets pulled up, guilt eating away. Bury it deep. Bury it deep. Phone flashes on, flip it over. Just be quiet. Just be quiet. Breathe. Wake up subdued, find connection. Tell the truth. Tell the truth. Pick up the phone. Send a message. Ask for help. Ask for help.

Old habits die hard. That god damned cliche is painfully true. Old habits die hard. Yeah. They fucking do. As I inhale another cigarette, unable to stop myself from digging. Digging into a world that I have no place in. Digging into a past that isn't mine. And I will find that sweet spot. That name. That clue. That old habit. And I will become your fucking vampire. Because I already asked permission to be let in. You never said I couldn't take a look around, make myself at home in the open and still bleeding wounds you try to hide. Yeah. Old habits die hard. And I will drink myself into a stupor, chase them with smoke and hate mysel

Everyone has a vice. An itch for some terrible fix. And I am just as human (even though I should be a god...maybe a devil). Yeah, everyone has a vice. Another promise to break. A drink to down, a pill to swallow. Or, maybe, just a ghost to torment.

I wanted to tell a different story. Finding myself on a city bench with a cigarette between my lips and smoke swirling around my head in a halo of misshapen and misplaced desires drifting. Drifting away on a rogue breeze stirred up by a passing cab. I wonder where they are going. A young woman and man lost in conversation. I want to know their story. But it vanishes as quick as the thought can enter my mind. Nothing more than a pair of shadows. I do not know what defines them. Just they are living and breathing somewhere else. And I'm sitting here, with a cigarette between my lips and a halo of smoke to disappear just as quickly.

Let me shout out to the depths of this wasteland. The abyss of shattered memories and idle dreams. Do you remember? Remember how it felt to so delicately place fingers on keys creating. Spinning new realities to replace worlds you could never escape. You couldn't run fast enough. Your heart squeezed and broken by circumstances you lied about. Saying they were better. Then you come back to this wasteland, shouting screaming. The memories will fade. And I stand on the other side of the chasm. Shouting back. Embrace your choices. You can't write your way out of everything.