ScribblesbyLexi

I had my cake and ate it too.

Sometimes I turn into an ugly person I don’t recognise
Lost in layers of exhaustion dusted with frustration that leave nothing but a bitter taste.

I can’t help but feed off the decay of others around me
Til I cant shake off the sour look I feel decorating my face

a sugar high…and then you crash
I had my cake and ate it too. 

Push everyone away.
Move on to a new place.
To do the same thing all over again.

There is no easy way out.

Your walking down a path.
It’s well lit. 
There’s hat-stand trees in their winter jackets standing at attention as you walk by
You can’t say you don’t know where your going - there’s signs
Warnings posted in red letters across benches meant for warmer times
While the crunching snow beneath your feet reminds you that you’re heading south.
Don’t say your compass broke - we both know.

And it gets harder.
Wind burning your bare cheeks and playing tug of war with your scalp
Eyes releasing newly formed icicles that drop from your face
There’ll be more of this you know.
It’s not going to get easier, just wait.
And yet, you’re still moving forward, dropping each limb or appendage as soon as frostbite sets in.
After all, you only really have one organ you need to give. 
Don’t you?

Are you stupid? I can’t watch this.

‘Cause then you reach you’re destination
The place he’s been standing with his snow suit and winter boots
Waiting for the other heart of yours - the one that doesn’t beat
That he’ll take, but not as a trade. 
Because he’s prepared for the cold he’ll feel right to his bones 
while your sweater barely keeps out a breeze,
even though it’s you who’ll leave.

Look - there’s the craft waiting to take you to a whole new place.
Leave the weather behind.
Take your seat.
I won’t tell you I told you, to choose another path, to walk away.

You knew. Now enjoy the pain.

And the worst part is thinking it might never stop.

At night the sheets seem to catch me in their trap - legs bound, I toss and turn, 
trying to fight off the memories that inundate me with their images,
of a thousand past regrets.
I feel their haunting steps pushing me further from sleep, away from happiness, away from bliss.

I watch as moonlight breaks through the blinds leaving streaks across my covers,
causing shivers to creep up my spine no blankets can supress.
Even as I slip my arm through to his cold space next to where my head rests,
begging for the key to the chains that link me to this solitude I created,
as though the ghost of his form will free me more than any other.

When really the only person who can, lies warm inside my bed, tangled in my sheets, tossing and turning as she can’t sleep.
Waiting for haunting memories to leave so she can close her eyes, free from all her dreams.
But running from the mirror image only works if you don’t stop,
so turn around.
It’ll all work out ok. 

Your heart is counting down it’s beats
While your lungs never seem to fill
But that hole in your chest has nothing to do with death.

And yet, he’s gone.

And the sad thing is…I know I’ll look for you in everyone else.

Can we go back to the start?
Before everything fell apart.
Before I pushed the boundaries that still weren’t strong enough to hold
from the pressure of being formed

I see myself,
this hurricane of destruction coming at a distance,
already spinning,
in an effort to get you to fight to hold on to a hand that you haven’t yet clasped.

Walls can crumble,
mistakes washed away with the floods pouring from my eyes.
Can we turn back time?
I’ll try harder to see through my own minds lies.

I’m sorry. Rewind. Take us back to the start.

Window shopping.

I thought I knew what it was.
The look of it, the taste of it, the feeling.
I thought I knew what it meant.
The hope, the joy, the warmth.
I thought I knew how it went.
The beginning of it, the middle and the never ending end.
I thought I knew what it was like to be…
But I was just looking through a window.
And as my handprint fades upon the glass,
I thought I knew.

“If people are good only because they fear punishment, and hope for reward, then we are a sorry lot indeed.” Albert Einstein.

You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness

I read back over old words I wrote the years before,
as memories of a different face inflicting the same wound
keeps drifiting through.
‘cause that’s it.
you’re now just one more memory that I want to relive, 
that time will soon choose to replace,
even as the clock slows when we feel we cannot wait.

But you’re so much better at letting go,
on a scale it means what I always feared.
I wish I could just turn it off like the light that went out of my eyes,
my glow, everything about me that people know.
Each word merely a bandaid to stem a severe wound.
As I long for the day that time will leave me with just another scar
to compliment the one I already have resting upon my heart.