Author's Note: I've been having a rough time with my writing lately... actually not lately, for the past couple of months. I seem to have hit a block, because I am full of luscious ideas, I just can't write them down. I've tried nearly everything. And even meditation (which ALWAYS works) couldn't cure it. So now I'm down to my last straw. I'm going to simply sit and type. I am perfectly sober, and full of ideas. I wonder if it is going to make sense... although if it doesn't maybe it will unlock something inside of me that can cure this disease I acquired. *sigh* Here goes.
Long Lost Words
By xaphanea
Softly like wind fluttering over my fair skin
His eyelashes gathering dew in the night
That boy on the pier, his sandy blonde hair
He reaches out to that woman that is not there
Feel my heart beat alone for her enjoyment
As she paints, oh how much she paints
She can paint the emotion of a crying mother
As her baby dies still locked in her embrace
As I watch her expression tears are running down my face
My mind stands still as her brush locks with my soul
And I simply breathe, breathe, breathe
And then suddenly there is no air
Yet I am still there
Skin still fair
My mind hard pressed for reality
When there is none in this painted world around me
There are roses; so black they hold no vision at all
There are trees; so white they blind my non-existent eyes
And the sun, oh how she smiles at me
Her round yellow face crowned in a field of bluebells
The grass beneath my bare feet feels like a carpet
But it is shaded purple: violet, plum, and grape
This oasis I have fallen into is that of a painter's dream
She's captured me now
Can she capture my emotion?
The horror suppressed deep inside
As I watch him burn, that boy on the pier
And he doesn't even realize his skin crackling
Bubbling, splitting apart
Because his arms are ever outstretched for that woman
Can she capture my essence?
My fleeting mind that is not my own
This pressuring society that holds me down
Shackles my individuality
Burns away my opinion like that boy on the pier
Forever engulfed in crimson flames
And she still paints
Trying so hard, that round yellow face
Masking myself in a happy costume
But it's not right
I struggle, shake myself free
Nobody can depict me, for I am hidden
Deep within the bowels of one's body
Not even the painter that can convey a hopeless mother
Can bring me to life
For I am the one lying horizontal in her throat
I am the one driving my boot into her heart
And I am the one who tortures her night after night
Wanting her to capture me on that canvas she slaves over
Wanting people to see what is inside of her
Not a happy mask
Not a sunny yellow composure crowned with bluebells
But the black roses in my eyes
Listen to me when I speak
These long lost words are her only way out...

Are my only way out