Words unspoken.

Last I spoke, not that you need to read that, it was of me somehow befriending a beauty I loved.

Last I spoke, it was of the silver tongued man that was liar, cheater, and prize of the school.
Last I spoke, it was of her boyfriend.

Last I spoke, it was heatedly, unthinkingly.
I ran for a "fight" of one who stole my one and only friend.
My one and only love.

I was a fool then.

But what now?

She did not want to be saved.

The devil is addicting.
*****

She hates me.

The pen is long gone.
Had it but a couple days.
Never really even mine.
Some pen I borrowed.
That was lies. This is truth.
They are linked somehow.
Lies truth, truth lies, don't know which is which anymore.
But this is truth.

What happened:

My cowardice happened.
Me blurting out at him.
Him laughing.
Her looking askew at me as if I was mad.

The worst...
She doesn't speak to me anymore.

Snake's tongue has beat Just tongue.

Now, alone.

Now, reviled.
By first and only friend.

Damn, how the hell did I make the first one?

I didn't. I took three days to gather courage
Then I showed her a paper.
Then I ran.
And she befriended me the next day.
The poem that started it all. The first chapter.
At the Drop of a Pen was lies.
It created this truth.
Lies forge our reality from fallacious facts.
And one small truth creates a doubt of all that is

Now she despises me.
Now I am friendless.
I don't want the drama.
I don't want the pain.

Lose myself in seas of paper.
Lose myself in words unspoken.
*****

I can't.

The worlds entrapped there...
no longer they satisfy.
No longer do I live on a page.

No longer the dragon flies.
The letters merely skirting over my mind.
No longer the murderer creeps
Sherlock is but eight letters. Stupid.
No longer the lovers kiss.
That book wounds me just gazing upon it.
All I see is her.

The grave I've buried myself in is deep.

I look back at the paper that started it.

One prophetic line catches my heart.
I wrote that?
How did I know what was to come?

I've lived now. I can't go back.
Yet how do I speak?
How do I make friend?

Wrong question.
Do I want friends in this intellectual wasteland?
Do I want friends among boozers and swingers and tokers?
Among criminals, failures, those that scrape by because they get punished for failure?
Among the unmotivated?
No. They do not understand.
They can't understand my quiet drive for perfection and knowledge.
Am I a pompous bastard? Perhaps. Who gives a damn of who thinks what?
Especially among these Mindless.

Half the time I can't understand it, my drive.
Quiet even in relevance. Not worth mentioning.
Words unspoken.

So what's the right question? How do I get her back?

I was wrong. Truly she's happy now.
But...
She's different.
He's changed her.

Her hair is... dyed.
A liar's color.
Her clothes are... skimpy.
A harlot's mark.

I loved the shy, hidden intellectual beauty.

Obviously that raven haired girl is dead.

Who then...?

Cannot stop thinking of her.

He killed her.

She walks stupid! Calm!
Unclench your damn fool fist!
That is what STARTED THIS!

Cannot stop thinking of her.

She smiled shyly then.
Timid. Innocent. Clean. Iris so blue.
She grins suggestively now.
Forward. Common. Dirty. Whites so bloodshot.

Not dead, but twisted, contorted. Conformed.

Personality wiped. She doesn't read anymore.
Ideals wiped. She doesn't wear her cross.
Morals wiped....

She... she smells as the other mindless do.
Like pot.

Must be him I smell on her.
Damn him.

No. Cannot lie to myself.
Her eyes are damningly bloodshot.
She can't remember me anymore.
Her grades must be slipping, she sleeps in class now.

She is no longer mine.
She is his.
She, his ideal.
She, my despised.

Cannot stop-

SHE IS DEAD.
GET IT THROUGH YOUR HEAD.
DEAD.

Cannot stop thinking of her.

Dream of words unspoken.
Dream of miracles wrought.
Dream of transition and salvation.
Dream of her.

Dream. And then awaken to reality.
She is happy.

She will not have reform if she is happy.
She does not see me anymore.
She doesn't know me anymore.

So I awaken
And I ask...
Why do I live?

Is all we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

I want to tell her what mistakes she's made!
I want to forget about her!

Stalker, I accuse myself.
Yet stalker I am not.

She has three classes with me!
One of them with him.
And still we sit next to each other
The last hour of every day.

I spoke but once in that class.
Contrary to fanciful fiction.

Cannot stop thinking of her.

The last hour of the day...
She sits next to me.
And more and more I want to speak.
Not once does she look at me.
Her oddly pleasant faint aroma
Now masked with sickly sweet stench.
That monstrous drug
It that fogs intellect in clouds of stupid.

Lose myself in words unspoken.
Lose myself in words unspoken.
All of it, unspoken.
Cannot stop thinking of her.

Lose myself in words unspoken.

Words unspoken;

I sit next to her. As her devilish odor works it's fetid tentacles into my involuntary mind...

I imagine that I ask her...
"Why do I live?"

She would have looked with eyes crimson-lined.

"Who are you?"

I would drop my pen purposefully.

She would start. Recognition. "What happened to that one pen, so long ago?

I would glare: "I lost that pen. This one is like a thousand others."

Words unspoken;

I would snarl: "You need to stay away from me. I don't want a contact high, hippie."

Words unspoken;

I would sneer. "You're not her anymore. You're just another of ten thousand straw-haired whores."

Words unspoken;

I would growl: "I hate you."

Words unspoken;

I would murmur: "I love you."

Words unspoken;

I would beg: "Don't do this to yourself, please."

Words unspoken;

I would rage: "He's a lying bastard. He sleeps with ALL OF THEM!"

Words unspoken;

I would plead: "I don't even want you as a girlfriend anymore! I just want my friend back!"

Words unspoken;

I would inform: "I want to die, knowing you're cheated on daily."

Words unspoken;

I would confess: "I want to die, knowing I can't stop it."

Words unspoken;

I would admonish: "You dull your wits, you surrender yourself, you believe what he does, you let him change you. You let him ruin you. Don't do this to yourself."

Words unspoken;

I would accuse: "You were perfect then. You're a wreck now."

Words unspoken;

I would shout: "I hate you!"

Words spoken;

I whisper: "I hate me."

She looks at me in startlement. "Who are you?"

Fuck! Why did I speak!? Fool!

Tongue ties in knots. Have to answer, what answer, just answer, goddammit ANSWER!!

I scowl ahead at the teacher. "Someone who knew a raven haired beauty once."

She frowns at me. Behind that fog that clouds her brain from reality, she definitely knows me from somewhere....

The bell rings. I gratefully bolt. My heart pounds, but not from the running.
In my head a voice denounces me.
Coward, coward, coward.

Lose myself in broad rivers of regret.
Lose myself in bitter oceans of sorrow.
Lose myself in whole worlds of words unspoken.

Better to have loved and lost?
I disagree.

Lose yourself in reality even once...
and you can never be satisfied with the fiction.

Lose myself in words unspoken.

And then comes this night.
Two nights after the night of three spoken words.
The night I finally cannot even dream.

Cannot stop thinking of words unspoken.

Cannot stop thinking of him.

Cannot stop thinking of me.

Cannot stop thinking of her.

Thoughts whirl, thoughts rage.
Thoughts roar, thoughts rampage.
Thoughts howl, thoughts sigh.
Thoughts snivel, thoughts cry.
Thoughts weaken, thoughts tear.
Thoughts moan, thoughts despair.

I eye the knife.
I eye the pen.

Cannot stop thinking.

Have to stop thinking.

Stop thinking.

Stop.

Please.

No...

No.

I brush the knife away impatiently.
And pick up the pen.

The knife is for the truly weak.
The knife is the easier path.
Time we are given on this half-hell,
I will NOT quit on all that is, all we see and seem.

The books don't help anymore.

I've figured out why they no longer heal.
It's not that I can't.
It's that the worlds aren't right.

Make my own.

I WILL NOT quit.
I have to forge worlds from the words unspoken that roar like a beast in my head.
They beg me. They torment me.
They must be codified, set down, unleashed upon the world.
They beg me for no less than life.

I must write.
Have to get the thoughts out of my head.
Have to stop thinking.

Cannot stop thinking of her.

So I tear this paper and begin another.

Sweet love forms from my bitterness.
Tender creatures form from my sorrow.
Spellbinding worlds form from the words unspoken.

Pour myself into words unspoken.