The last time I wrote, I could clearly pin point every word that I wanted to say, I could see it, feel it, smell it, taste it, and even touch it, right before I poured it out, with a fragment of my aching soul, into a piece of writing, that was able to help me find serenity again…
Yet now, I feel the choke of the words within my thoughts… Scrambled thoughts anyone? I’m sure they would make a hell of a Mediterranean dish; one which many men out there are sure to enjoy!
I have tried, believe me, to place my finger upon the bleeding wounds of my heart, to cut off the bleeding… The wounds were too many and I only have ten fingers!
I have also tried to pull out this pain, by its deepest roots, from my life… The roots were so deeply entrenched within my life creating a risk of pulling out my life along with it!
I tried to fight, to be calm, to shout, to rationalize, to cry, to rebel, to be everything I can be and do anything I can do… The problem still remains with no cure: like HIV, weakening my immune system to the point of helpless surrender!
Then, there is this sickening feeling of craving a touch on the face, an embrace for the longing body, a whisper of sweet word of love… But they never come, and the stomach grumbles from hunger, while the body aches from abandonment and the ears bleed from the silence!
My words… I see them now and after them I run… Their endurance beats mine… I’m broken and I ache… They disappear again…
When life shrinks down to work, pain, longing and unfulfilled needs, it becomes death, a living one with a beating heart refusing to just stop!
I want this pain to end, for I no longer can live this death inside of me!