What I write may never become poetry or prose but possibly prosetry, a mix of the both. A story separated into lines and stanzas that may never complete themselves. In everything I write and every picture I make, I hope to be honest and true and also to explore myself and express myself. I don't blog every single day but you can ask questions if you want ^_^
Edouard Levé, Suicide (translated by Jan Steyn)
Je ne sais pas pourquoi ces pensées me hantent
Ils contrôlent mon esprit et me rendre fou
Je ne sais pas si je regrette certaines choses
Peut-être que j’aurais dû dire non et ne lui permettait
Je souhaite que je n’ai jamais commencé ce que je n’étais pas sûr de la façon d’arrêter
Je tiens à exprimer mon opinion clairement
Mais je ne sais pas ce qu’il ferait
Si cela peut faire la même chose
Ils disent que, pour paraphraser, mais je ne peux m’empêcher expliquant.
Mais ils disent que je suis difficile à comprendre.
Music occupies my ears once again
Yet the sound does not penetrate the thoughts
The screaming of inner voices prevail
They make me Insecure and bring me fear
The pain, anger and envy of not me
The voices inside me are not my own
The constant hammering into my head
Words I am forced to believe, repeated
Everything about me that I could love
Is wrong, misshapen. Or is it their minds?
When I’m with you, there’s no other star in the sky
No other wind blowing by
No other vision to see
No other person you could be
I don’t see how anyone could ever steal me
hey try but I don’t see anything they say
I don’t want to look away
From you, my star
They got nothing to offer
That you haven’t outdone
Because you’re the only one
My prized masterpiece seemed to be nothing in your hands, I was overwhelmed by your steady gaze and slight nervousness. As I examined your features none of the words you say entered my full recognition, the sole feeling of finally being so close to someone who loved me back had covered my ears. I felt confused and no longer free. So used to being a single, solitary, lonely figure and standing on my own to resist and refuse any helping hand or compliment and label them false comfort. Always seeing compliments as a showering of bait to try sweeping me off my feet but this time I was led by the hand. Before pain translated to physical feelings and scarred me, I was able to completely feel love and good things more vividly. My heart gets warmer every day I’m with you and I am less cold and wicked than the days before.
I believe, though, my heart only speaks, bellows and sings melodies when in pain and renders silence to me when happiness takes its abode. Pages and memories of pain that could return to eat me up, spit me out and turn me vengeful if I dare revisit and lines and vague dreams of love and happiness like a crisp, early winter morning filled with the gentle sunlight on the white landscape and shining through the heart. Pain always brought me this familiar feeling I grew accustomed to and befriended, something one should never do. It wrapped its dangerously jagged arms around me and whispered lies into my ears and makes me remember every sound, smell, touch, sight, feeling, breaking, screaming and horror I had ever encountered. I could touch it and feel it while love seemed so distant. Befriending one loses the other but perfect insanity is making a truce to dance between the two. Good and evil never mix so.
So much for pain, yet all the words I can find too say to your face are generic responses that make me feel so ashamed that I have to hide behind a screen to say sweet words and offer only silence when you are there to hold my hand. My mind tells me still that I can’t trust you or let you in because you might hurt me and break me again like the others did. My mind reminds me that just about everything I touch breaks. My mind is conscious of me saying “I” so many times and makes me feel so selfish and self centered. Even in this silence, you still look into my eyes gently and we speak a language beyond words. My prized masterpiece is just a piece of me and a piece of my pain.
flaws are draped from my bed posts
and hanging from the fan
they turn the lamplight from cream to muted crimson
and strewn from foyer to bedroom door
flaws fall onto hardwood stairs without a sound
flaws are all around…they’re always around
Voulez-vous savoir mon coeur?
Voulez-vous savoir quand je meurs?
Mon coeur tu savais.
Vous saurez quand je suis mort.
Pourquoi la mort?
Je ne peut pas toujours vivre dans votre cœur
Je vais vivre, mais dans ma misère et joyeuse propre.
Maybe this time I don’t have to fall in
Love, maybe I could be led by the hand
Soon I will jump and leap and learn to dance
And learn to fall and get back up, maybe
It was not so much to jump in a lake
But to learn the rapids of the river
Yes, the water is cold and fast flowing
In time, this will be a zone of comfort
Maybe this fast decision was perfect
Haunted by phantoms of her beloved past, she paces the floor and her mind run with memories. The dance under the moonlight and their song. The feel of his skin on her hands and his hair entangled between her fingers. The sound of him playing his guitar for her in their room. She was haunted by sweet memories of her lover and her partner. Every room bore a past to which she wished she could return. But the halls remind her of the tragedy that had her in this mess in the first place. The thrashing, beating and screaming that happened in a lonely tunnel of the night and her bloodied face. Then waking up to find her lover gone. She speaks her mind for the city to hear and listens to the sound of the living city around her.
She protects herself. She kills. She kills again. Her thoughts a loud rampage.