My heart blossoms and withers of its own accord.
My body is a useless vessel,
powerless to the Almighty Heart.

The heart that sustains me.
The heart that destroys me.

warns me,
implores me,
begs me.

At night, when I lay in my bed,
helpless against its will,
I listen
in awe
to the sound of my still-beating heart.

Bellydancer

I am sitting by myself;
a brand of whiskey I’m unfamiliar with lay before me.
I drink it,
and fire burns down my throat.

She dances over to the side;
clad in black and jingling with her beaded bracelets.
I watch her,
and the fire burns down my throat.

I am waiting for someone;
someone lonely and fragile and superior.
I wait for him,
and the fire burns down my throat.

I am taking too many pills;
placing them one by one on my tongue.
I swallow them,
and the fire burns down my throat.

I drank her.
I watched her.
I waited for him.
I swallowed him.
And the fire burned down my throat.

while once

while once I was happy, swaying in the foyer, a book in one hand and a glass of chardonnay in the other,
while once I was content, lazing on my couch and watching foreign films and staying awake happy,
while once I was blissful, going to operas and ballets and dinners discussing God and books and life.

while once I could smile, you have stolen that from me.
while once I could laugh, you played the role of Ursula.
while once I could speak, you have subdued me.

I am subdued,
underwater, gasping for breath but only being filled with liquid.
The liquid fills my lungs and it chokes me, suffocates me;
asphyxiation.

But what you don't know is
I still smile
I still laugh
I still speak

when you're not around.

old, weathered book.

I am twirling, dancing around myself in a haze of rose wine and white skirts and piano music as he sits in the chair, reading some old and ancient novel, bursting at the seams with wisdom.

Just the same as him, these books he reads.

Old, weathered, falling apart and containing miles and miles of knowledge,
with that old book smell and that feel of leather against your skin that brings tingles up your back.
He looks over, that same weathered look on his face, even though he's only twenty five.
And I am nineteen and giddy in intoxication, beckoning him to dance, just this once please dance.

Dance with me like you use to, when we first met.
Dance with me like you use to, when it was taboo for us to be together.
Dance with me like you use to, before you fell into this pit of despair.
Can you even pull yourself up? Are you out of the abyss?
Dance with me, please, just like you use to.

A ghost of a smile is on his lips before he turn back to reading that book, filling his head with words and words and more words and leaving me, alone, to dance.

the return of the abandoner

I bet no one even remembers this blog and I don't blame you, but I just couldn't stay away after all. So hello blogspot and all of my dear, old friends. It seems I am back. And this time, I think, to stay.