With these rings, we said, "I do,"
Never planned to play the fool.
Too young to grasp loves weight,
Too blind to heed its rules.
We were D—drifting, never devoted.
We were I—insensible, inconsiderate.
We broke our Vows, splintered trust.
We were O—reckless, outrageous.
We were R—tangled, bitter root.
We were C—careless, never committed.
We were E—estranged, unraveling fast.
A word we swore would never be ours
became the silent sentence:
Divorce.
Too immature for love’s responsibility,
we fled into goodbye.
We are Estranged But—
I hope my image stays in your mind forever
—etched in your memory until your last breath.
Whenever you tuck a strand of hair behind her ear—maybe, at least once, you'd reminisce about me.
I feel unsettled, yet sometimes, I wish that when your lips meet hers, a faint echo of my taste still lingers.
It may seem like a curse, but I hope you realize—it's just the lingering echo of my aching heart.
I'm sinking in guilt for daring to wish this,
yet longing still whispers through my restless heart.
Of course, We are Estranged —But I still yearn to linger in your memory eternally.
—Beloved????
—Just A Quiet yearning to linger in a heart that has,
moved on~
The small bowl sits in the corner
Ceramic, lopsided, and beige
Small fingers impressed in the clay
Snake curled in the bottom awaits
Made for her momma in art class
Wee age of seven or eight
Initials inscribed at the bottom
A determined look on her face
Not really meant for her momma
Never liked her too much even then
But she did what her teacher told her
And offered it up mournfully
Mementos and pictures torn down
Sweet face and blonde pigtails a dream
The small bowl still sits in the corner
Snake curled at the bottom stares through
It catches the ashes that burn
From the incense she lights every night
Snake lurking below the embers
Of the fire that’s burning her heart
as long as there be separation
how then can we ever feel complete
if God and soul tango dance not as one
distanced from His heart our joy will deplete
Estranged by you, alienated
I’m not the one I used to know
All what is me comes out outdated
As if I was there long ago
In previous times, when life seemed shorter
When I was living for one day
To meet your judgement of no quarter
Your disaffection to obey
Crushed in the rain of whatabouts
Drunk with the human kindness I
Fall in slow motion, filmed without
Supposed consent I have to sign
That looks alike a vagrant fate
When there is nowhere else to roam
Inside I go, although its late
But down inside I am at home
There we are, two lost receivers
Of ageless youth you well preserved
For me, a taker and a giver
Of love I thought would never hurt.
The power, abused.
The truth, confused.
The way, dictated to you.
The excuse, they never knew.
The mind, free to roam.
The thoughts of yours, your own.
The shackles that you’ll never wear.
The love demanded, who cares?
The pain chewed and swallowed down
The mind protected with hollows ground.
The person you know you are.
The conflict, always blamed all on you.
The creature that they created is you.
The realisation that they’ll never care.
The unsaid wish that you just weren’t there.
vibrational mismatch
attains escape velocity
burning bridges of love
in the womb of existence
yearnings of love yet await
return of the prodigal son
two ships cross in the ocean
mixed emotions arise
on reality of separation
and possibility of union
as ordained in timeless time
once trust is lost
love is tossed out
cold frost sets in
So many things I wish I
could have changed
Maybe then we wouldn’t
be estranged
Shattered pieces of me is
all that remain
My life will never be
the same
Heartache and emptiness
deep inside
My tears and pain I can
not hide
Ever haunted by words
I long to voice
Fear of your rejection leaves me without choice
Your absence cripples me
with despair
My heart is broken
beyond repair
Your love is all that I
yearn for
And will until I breathe
no more
We see siblings fall apart
because of enlarged egos
and all we can do is pray,
that hearts be love grazed.
So different yet all the same.
So similar and yet still so strange.
Behold how pleasure seeps through to the strangest places;
as if it's effects could make a river climb a steep incline.
A pink, feathered ball with a pipe cleaner neck and an old rubber nose, stands in stasis.
Or should I says hops, where exactly do we draw the line?
It's blinding pink is no sign of flamboyance nor an ostentatious display.
Flamingos are what they eat and what they eat doesn't give a damn about their mental state in the coming months.
Smirks creep, snickers descend, what colour of lonely shall it choose today?
Grey would be great but the grim reaper is not someone one confronts.
One leg to hold on and the other dedicated to keeping up appearances.
A stand-up has no chance against a desolate land with an estranged flamingo slotted in centre stage.
Spotlight focused, eyes agaze, feed upon this barren creature and forget common decencies.
If only it could choose it's colour...red, red with rage.
Sisters of mine, our love is not never-ending.
Soon, I promise, you will start pretending-
That I was an imaginary friend in your childhood.
And I can live with that- as I watch you both move on from where together we stood.
I hope I am still able to protect you both as a memory.
When you guys used to see me as an all-knowing beam.
I was mistaken as a treasure-
When really- against you I will never measure.
Words_ in my garden@ the edge of thorns.
Population cultivation of shrapneled bones.
My thoughts, mine, alone.
My as she helixed the change
of elixired kool aid and iced earth,
Ayahuasca tea to drink under the crystal sun;
To be or not to be undone.
Dangled as a charm over my eyes,
walled popularity,
that rivit ring resurrection machine gun
@A rising force of risen suns,
from the sea of emptiness
@circlet chain fire testing this blue toothed,
teething proofs of brainwashing that is being done.
Cutting me tooths on techlobotomy future suturies,
filling with bad blood,
of milk undone into channels of soured diversities.
Blasphemies abreast of Bathory, Borden,
Mystopheles.
Metaspinions on bile for birth of strange aeons and late night gerd.
Storied olde.
Waking death, rebirth, federation,
mental masturbation, folly, jolly rogered
as if it depends on.
A friend, so I have heard,
fair weather turns cold.
I pick up the phone and call unknown people daily.
It is part of my job, and I get a kick out of it.
I call and talk, and laugh and chat, and it is fun.
I stare at the calendar. My brother’s birthday.
My sister has urged me to call him.
I have not spoken to him for six or eight years.
I doubt he remembers who I am.
I reach for the phone, stare at the number.
What would I say? If he would answer.
What do we have in common? What is there now?
I put the phone down, staring at the number.
It might not even be his number.
Ding ding. It is a text from my sister.
“Did you call Rex?”
This is almost as irritating as me not being able to call him.
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