It's Here Where...

It's here where we part with differences. It's here where I yearn not to see all the paraphenalia that you possess. It's here where I yearn not to hear you crow about your new heros of political vantage point. I'm not enamoured with your lust in identity politics. It's here where you will enjoy someone who has the same outlook as you. The one that doesn't go on about every new war in the world. 

The coded smears for those you despise, the newfound lust in evangelical preaching of hatred. Dehumanising the enemy. It just isn't right. But then I do it too with politicians and their actions I object to. So it makes the point moot. But the point still stands in your dogma. In your language. I'll never understand your evangelicism when reading things that preach to your sensibility.

"Then what does that make me?" Biological
"Then what does that make me?" Pathological
We're all the same in the end, it's just you want to intensely focus on differences and all the bad stuff you read in the press who have an agenda anyway. But it's an agenda you agree with.

It's here where I say goodbye to a relationship. The choice was out of my hands, you've taken it yourself. But it's one I'm at peace with now on reflection. I don't think either of us could stand the other side not conforming to a set of beliefs.

Dedicated time, an absence of logic - all to say the dream is over. 

Neural Pathways

 Swimming against the tide, I dreamt of another world. Where else can I lie for a day and weep in silence as the pain ratchets up its tally. I find the cushioning decline in time over what was once a man skittering on the edge of health. I saw your dead body in the blink of an eye. Only makes me wonder what is going on in my mind.

Can I lay here in silence in this room? Will the lights be too bright? Will it become my tomb? It won't do me any good to be here with all your memories that cut me up like glass. To say goodbye in the hallway. To listen to the rain drown out my thoughts. I would've done the same if I could but I don't have the confidence.

Our neural pathways no longer connect.

Inelegant Design

Inelegant design, perhaps the stage will think it's mine. I wish to be rid of the physical and psychological exhaustion I put on myself. Love withers away, the pain is circumspect. 

Inelegant design, what future did we pine for in our youthful days of abandon. Someone can tell me when I'm not overcome with emotion.

Inelegant design, what of these presents we got each other. Do they carry much meaning outside of festive occasions? The wonder of life doesn't feel so special anymore. The dreams we had lost in our own respective conditions. 

The Source of Your Misery

 I am the source for your misery. The pathways of resentment slowly rising over when I lashed out. In a way I knew I was slowly being edged out of the equation. My frustrations built up and I had nowhere else to place them. But now we've made our peace. Brokered a deal which suits you best even if it pains me greatly that it came to this.

I'm not the one for grand sweeping statements or sentiments. You've often criticised me for not doing things you want me to. I cannot physically make it happen and when it does, inwardly I'm given hell for it. Considerations must go both ways.

The more you criticised, the more I felt I wasn't good enough. I guess you were hoping for the opposite effect. I am the source for your misery. The pain being involuntary. The more times the same bad memories brought up to shame had their desired effect. Words twisted beyond lives can mask. And all I ask is forgiveness.

I live with a haunted past, things that I want to bury but come back to life. The symptoms were shown to you on full display, you can see why I'm so brittle that the timidity shines through. The "best years" of your life tending to a broken man. Insulted, you insult him. I've made you sullen and insolent to all the bad memories you remember or misremember. But that's what happens in the consequence of time.

In the end what defines our sense of death is love and which type. The pain that paves the way for everything else. I'd rather play make-believe and settle for company than trying to play something that's uncomfortable for a number of reasons even if I'd like to be in that position. When the body disintegrates, you can't take the things you used to for granted. You always wanted more out of a severely asthmatic boy. I don't know if that was a sign of things to come.

I am the source of your misery. I take all the shame that I've caused. I'm only here to recover, you recount your humiliations - I'm sorry it got to a stage like this when I still love you and care for you deeply. I always knew I was going to fail at some point. I always hid the pain you caused me because there was always the feeling the more I try to voice them, the harder you would re-inforce the humilation I caused you. I don't want that to pass. I just want us to be happy.