The Fruit – Tasting the loneliness

“I can’t face losin’ ya, Riley. Yer all I got left in this world.”
That brutal honesty again. He’d peeled away more armor, and this time he’d exposed his heart.” ― Jana Oliver,
Forbidden

Words from a great author and friend, I thought you, my intelligent readers, would enjoy this:


I found this fruit.

I ate from it.

It was the most beautiful thing,

To be taken in small bites,

Taste in moderation,

Because a flavor so strong could destroy you quickly.

It was so beautiful, I couldn’t keep it to myself,

I had to share.

So I found you,

and we shared it.

But then..

You stopped picking it.

And I was the one left to muster a lonesome bite.

-R.S.L.S

11282011
 
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Poisoned Love – A death sentence for love

“Love does not last forever, then?”
“He asked me the same thing this morning,” she said. “No, it does not – not love that has been betrayed. One realizes that one has loved a mirage, someone who never really existed. Not that love dies immediately or soon, even then. But it does die and cannot be revived.” 

Mary Balogh, Simply Perfect


knife-in-back

I’m surprised at myself. Being a spiritually enlightened man, well acquainted with my own faults and well exercised at forgiving a mountain of offenses against me, I’ve found myself at an insurmountable barrier, bitterness at a betrayal, no not just one, but many betrayals, of my lover against me. I mouth the words like I know I should, “I forgive you”, I pray the prayers, “Lord help her”, but yet, I find a seething bleeding wound festering beneath my loving mask. Why does this have a root in me? Worse, why can’t I, under any amount of coercion, cleanse myself of this horrid stew I’ve brewed? I haven’t yet tasted the foulness of it, but I can smell it, tainting the air of conversation and poisoning the purity of the love I felt. I’m sure it’ll kill all of my affection, but, I must make sure it doesn’t destroy my compassion for others, or let it morph into its evil sibling, revenge. God help me, I’m just like the one I despise! Now I’m left with this battle, and how to win it, I’ve no sure plan. I need an intervention of grace, power to do what I could never do.


Everyone suffers at least one bad betrayal in their lifetime. It’s what unites us. The trick is not to let it destroy your trust in others when that happens. Don’t let them take that from you.” Sherrilyn Kenyon, Invincible
Also published in: Lifeasahuman.com 
Also published in: Broowaha

11142011


 








 

Poisoned Love – A death sentence for love

“Love does not last forever, then?”
“He asked me the same thing this morning,” she said. “No, it does not – not love that has been betrayed. One realizes that one has loved a mirage, someone who never really existed. Not that love dies immediately or soon, even then. But it does die and cannot be revived.” 

Mary Balogh, Simply Perfect


knife-in-back

I’m surprised at myself. Being a spiritually enlightened man, well acquainted with my own faults and well exercised at forgiving a mountain of offenses against me, I’ve found myself at an insurmountable barrier, bitterness at a betrayal, no not just one, but many betrayals, of my lover against me. I mouth the words like I know I should, “I forgive you”, I pray the prayers, “Lord help her”, but yet, I find a seething bleeding wound festering beneath my loving mask. Why does this have a root in me? Worse, why can’t I, under any amount of coercion, cleanse myself of this horrid stew I’ve brewed? I haven’t yet tasted the foulness of it, but I can smell it, tainting the air of conversation and poisoning the purity of the love I felt. I’m sure it’ll kill all of my affection, but, I must make sure it doesn’t destroy my compassion for others, or let it morph into its evil sibling, revenge. God help me, I’m just like the one I despise! Now I’m left with this battle, and how to win it, I’ve no sure plan. I need an intervention of grace, power to do what I could never do.


Everyone suffers at least one bad betrayal in their lifetime. It’s what unites us. The trick is not to let it destroy your trust in others when that happens. Don’t let them take that from you.” Sherrilyn Kenyon, Invincible
Also published in: Lifeasahuman.com 
Also published in: Broowaha

11142011


 








 

That Lake Is Me – Motivating myself to success

“Don’t you dare take the lazy way. It’s too easy to excuse yourself because of your ancestry. Don’t let me catch you doing it! Now — look close at me so you will remember. Whatever you do, it will be you who do.” John Steinbeck, East of Eden 
Marg+S

No excuses anymore, no not for a moment, for who I am. Continuing on, pressing against a rush of water, the tide of public opinion and internal questions. I lift a weary hand to grab hold of the branches of promise jutting out of the banks at every turn, guardians to help in the unsure and trying times. Inch by painstaking inch I struggle through the cold waters, surrounded by banks of slippery self esteem. When I try to crawl out, I slide back quickly, if not for the holds I kicked in the mud, pats on the back, given only by me. I can see in the distance the calm lake, a haven of peace, where my mind is quiet from the shouts of the struggle. If I were closer, I would see the image of heaven reflected on that lake. That lake is confidence. That lake is freedom. That lake is me.

11122011

Angel, Part 12 – A Glimmer of Betrayal

We decided to meet again at a mutual friends house, and soon drowned our past in bottles of liquor, as was our custom. The party gave us enough publicity to dial in our emotions and be civil, at least for a moment. The night went smoothly, and our intoxication soon led to giggling and playing grab-ass for a couple of hours. The self-induced heaven I maintained was an amazing effort on my behalf, emotions in check, brain on hold. Of course, the sexual tension that always surrounded my Angel and I kept me going, “Hell”, I thought, “if nothing else I’m gonna get laid”. That seemed to get me through many nights with her, and, if I sorted them out then, I’d see what really was wrong with us. It’s entirely possible to live in my head, not checking the facts or figures or any reality whatsoever. But so goes this dance and regardless of logic and pain, which never added up to a positive, the door shut and in the darkness, our hands found each other. I breathed her in great gasping breaths, like a drowning man, breaking the surface a moment before unconsciousness. My hands ripped her shirt near off, her nails left tiny blood lines of passions anger. Our bodies moved so smoothly, wet with perspiration, sexual excitement, and hunger. As we satisfied our lusts with our fingers, our mouths, every part of our body became a playground, things that some considered taboo, seemed to possess us. Closing my eyes to the music, swaying with her sounds, wet and sighing sounds of desperation and passion. The light from the new day showed the results of our play. Clothes were everywhere, the mattresses separated and laid crosswise displaying the crumpled sheets and suggestive pillows and silken ties. That’s when I saw it, as she rode on top, driving herself on me with hard strokes of still drunk love, a glint swung from her neck, a glimmer of gold, a spark of diamond dancing just above my face. I’m sure she forgot she was wearing it, a symbol of her betrayal to me, a sign of success for her, his necklace pronouncing a conquest of my Angel. Yanked from passion, I couldn’t stop, I really couldn’t move, hypnotized by her sex, and violated by her betrayal. Oh dear God, my heart is stopping, I can bear no more, my mind drove itself to these newest depths of darkened morose pure and unadulterated pain. She saw it on my face, my tightened jaw, not from an orgasm, but, and she knew it quick, from that necklace. I could barely breathe, my throat dryly gasped out, “Why? Why would you wear that here with me?” But that was my Angel, that is who she is, no thoughts of anyone but her, no understanding of the repercussions of her curiosities. I was the fool. I made this whole thing up in my mind, I created the “us” from my own fantasies. She merely rode the ride, the ups and downs being a thrill of entertainment and nothing more. My reality, merely a fantasy, an old man wrapped in the make up and pretty things of her young world.

The End


Angel, Part 11 – The Fornication of Love

silvereyedgirl
I stayed away for more than a few days, days of torment made longer by the endless churning of thoughts and questions. I kept my phone on me all the time, slept with it near my head, staring at the black form until sleep overtook my reluctant eyes and mind. Every day or two, my waiting was granted a teasing reprieve, her text would come through with the ring I had set for only her, electronic signals that love was alive in me, but was it love? I didn’t really care by this point, in the pain, truth and lies fucked each other, perhaps like we did, and in an orgasmic cloud, a fertile ground for these games, love twisted with deformities of lust. The games turned quickly to survival, her bullets of jealousy, desire, and my insatiable desire for her ripped through me with startling accuracy. I sat in an almost trance-like state, even while I tried to work there was a shock, a numbness that was only shattered by her call or the stabs of jealousy that poked at my cavity of care and concern for her. I was helpless. Strong, intelligent, and utterly helpless before my Angel. No other force on earth could have brought me to my knees as quick as her magic body and moist mouth. No choices were left for me, I had to see her, I would see her. I could swallow my pain and calm my shattered mind, we could make it work. She really didn’t mean it, she was young and had been hurt before. There’s no way that she really meant to do this, right? I mean she really had to love me, it was an anomaly, a freak of nature that she let it go this far, I mean no one could be so twisted. I consoled myself into my own fragile and crazed comfort, I’d forgive her. I’d treat her better, be there more, make more money, put myself in harms way for her. Yes, that’s how I’d show her that it’s ok. I still wanted her, more than ever it seemed. The next call would bring us together again. Ahh, sweet relief as I gathered the entrails of my dreams and stuffed them back into this amazing thing I had with my Angel. Only, the tears kept coming, unexpectedly creeping up and running down my cheek as I swallowed hard with the acceptance of this new Angel. It probably was my fault anyway. 

Angel, Part 10 – The Hunt

billiefuckingpiper

I gathered the leftovers of my senses and with a hollow aching knot deep in my gut, stronger than any hunger, I went to edges of sanity and looked over. Putting all my tools in the trunk of the car and covering them with a tear-stained blanket, I drove slowly in the early morning, my only company were the frogs and katydid’s of the country, and softly falling rain. Parking a mile away, off the road and hidden from curious eyes, I crept just close enough to her house to see the driveway and laying down in the wet grass, stared at her front door until my eyes ached and head pounded with concentration. Who I should kill first? Imaginations of what was going on between them were thumbscrews of jealousy that tightened around my throat in an unflinching grip. Many questions; some of her, some of me, some of him, were just empty mirrors that reflected a violence behind my eyes. The rain was gentle, the pain was not, both soaking me, both making me cold. There I laid for hours, till the early light of day peeked over the trees. I grinned, even the sun shuddered at what was going to happen. Someone must have told her I knew because they never showed. Walking back to my car and tears came again at what I was becoming. Following my Angel cost me everything, I lost my way and lost my identity. What was I doing? The unknown circumstances and crazy love drove me mercilessly, and loves evil sibling, Jealousy, took me farther than I ever thought possible. I shook off the channeled spirits of murder from my soul, thanking God, not for lack of courage, but for lack of opportunity. My imaginations stoked the fires of wicked intentions, but now I’m confused, for love had calmed me enough to lust for her again. I didn’t care if she slept with them, as long as I could hold her and act out my fantasies on her, fucking her like they did. This is love, this is us, this is hell.