The Specter Of Love

“The moment there is suspicion about a person’s motives, everything he does becomes tainted.”― Mahatma Gandhi

Be advised that I take artistic license in the expressions and creations I present in my posts. Forewarned is forearmed, proceed at your own risk. 

Freakingnews

“Listening for the chirp, the space sounds of my phone
Everything stops when it rings,
My whole body tense, waiting for the vibration of her call
Everything stops when I wait for her
Early morning when it rings, I open my eyes
Everything stops when I wake to her
A text, proclaiming her rejection of me
Everything stops when I understand
She is with my friend, he is fucking her
Everything stops when I kill”
Everything Stops,  D.M.W. Sager

I take a deep breath. Jealousy. A cruel and unrelenting task master, holding me hostage, threatening my lover with violence. How quickly love turns to anger and hate. How quick the one you love can turn and violate you. Love excels at changing both itself and others. I watch as I leave all I know about myself and life; all my beliefs fall to the wayside as I follow hard after what I “love”. I watch my identity crumble in my pursuit, it consumes me. There’s no escape from its hold, the arms of another fan the flames into white hot tongues of searing pain. I compromise my safety, stepping into the line of fire, nothing will prevent me from protecting my love. It’s not a person that I protect, it’s my feelings. When I find that it’s my love that I follow, not her, conviction binds me. Love is separate in this deranged sense. Love becomes a living entity in me, demanding I make room for it, controlling my actions and thoughts. Love must be constrained by other rules to keep it in check and keep it pure. I must rise above it. Love, pure good and pure evil. It disguises itself, hiding among other feelings and manifesting in the strangest of ways. The vilest thoughts arise out of “love”. Beware of love uncontrolled, it’ll easily lead to destruction, agony, and death. Motives that should be pure, become tainted, then, suddenly, drastically, everything stops.
“Do you know what its like to lie in wait for someone? To settle yourself in the cold drizzle of winter, controlling the shivers, quiet, the gun by your side? Eyes strained to see movement in the blackness, heart pumping from adrenalin of the chase. Do you know what it’s like to wait to kill the one you love?” – The Specter Of Love
Also published in Broowaha Magazine

02272012

Scream

 

motionlessgirl

Can you hear me when I scream? Deep in the water, with sounds muted by cascades, can you hear me? What would you do if you heard me? How would you help? I’m your son, daughter, mother, or friend and you have to listen to hear the scream, “HELP ME”. You don’t know how to help, but when you ignore our cry, you push the blade in deeper. It’s not your fault, we have no other destiny than to hurt ourselves, or perhaps kill our destiny with the blade of reality. Lost love, estranged children, our mind wounded, poverty, careers gone, health suffering, with these we draw the razor. Just look us in the eyes as we pass, and say you care, and perhaps, just maybe, hold our hands while we go on to the dark night.

Combined History – Her reflections on the past.

“The moment there is suspicion about a person’s motives, everything he does becomes tainted.” Mahatma Gandhi
bing

The following is an entry from one of my favorite bloggers, Descending Ascension. She presents a raw and uncensored woman’s point of view of a relationship. My favorite line: “For me the thread is very short, but of darker tint. The tint isn’t determined by experience but sentiment and things which taint.” Enjoy…


History of love.

What is love?
Scratch that.
That’s too broad and too narrow to cover right now,
So then,
Let’s talk history.
Your history and mine.
When we decided to be together, our history melted into one intangible net of experience.
Yours and mine and ours.

All those girls, those women, they are a part of me too. I begin to know them in intimate ways, even if they are in the past.
I’m only sorry to say your thread of past is longer than mine.
More women, more girls.
For me the thread is very short,
But of darker tint.
The tint isn’t determined by experience but sentiment and things which taint.
I wear your history wound 5 times around my wrist, while you wear mine upon your pinky.
I ask you questions, you reluctantly answer.
You say nothing, and ask little of me.
Yet you begin to have doubts, and become confused with the physical nature of our intimacy.
I know my questions are biting.
I know my remarks are heart breaking.
Does it break your heart that so shyly I ask to know the truth?
Is your soul pulled at whenever I am patient with your flaws and when I accept them? 
When I let them sting on my cuts, but still love you?
Does it make you love me more?
Am I a consolation prize, second best to your first?
To the special one in your heart?
So it must be, that she too holds a place in my heart, because, remember, your history is also mine.
I wear her around my shoulders while you wrestle with mine.
My history.
My unrequited love.
Is this my patience or unwitting masochism in which I subject myself to heart break and pain so that I don’t feel it by chance or at the hands of vicious lovers?
We seem to have a very odd relationship.
I can never take her away, nor can I ever replace her, just like you will never be him.
I guess the questions we should be asking ourselves are “If we could, would we?”
“If they did, would we?”
Would you take her?
Would I go to him?
Only then can we define ourselves.
What we are.
Yes or no.
Maybe you’ll know my answer someday.
Maybe never.
Just as I will know yours.
-R.S.L.S

Published in her blog: DescendingAscension

Combined History – Her reflections on the past.

“The moment there is suspicion about a person’s motives, everything he does becomes tainted.” Mahatma Gandhi
bing

The following is an entry from one of my favorite bloggers, Descending Ascension. She presents a raw and uncensored woman’s point of view of a relationship. My favorite line: “For me the thread is very short, but of darker tint. The tint isn’t determined by experience but sentiment and things which taint.” Enjoy…


History of love.

What is love?
Scratch that.
That’s too broad and too narrow to cover right now,
So then,
Let’s talk history.
Your history and mine.
When we decided to be together, our history melted into one intangible net of experience.
Yours and mine and ours.

All those girls, those women, they are a part of me too. I begin to know them in intimate ways, even if they are in the past.
I’m only sorry to say your thread of past is longer than mine.
More women, more girls.
For me the thread is very short,
But of darker tint.
The tint isn’t determined by experience but sentiment and things which taint.
I wear your history wound 5 times around my wrist, while you wear mine upon your pinky.
I ask you questions, you reluctantly answer.
You say nothing, and ask little of me.
Yet you begin to have doubts, and become confused with the physical nature of our intimacy.
I know my questions are biting.
I know my remarks are heart breaking.
Does it break your heart that so shyly I ask to know the truth?
Is your soul pulled at whenever I am patient with your flaws and when I accept them? 
When I let them sting on my cuts, but still love you?
Does it make you love me more?
Am I a consolation prize, second best to your first?
To the special one in your heart?
So it must be, that she too holds a place in my heart, because, remember, your history is also mine.
I wear her around my shoulders while you wrestle with mine.
My history.
My unrequited love.
Is this my patience or unwitting masochism in which I subject myself to heart break and pain so that I don’t feel it by chance or at the hands of vicious lovers?
We seem to have a very odd relationship.
I can never take her away, nor can I ever replace her, just like you will never be him.
I guess the questions we should be asking ourselves are “If we could, would we?”
“If they did, would we?”
Would you take her?
Would I go to him?
Only then can we define ourselves.
What we are.
Yes or no.
Maybe you’ll know my answer someday.
Maybe never.
Just as I will know yours.
-R.S.L.S

Published in her blog: DescendingAscension