The Tide of Grief

You said that I enjoyed being in pain, that maybe,
nothing you did would make me happier
than the shame of my long sleeves;
scars buried underneath the soft fabric,
lies to be revealed in due course.
Of course, you forgot
that you were my favorite form of suffering.

We never fall for the ones who deserve us,
we fall for the ones who desert us.
Looking back at it now,
I was begging to be abandoned,
begging to be left stranded,
begging to be ash and dust,
by resting trust in the wrong person,
begging to be flooded with tears,
begging to be smothered with fears.

Honey that tastes of sweet sin, drips from your lips,
I’ll sneak off in the dark just to kiss you,
and remember all the times
you let me slip from your grip.
The gore tore through my skin,
a hazy nightmare was just beginning;
like dreams we have when we are young,
only this time, our suffering has won.

Lost amongst each other,
our pain serves as a staircase to one another.
We take deeper breaths,
as we venture into deeper depths.
We crash into peace,
drowning in the waves of love on the beach.
Silent whispers in the night
are the only sounds that we can hear.

The nearer you were to my ocean of grief,
the more I pretended to be a puddle.
I was never subtle about my struggle,
yet you were oblivious.
I dreamt of death,
and waited for reality to imitate imagination,
to no avail.

I continued to walk the bumpy trail of regret,
even when I was running out of breath,
also ignoring the hopeful voice in my head chanting,
“You’re close to death”;
deluded by the false charm of suffering,
it’s safe to say that I let myself suffocate.
May we meet again when our wounds are scars,
may we look up at the stars in the sky,
and never question why we are the way we are.
All things being equal, I suppose I’m just evil!

ANDREW NEEL