Memento Mori

My photo
Seattle, Washington, United States
Professional Darling

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Did You Know...

I hide links within the titles. If you click on the title you will be taken elsewhere. Usually its relevant, but like this one, sometimes it isn't.

30 Days in More than 30 - Topic #2 - First Love




My first love was Penguins. Yes, you read that right. I collected, read about and adored all types of penguins when I was younger. Perhaps this is where my love of birds came from.

I'm sure I could continue on about the first man I loved, or the first woman but I do not wish to do that. I'd like to think that I love everyone like they were my first.



Friday, April 22, 2011

Down the Barrel of a Gun



Days like these are few and far between now.

Today my heart hurts.



Thursday, April 21, 2011

Hold Hostage, My Heart




I feel sick to my stomach and I am way off balance.
I'm allowing things said to me by an unmedicated person,
effect my feelings of self-worth.

Am I really mean?
Do I manipulate?

Or is my only sin and guilt the one that
comes from telling the truth?
For not wanting to hurt someone that
is genuine,
but who obviously needs help.

My heart breaks because I saw so much potential.
Yes, I have a heart.
She may be black and cruel and locked away,
but she beats.
"Fragments of joy torn apart.
A freshly drained heart that beats
disguise themselves through him.
He’ll say that it’s nothing new,
and swear this is true.
For you, I’ll swallow the ocean"


- "On the Arrow" - AFI

Friday, April 15, 2011

The Truth Revealed



If ever there was a piece of jewelry that had my name on it...this would be it.




...and the description?






† A pergola of desire enshrining the fate of a broken dream †

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Seven Sorrows - For Chapter




"Yet do you find as I do that it foremost serves as a reminder of what you've had and lost?"
The million dollar question. A question that I can no longer ignore.

A reminder is something non-descript. You write them to yourself in order to remember things that you shouldn't forget. Milk, bread, eggs, to pay the phone bill or turn off the heat when you go to bed. A reminder of plain and simple things. There is little or no emotion tied to simple reminders. I have a meeting this afternoon and the reminder pops up on my Outlook. Perhaps dread comes to mind, small emotion compared to these, "reminders."

Seeing love and happiness around you is a wonderful thing. I had a dear friend of mine that just got engaged. I've watched her struggle through that whole dating game with some not so great results. I've seen her struggle with a selfish, manipulative asshole that took advantage of her wonderful kindness. The look on her face now when she is around her fiancé, or when she talks about him is priceless. It's a miracle and testament of the human spirit to see this.

I have another friend. She has been with her beau for close to or over two years now. She found something in him and that something makes her very happy. The still cuddle and kiss when they are out at the club, and when they think that no one is looking you can really see and feel the love between them. It is a beautiful and graceful dance that they share.

They are both wonderful human beings that share their talents and affection with the world around them and even share with me their strengths and values even though they may not know it. I cannot think of two more genuine people that deserve to find that all encompassing and devoted love… alas there is that part of me that wishes to god that it would go away. That does not begrudge the happiness of the world and of her friends but for fucks sake it reminds me of how alone I am. I want to tear out my hair and scream at the top of my lungs that this happiness should be banished to the depths of the ocean so that I do not have to be subjected to it. A "reminder" of just how alone I am, and will be…

A reminder, not what this is. Being reminded of how wonderful love can be is a nightmare. So I shall not call this "bliss" a reminder, but a torment. For that is what it is. I am tormented by the mistakes of the past that I cannot seem to undo. I am tormented every day by looking in the mirror and seeing who and what I have become, and how you, or him, or her will never experience it, because you will never be able to see past my damnation. How I push down the love I ever felt for anyone until I can close it up and tell it to go away.

Lord Alfred Tennyson said, "Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all."

Lord Tennyson I beg to differ. This torment is one I deal with daily, still. The hurt, pain and all that may have vanished, but pink ribbon scars remain. I look at them every day through the eyes of the people walking down the street holding hands, or stealing kisses on the corner. They are my friends which are floating in the clouds and soaring. This I do not begrudge. The fact that it is a painful reminder of what I have lost, is. It is something that I can't ignore and because of this fact, that I cannot claim ignorance, is my complete basis for telling Lord Tennyson that he's absolutely full of shit. The pain may go away, but that perfect torment will not.

** I have to stop and mention right now that my purpose in writing this is not to get any behaviour modification out of anyone that is involved in a relationship, surely not within my circle of friends. Your love is my love and if I cannot feel it, but my own volition, then be a conduit for me. That I may feel that wonder that you feel. **

No matter what I do, it always comes back. My heart, my beloved, my love, my loyalty. She surfaces and floats upon the water while I swim to catch up and ultimately drown within my own sorrow. I catch her every once in a great while and bind her tight to the inside of my chest. Black ribbons tying up a renegade? I do not have control over her all the time, but when I do, she will not stray from within the box I put her in, far away from the sunshine. Our relationship is bittersweet. I manage to get her broken time and time again. She mends herself with big bold stitches that I swear I cannot break ever again and ones that she swears she can never replicate. Hearts are like porcelain, at least mine is. Disintegrated and dusty are the remains. My only wish is to blow away the fragments, so that they can never be put back together. So I cannot feel again.