Sparkatale

3:04am

Why is it,
that when we’re on the verge of falling asleep,
the walls come crashing down,
and we talk about things,
no sane human would say?

 

 

 

 

12:12am

I know what I need to do,
I know what I want to do,
& I know what I have to do.

 

 

 

 

 

2:14am

What good is an immortal man,
if he roams the earth without an equally-infinite soul beside him,
If he falls in love, again and again,
with every hello followed by goodbyes,
until he grows weary of his immortal heart, burdened by the weight of temporary hopes and dreams? 

 

 

 

 

12:00am

The moon gazed back. 
It had no interest in Shakespeare. 

 

 

 

 

 

18:53pm

The umbrella and the storm,
and the rain that followed,
and the strain of cold fingers,
and of slightly-damp feet,
and chattering teeth,
and the thoughts of hot chocolate and summer days,
but a sharp change of direction,
and the mechanical fingers of that umbrella,
and the strain they had to endure,
and the need for both hands to grip the handle,
and to fight the urge to be pulled with that storm,
far away from hot chocolate and summer days.

 

 

 

 

 

21:31pm

To the person on the other side of the mirror, 
was your day the same as mine,
when you walk into that room and our eyes meet,
or was it completely different?

Do you have your own thoughts,
your own questions,
your own answers,
or am I talking to myself?

Is the world behind this pane of glass as imperfect as ours,
traces of good but mostly bad,
full of disasters and odd acts of kindness,
or do I need to go to sleep?

To the person on the other side of the mirror,
who washes his hands along with me,
who brushes his teeth when I do,
and who stares right back at the person in front of him:

Are you happy?

 

 

 

 

 

3:15am

I’d like to believe,
that once upon a time,
before there was the land, the sea and the sky,
we were one and the same,
atoms that drifted through time and space,

inseparable.

Until we were separated.

I’d like to believe,
that I’m drawn to those atoms,
from all those years ago,
that created a being of their own,
one who smiles and grins and loves as much as I do.

I’d like to believe,
that I’m still searching for that person,
that I’m searching for you.

 

 

 

 

 

1:53am

When the bombs fall,
and the bombs will fall,
will you call me one last time,
to say what we need to say,
before we never get the chance again?

When the cloud rises into the sky,
and it will rise into the sky,
will we run as far as we can,
until it envelops us,
or will we watch and enjoy what time we have left?

When all hope is lost,
and all hope will be lost,
will you remember the times when you were hopeful,
hopeful for a future less bleak,
a future without nuclear abandon? 

Once the bombs fall,
and I wish they wouldn’t fall,
I’ll call you one last time,
to say what I need to say.

I love you. 

 

 

 

 

 

4:05am

I’m starting to like
the dark bags under my eyes
because it starts a conversation
with people who would never talk to me.

‘Are you sick?’
‘Did you sleep?’
‘What’s wrong?’

I never have to answer them
because they already know
the rhetorical answers to their rhetorical questions
all because of those dark bags under my eyes. 

 

 

 

 

 

3:56am

This might be a little too direct,
but I realized that after you,
I held everybody else to an invisible standard,
a standard you set.

They never came close.

 

 

 

 

 

0:14am

Your name deserves to be written in charcoal,
made from the ashes from when you burned me, 
and blamed me when you stuck my hand into the fire,
as all men do.

Instead, I’ll write it in the warmest colors,
from the darkest grey to a vibrant yellow,
but make no mistake,
as all men do:

That color does not represent you,
or how I feel towards you, 
but it signifies that after all these years,
after everything that man can do:

I’ve recovered. 

Your name does not deserve to be written at all,
yet I’ll write it anyway, 
and throw that parchment into the fire,
just like men have done with me. 

 

 

 

 

 

21:13pm

I didn’t ask for him to feel like morphine,
to numb the pain, 
to spread through my veins,
to take control of my body,
rusted and mechanical,
and make it work,
But I’m so glad that he does,
and I’m so glad that he did.

 

 

 

 

 

8:38am

I had given up on love,
because it meant ‘sacrifice’,
it meant ‘compromise’ 
and it never existed.   

Person to person,
sacrifice to sacrifice,
compromise to compromise,
and they treated me like I never existed. 

Then you came along,
and there was no ‘sacrifice’,
there was no ‘compromise’,
and I never knew that you existed. 

I had given up on love,
but how can I say that it never existed,
wwhen you were right here? 

Because that’s what you’re made of.

Love.

 

 

 

 

 

22:24pm

Do the stars realize that they’re part of a constellation,
even when they burn brightly by themselves,
hundreds of light-years apart?

Does Hamal turn its gaze to β-Ari,
and wonder why they were picked to be the horns,
of the ram of classic mythology?

Do they talk about the imagination of man and woman,
but slowly give in to the idea of being linked,
that perhaps they were picked for a reason?

Does β-Ari shine brightly for its star,
and hope that it notices,
that it burns for it and it alone?

Could I burn as bright,
if I found a star of my own,
and burn for him and him alone?

 

 

 

 

 

22:00pm

I slouch to the floor,
my legs crossed,
I stretch the truth,
before I jump to conclusions. 

I run my mouth,
it runs for quite a while,
until I run out of breath,
and out of excuses. 

If lying was a sport, 
then I’m a fucking athlete,
deserving of a medal,
made only from Fool’s Gold. 

I sit on the floor,
my legs crossed,
I stretch my legs,
before I jump on the spot. 

I run a mile,
I run for quite a while,
until I run out of breath,
and away from the person I once was. 

I am getting better.