Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Love's The Funeral of Hearts

I do care.
fuck it, I can't hide from it in that damned dingy gymnasium as the hot salt pours down my face.
I get it, I was wrong. I can't stop caring, I can't protect myself. The tears keep falling and I see them siting there, laughing, joking and I just want to get up and kick them both square in the face.
For their insolence
For all this pain
How little they do care, about anything.

I do care, in fact I care a damn lot. I care when they leave, in their drunken stumble, keys torn from my hands and I'm left again, alone and cold. The feeling is overwhelming as the screen cries tears of mothers and sons, M.A.D.D. Drunk driving: No one wins.
There I sit in the herd as alone as ever. Keep watching ... keep remembering.
Those cold nights.
You glare at their chuckling backs. They don't care, or even speak to you. Yet none of this changes how you feel about them.
Nothing changes the heart ache felt if they were gone. He acts as if he hates you, maybe he does, ignores and mistreats you even hurts you, but thoughts of them laying dead still plague you.

Waking up in cold sweats with blood soaked hands. Wake up again, colder than before.
Night after night you see the two you love leave. Pull out of the driveway and burn rubber as your left crying inside.
You're never there when it happens and you never will be. You don't drink, or even drive, your not with them, but you still see.

The car engulfed in flames, their blood and the crumbling metal. The glass, blood soaked and holing strong against their struggling screams.
Their trapped as they burn, your siting at home.
You will never ever be there to pound your bloody hands in vain against the burning glass. Your skin will never bubble as it slides off the molted handles in vain as you try to open the car doors.

But there in your dreams, your hands burn and bleed every night, you never succeed. You just keep beating your blood soaked hands against that damned glass. You watch them scream. Some nights the glass breaks, and you grab the hot shards with your hands, desperately pulling them away. You bleed and reach for them, flames engulf you arms, burning them. You never save them, they continue to burn. Once you managed to get hold of him, free his corpse from the mess, and the other burned while you did. Both die, each night.
And at home you weep, because you know you'll never get the chance to burn your hands.
To try.

You wake up each day knowing that the day the dreams become reality, the day those you love burn alive, you will be sitting as you are in your dreams, alone at home, crying. The cop will come to your door and tell you it's much too late and you will weep.

And every day will be spent forever wishing you'd been given the chance to burn your hands.
But you were at home,
Knowing you weren't there when it happened, no last chance to help them, and knowing worst of all that they were there because of you.

I can't even begin to describe the anger felt as all the memories of all those nights they pulled away. The nights he yelled at you, demanding his keys. Those nights when he was "fine to drive". And worst of all, all those same nights you caved.
All those nights you got yelled at, scorned, cursed, abandoned and your cried. All damage done.

So in the assembly you sit, silent, alone and crying. As guilty as the rest who laugh and joke, only your not laughing. You sit and silently hope that something will click, that they will see all the pain, and it will matter to them. And they'll stop, they'll be safe.

You love, but your alone. You can't think of why you care, but your overwhelmed with the fact that you do. Love that's choking you. You can't stop and it hurts. God damn it you love them both so much, they'll never know, it hurts. You feel alone. Y0u care and it gets you no where, nothing in return, they just ignore you but you don't learn.

Is this what love is? to be hurt?

To have your heart riped out with every breathe. To give everything on a daily basis, the absolute power over you, the power to hurt you? Do they really know they hold your heart?
Is love to stand still and silent while they fake full advantage.
to care all the while, to cry. To worry to the point of annoyance. Wake up in the cold sweats and be ignored the next day in the hallway. To give your all and protect them, despite how much they anger you at times.
They never asked for your affection, perhaps they don't want you love. But you can't stop it? Is that how it all works? Is love to be resentful and hateful of how they hurt you? How you care so much for them, and they care nothing for themselves?

Honestly,I'm not sure ... but I do agree with one thing love is.
the funeral of hearts.
To love is to open your heart up to be destroyed.
To kill it and bury it, at the hands of those you love.
Because it hurts you and you can't escape it, you don't want it,
but it's there. Yielding to no one, no reason nor logic. It exists where and when it's unwanted, undeserved and enjoyed. You have no control over when, who, where or anything else.
In the end it will kill you and rip out your heart every time.
It is to be vulnerable.

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