*This is a poem my Husband wrote for me today. It was His take on what has been happening in my and O/our life at this point and stage.*
White Tears
running down my paper white origami eyes
down my rosy red cheeks which shouldn't hold any surprise
and my fiancee can't fathom why they don't leave rivers of red anymore
and wonders if they ever did
Rivers of red, Rivers of red...
Instead of the color of purity in hell's bed, in hell's bed...
They've become so accustomed now
too accustomed to reverting back from the dead
that all can see that my eyes doesn't speak of what's unsaid
throughout the abuse, pain, and sorrow
and what if's and some hows that never followed
throughout the lies and illusions and dreadful screams
crying throughout my history, looking at all of the coal that it leaves
I reflect in the teardrops of my past
My lullaby of forgotten memories, never lived dreams
I'm left with a picture perfect book by my family that was never what it said
never what it bleeds; it bleeds black instead of crimson red, black instead of crimson red..
I recall the awkward sound of fairy tale backdrop noise
ever repeating music that I drown in, that I live in
forever trying to make me, make believe in, make believe in.
But at night I dream, dream in a land of black instead of white
where truth is revealed in splendid horror instead of under cookie cutters out of sight
where demons torture and light isn't clothed in night
and everything makes sense, sense between wrong and right
I dream of the darkness which is swept away in the day
under the saccharine sweet words that they say
I dream of the evils that are done behind closed doors
that are covered up by all of the reality that they distort
And maybe in my dreams my eyes can cry with rivers of red
where they aren't accustomed to the world that's trying to make me share it's bed, share it's bed...
Poem by Anthony, Take care, For Ariabelle.
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