as the plot sickens
Wednesday, February 6th, 2008
Tripping lightly across the keys, I seek to dazzle with insights to brighten my day. Failing that, I seek at least to distract with interesting turns of phrase, tricksy poemizing of the crazy kind.
Blind is one thing, dazed and confused another, yet my mind is bruised and contused these days as the grey winter haze and drizzle frizzes my hair and sizzles my inspiration. What pounding thought bludgeons my brain, causing this pain? Oh how boring, it seems my true love story has come to a sordid end. Must friend become foe? Is this a test? To what end?
Call me blessed, for the one I loved still harbours warmth, though I have been displaced as the inspirer of his ardour. The hardening of the heartery is in me, for I cannot forgive, that overrated activity given such shrift by gifted largehearted souls purporting to show the rest of us how to become lighter than a feather and waft our way to heaven on waves of unconditional love. But what of we whiches who wish to tear the hair from our heads, to spit blazing balls of flame in bursts and spurts of spite?
The fruit which was ripening fell to earth untasted, and oh, I suppose it was not wasted, for such seeds might take root where they land instead of being excreted and flushed. Still, in my cold thwarted heart, the Cinderella story I inhabited exploded, dumped me without dignity back in the ashes of my lonely hearth. I wuz framed, set up for failure by some malevolent invisible entity. As divinely choreographed as our beginning seemed, so this end shows distinct signs of diabolic interference—’twas a plot, I say, designed to puncture my nascent faith in love.
And as this plot thickens and sickens my abandoned innards, left to fend for themselves with scraps of sugar, spice, and my daily bread, I am compelled to admit that the love wasn’t all that after all. So many needs went unmet, desires unfulfilled, wants unsatisfied, but I compromised for the sake of the parts that were being pleasured, smothered, sucking up mass quantities of deliciously sweet love. Hours spent in endless pointless verbal sparring and blather were considered well spent in exchange for other hours cuddling, snuggling, holding, stroking, sweetly sobbing and sighing in bliss.
My road ahead spreads wide without apparent direction; I must needs close my eyes to let my feet find their way. This results in aimless wanderings; I flounder, foundering on excess, shoving treat after treat down my gullet in gluttonous greed, seeking endlessly that which I cannot conceive even in imagination. The hungers which which went chronically unmet collide with those once sated but now thwarted, adding up to a gaping maw of rageful starvation which eats me from the inside and threatens to consume the world. Hurling imprecations and blame at he who abandoned me, I must face the fact: it was myself.
