Innocent Vigilant Ordinary

there is far more to experience and a greater deal to learn.

there is dispassion in my eyes,

an emptiness,

a vacant space,

ready to be filled once more.

—

there is a coldness in my heart,

a door closed,

bricked behind cement,

ready to be forgotten.

—

but in this solemn stance

there is deep-ridden hatred,

brewing and boiling

ready to be thrown

at whosoever chooses to weaken first.

—

all of us are being attacked

by the same game we think we’re controlling.

—

but there is no control.

behind these eyes.

behind this heart.

—

it’s all a bloody patchwork.

—

— VianeyDelRealOchoa

For now,

I loathe you.

Later,

I may love you.

But logic and instinct only pushes me off the brink to insanity.

So keep your sad satisfaction,

Your little knowledge of and appreciation for truth.

Your own interpretations.

All you do is FEED on attention.

You need it more than a hungry child,

abandoned and forgotten,

Finding yourself all alone and cold.

And you’re right,

I’m going to believe what I want to believe…

because I sure as hell can’t believe you.

Get off that white stallion,

take off the armor,

and toss aside chivalry.

You’re a poor excuse,

a disappointment,

there’s nothing you can do to get to me.

Nothing but a norm in need of application.

A double standard,

hypocrisy under pure light. 

Well, you’ve given up the fight,

long ago.

Deciding to just waste time.

You have no virtues,

there is no truth in your words.

Your emotions might as well be an act.

A speech practiced,

rehearsed,

no facts.

But you’d much prefer to keep me in a bubble,

while you lust and fuck,

and torment.

Well, I’m liberated.

From you and your tiresome expectations,

so incredulous and petty.

Mistakes I’ve made have affected ONLY me,

which are in no way your business.

Yours, on the other hand,

affected US.

Its professed representation,

you threw away,

flushed,

to never be seen.

Nothing but a liar,

a coward,

a cheat.

A robber of time and feeling,

a thief in the night,

with secret intentions to overcome the weak,

anyone that stumbles upon his plight,

his unquenchable desire.

And now, you digress,

as you always do.

Stooping low,

typical,

unoriginal.

Drifting towards another lost and pathetic soul

full of immaturity and insecurity.

I see you’ve found your match.

But I suppose it’s true:

Birds of a feather, correct?