Catalyst Buried Me
Spinning stuck so much for four leaf clover luck. I woke up and pulled my sheets up underneath a jaded facade; so far an eloquent departure from the truth of my youth. “Sweep underneath the plaid front door rug me not kicking my bare feet up at home; especially when lounging around the Pinewood Cabin home alone. Your long wet jet-black hair is hanging down around your left shoulder, and the look of bittersweet surrender is clouding your plush tan dyed complexion. Moreover, you are hiding all the evidence; of built up shame; behind a pair of dark mirror tinted sunglasses and frustrated obligation focusing on displaced mistrust; on display for all your worst-best-kept secrets to see,” I said. All signs point west bound towards a-head-on collision; toiled together with a brilliant sense of urgency. Hannah's exclaiming: “If you break my heart, then I'll sneak in-between your dreams. And. I’ll change your plans. I'll change your mind until, you are all mine. I’ll, ever so cleverly, brush the tip of my tongue against your top lip, and I’ll gently bite your bottom lip; a perfect time to disregard my lack of charm, kissing you underneath a milky twilight.”
I said: “I’m like the guilt wrapped around sheer passion, simply tagging along for the ride; merely a name enclosed underneath a breath. Straight out of the blue, I'll take you by the hand to travel up and down the west coast; hang on for the ride. Pack a suitcase, full of empty goodbyes, and your flower dress because it may take a lifetime to see this through; to fill an empty heart, it may take a lifetime. So, tonight let’s do something we’ll never regret; using a cabinet of hidden words to bring me closer. Take with a grain of salt, me not caring about the little things.” Hannah: “I'm cautiously keeping you in mind discerning ahead of passing-time; while, at the same time, tracing over your old love crumpled-in-a-bin-of-blissful-memory letters. When coming to the conclusion that your intentions are as good as mine, my elation is rather contagious. Thinking back to the times we stayed up talking on the phone until I fell asleep, heard the dial tone, hung up the phone, smiled, pulled my satin sheets up and fell back to sleep; breathing in and out dreams of which stopped cold at dawn. But I meant it the entire time.” I'll never live this down; hanging my head down beside insincerity and chasing my words underneath a turbulent memory. This tongue of mine happens to be tied in knots because she loves me so not, thus changing my plans and changing my mind. She innocently crossed her hips; in the meantime, I innocently tripped, bit my chapped lips, crossed my fingers, and hid them behind my back. I conceded to a condescending picture-perfect silhouette which arose poised with the shattered reality stating things will never be the same. “I cannot stop thinking; about what you do, when you are alone. Talking in your sleep wishing, we were more than friends, and waking up on a lip-gloss stained pillowcase. Whispering about where we allegedly met; how I stole your heart, and claiming that I knew it from the minute we met.” Glendale Park is where she asked me to marry her. However, I was absurdly unprepared. But my yesteryears have caught my breath. And, I’ve got nothing left to prove. “With the best of intentions I’ve found that I'd do anything to fall head over heels into your arms. I'm analyzing what you said in the darkest part of your dreams. Imagining you sprawled out on that old leather love-seat twirling a strand of your split-dead-end bleach blond hair with your wedding-ring fingertip while tapping your feet to the beat of you favorite song, Coming Home, on repeat. And, blowing a fresh bubble of gum underneath your breath is causing an over dramatic sense of hyper-lightheaded panic. And, reflecting back to being 19 when we sat on your dormitory rug, while, staring at the ceiling because every word came out the wrong way. I swore I’d get you home before the parents walked in and saw their little sweetheart with a boy, like me; I’m so addicted to the story of a beauty queen or the thought of lovely lounging around my passenger seat; fogging up the windows making my blood boil, and then exposing her neck with a mark, from last night, but no one will ever know. However, I crossed my fingers and hid them behind my back. Because we've created a line in the sand; up to your neck in those cowgirl boots, making space in-between us and making me wait; taking off my shoes and kicking back underneath the stars. I was scared to death right before I came unglued I thought to dodge, while, missing the mark, know my role, and forget to play the part. You have learned to bear your fear and played the part of the lonely girl so far away from the truth of her youth. I'm ashamed of what I just did; taking a sneak-peek up close and personal from underneath your cherry red lip-gloss.” I said.
Far beneath a moonlit night late last night the butterflies they came alive, counting stars before I came unglued because I do not understand myself. The sparkle in her eyes, of gem, exposed an elaborate personality. For the love of Christ, she is such a match made underneath an imperfect prayer. A picture perfect snapshot she is insinuating a persuasive promise. As long as she understands that I would never change any part of me, just to make her stay then, I’ll stay. And. I so believed every phrase to be blatantly misspoke. With pious intentions that I believed, she grabbed my hand, her lotion covered skin dry erased destitute; so much forever being the same. She is resting her thermal sock covered feet on my tight blue jeans while saying, “I would conjure up excuses of which you would have trouble resisting.” Hannah is making space in-between us and making me wait. I agreed. “You don't have to ask you already know.” She is making space in-between us and making me wait. My courage lit up the horizon within my infatuation without any explanation for the consequences which do not even apply. “If I had a best friend she would be your twin; pulling me close while kissing my chapped lips, swing her hair across her eyes, and walk out the backdoor when I need her the most. Ever since our first hello, I’ve been nodding in and out of self-consciousness because my clothes they never fit just right. And, now your heart’s my second home, away from home,” I said. Hannah's pale neatly-wrapped for a suitor face-swept the ground right from underneath me. “Painting your nails jet-black dreaming of, conceptually, sitting out dances on the wall, and then trying to envision you’re not the desperate one. However, don’t you fret because, I’d never let something you would regret come in-between us, again. Close the blinds kill the lights and stay the night. I've experienced the excruciated-ill-confliction of contemplating what it feels like to be a shadow of myself in the third person. She is chastising me for being me, and never falling for what’s hiding in plain-view, you.” I said. I thought to death in three hours flat. Because even with the lights down low, I’m disgusted to divulge the fact that her eyes set me on fire; sweltering until the bitter-end. It is the truth of her youth that burns the wickedness within her fate-beaten-heart of gold. She has remained the misplaced puzzle piece to my devastated intuition; but does she know what's best for me? You will only teary eyed persistently hope for a dashboard-confessional, and then with utter flattery she demanded that I cross my heart exclaiming you were right, and I-I was wrong.
Every time I take my coat before I turn and run I check my back, wondering what she’ll say to make me sound like someone different. With sheer sycophancy, my intentions are rigidly exasperated beyond all comprehension. Yet and still, I would extend each and every expectation, simply, to fool all of your destitute fixated contention. I’m hoping the sparkle in your eyes of gem hasn't; cat like thief, stolen the time we’ve misplaced; desperately hoping her obsession has miraculously evaded alteration. Heartbreaking-attacks-systematically drains my self-esteem; convincing me of the normal life I had; you’re so to blame. Blush, your cheeks are bloodshot-red. Shadowboxing all the evidence in a cabinet of the bittersweet goodbyes, of all my memorable yesteryears, hoping my life’s still drilling in the much forgotten whispered secrets of the disingenuous-love-smitten normal life we had; in your brain, hoping by all intents and purposes you still adore me, the same. Catalyst exposed a sense of heat that blew everything I am; casting a foreshadow, predating an alleviated-exhilarating misguided transfiguration; or a cornerstone, as if to blame shift, forsaking shame, building up my attention-span only to figure out existence, plans, and mistakes, they don’t always go as I planned.
One summer night up late three-hours past a foggy-twilight, kindly, exchanging solitude for whatever’s in store. Expanding the horizon that was eloquently exhumed upon a gray skyline, taking advantage of your silky-smooth satin covered skin, holding your hand is causing heartache, you heartbreaker. Behind the lenses of my inflamed regrettable teary eyes, I deliberated out of spite; caught in the act underneath my nose just a hazy breath and not an emotional tragedy escapes from in-between these chapped-lips. So avenged in desperation she is deviously plotting revenge, in blissful seclusion while living so far away from the truth of her youth. I presume I failed to recall my name beneath a pale-moon-twilight, excruciating anxiety screams I’m not good enough; at 19, I was scared in your room within your pupils I found the craziest-news; classified without a doubt lips of mine are sealed shut. Familiar landscapes collide into the lovesick horizon. I'm holding my breath while at the same time, building up the courage to forgive you. “This wasn’t your fault, please stop crying.” The sun bursts into an attraction which you took for ransom, as a guise, for constant attention, or constant affection. I'm ashamed to admit that you never-looked-so good in black. Granted, now I'm sparing with a commitment in order to exchange the truth of everything I am; to the likening of life's lesson plan. My failed backup plan expresses regret for lost-time, of which happened to be ever so misleading, but I was not prepared; Hannah's devious-plot is not at fault. Fatigue, I'm exasperated beyond conception, associating with a thought underneath misguided-senses of intense-sensations; casting rocks and fears alike into a deep sea of forgiveness. All the while, the world is crashing down. A trance at best suggests the allocated vexation of the truth of your perplexed-past; as proof for a paranoid black and white snapshot, of which was crafted together with an over-dramatic sense of urgency. I said: “This is so much easier than toiling erratic charades to your face. The look in her eye says things I'd never want to recall. Get off my case and stop tripping off one-sided-disputes.” Hannah: “I must say that I'm flattered; considering you said I never looked so good, in black. We've been ever so cleverly, gently, picking up the pieces to a shattered still frame. Your picture was crumpled up and thrown next to my bedroom wall. Because I specifically doubt, you would ever want to see what's underneath my blatant self-doubt. There's no doubt I've done way too much elaborating; always reminding me that you are here within my sixth sense. I'd spray on a mist of Escape saturated in your beloved clear-lip-gloss merely to overhear you say that you esteemed me, and mean it the same way. Looking into these love-smitten-eyes; watching me now.” I said: “For a moment I caressed the earth as it stopped cold-at-dawn, for a moment, and then I saw you crack a silly smile. Passionate-elegant dreams, of which, were smashed to cracking glass a still frame of humility, a story about a beauty queen whose story was foretold.” Hannah pressed her hips into mine; sticking her cold hands inside my back-pockets; keeping them from freezing over while I'm still here underneath the hollow Cork tree, near Honey Screw Creek. Mesmerizing thoughts burst into fascination at the sight of her irresistible grin; such a honey moon. She has been dying and trying; hiding all of her escape as evidence. “I've spent most of my life dying to react reminiscing on the time we spent in Church on our knees praying until God delivered, us. Did he ever save us?” She asked. I went in for the win spinning stuck up close and personal; I only touched her lips because they were glistening, and they were so-so close to mine. A useless excuse has never flawlessly-excluded an explanation, or exchanged a sentiment, as a failed backup plan I planned. The implication portrays an expectation of what I'm told is supposed to be veracious. I expected to be left behind as your second best, a backup plan; just in case love does not workout. “Catch my breath like you stole my heart way back when. Do not accept as truth a word they say. Rapid statements are more than a poignant-after-taste. You will certainly not be someone to keep my stealthy-epiphany harmless with; never discern what you cannot betray to disbelieve,” I said. Tranquility happens to be the essence of my fate beaten heart; which equates to more than a series of transparent interpretations; convincing me of whom, I am. Yea, this is more than a mere speculative-classy-disposition. My pain bleeds ink onto these pages, and it leaves traces outlining your heart. Hannah said: “Keep in the back of your mind, no love is like our love.” I woke up exhausted conjuring up reasons to forgive the person you have become. Restless frustration questions whether she knows what's veracious, for me. And, it drives me wild. My pain bleeds ink onto these sheets, and it leaves traces outlining, your heart. “I will not believe a word; will not believe a word, you ever said. Stop tripping and flipping through the pages in my life; it is not as if you call the shots. I caught your breath underneath an assumption and not a feeling, and I will not let it go. Do not act like you already know,” I said. But did she mean it? This is worth more than saving face. This is more than a t-shirt, more than a tattoo, and it is more than a feeling. Hannah: “I do not believe a word you have ever said. Because you love me so not, words they catch my tongue.” This is more than a feeling; more than a tattoo. I replied with something original something to keep your secret safe with: “Disparity means more than the writing down the hallway wall. I know you are restlessly losing sleep over me, tossing and turning underneath your satin silky sheets, quivering when my fingerprints touch your hips; rationalizing why the waterbed is cold on my side. You stakeout and steal my words from underneath my nose. In the meantime, my breath is hazy. Such a waste of time burning the midnight-oil while you bury me six feet-beneath, your crooked wooden bedroom floor; using my jaded nerves to drain my sensitivity, and then swinging your hair across your eyes with my rock resting on your wedding ring finger; doing something I’ll never regret, never forget. Tightly caress my breath and lack of charm while you sleep at night. Cat like thief, you stole air from my tainted lungs,” I said. Hannah: “I only touched your lips to mine because the smell of Escape was insatiable. Pour salt on my tongue, play the part of the lonely boy who was lost in time, until you swallow your pride, I hope this Christmas, you spend it alone." “Sometimes, I restlessly daydream wondering what it's like, to be you. Because dear, I’m ashamed to admit that I don’t understand what the anxiety entails of living a life as a shadow, of me. For the duration of my entire life, I’ve never been good at anything, save everything, but the effortless - facade I portrayed, in loving you.” I said. Hannah: “I’ve never been blameless of anything. You don’t remember, but one rainy day in the eighth grade at the bus stop, I helped you pick up a Biology book, you dropped. You were in such a hurry; you didn’t even look up at me.” She carries romance in the palm of her manicured, hands and it drives me wild. My self-restraint is resilient. However, at all costs hope is lost. While curled up next to me, with a maroon blanket, she keeps reminding me that everything will be alright. And, even though I don’t know what’s best for me, I hope to figure it out with you; we’ll figure it out- along- the-way. “The way your lip-gloss blemishes my pillowslip, most likely I'll by no means be the same; it’s all coming – back to me now endless pleasure saturated my wedding ring finger. Similar to a sneak peek up close and personal; I only kissed you because your lips were too close to mine.
Cat-like-thief, I stole a gaze from underneath your nose while you were stretched out near the fireplace sprawled out with your favorite tight-figure black jeans and fleece-maroon blanket. Will you ever connect the dots back to the truth of your reminiscent youth? Remember where we allegedly met? Open your willing eye that is about as far, you can get.” Hannah: “Should I've ever believed a word you said? I will not believe a word, will not believe a word, you have ever said!” You will never compose a series of lyrics, or a song that I'll ever cherish. My pain bleeds pins and needles outlining with ink the writing on the wall. Hannah: “Fill in with utmost transparent colors, within my heart, the purest of wood-grain stains. Leaving traces outlining your sincerity because I so adored you, right from the start.” To take this back is going to take everything that I never knew I had to give. “If you lose hope bury me six-feet-underneath, your bed floor. To take this back is going to take everything I did not know I had to give; sincerely me.”
I can't forsake much less regret or e