Posted in Uncategorized

An Open Letter to an Ex Friend

Dear you,

A friend breaking your heart always hurts more than a lover doing so. 00d3cff43aa61afd3c3471ec86bea04a

I wore black today. I thought wearing black would be appropriate as I was mourning the death of our friendship. Black dress, black ribbon, black shoes, even black underwear. I removed my sparkly earrings and wore a black necklace instead, with the word ‘Karma’ hanging from its center. It burned like a hot blade against my skin. I refilled the vodka flask that I spent the night before emptying, with black
coffee instead. I had to stay awake for the funeral. I had to “mourn my loss.”  But that’s when it hit me. That’s when I realised that it wasn’t a loss. You see, death usually implies something that was taken from you unwillingly. Someone taking something from you without there being much of a choice.

You had a choice. You had a fucking choice. But you decided to kill our friendship anyway, because it meant nothing to you. It was a murder. Cold blooded, blue murder.

I should have worn red instead. I should have worn my set of white pearls and donned my darkest shade of red lipstick. I should have laughed and clawed at your corpse. I should have thanked you for showing me that we were never friends to begin with.Trust and loyalty meant nothing to you. You were right when you said “I’m not like  the others”. You are far worse. The others never had the heart to do what you did. The others cared. The others were human. You were different. You were the worst. I only wish I had known sooner.

I hope one day, karma finds home in your arms. I hope one day, karma scratches its name in to your skin. And I hope you remember forever how it feels, to trust someone, only to find out that they threw everything away with just a snap of their fingers, without a care in the world. As if you meant nothing.

Dear you, this is the end. I would ask you to Rest in Peace, but I’d be lying.

 

Yours truly,

Painted Shadow

 

Posted in Uncategorized

I choose you.

Dear you,

I know it’s tempting and I know its exciting. I know it gives you goosebumps and I know it also makes you feel alive. But you can’t keep playing with fire and expect not to get burnt, every single time. You can’t keep cutting yourself and expect not to see blood, every single time and you can’t rip your heart out of it’s prison cell and toss it to the wind, hoping someone would bring it back. You’re not invincible. You’re not fire proof. You can’t keep doing this over and over again. At some point, you’re going to have to choose yourself.

Yours truly,

Painted Shadow

Posted in Uncategorized

I’m Spinning Around in Circles

Like a pendulum

I watched my sanity swing back and forth 

Hitting the four corners of these hypnotic white walls.

With each thud and each bang,

I heard it echo through the crevices and dark alleys of my mind

Passing whispers and taunts

Egging me to take one step closer to the dark.

I felt the last strings that held bits of me together, 

break off and snap, as easily as I pictured my own neck would

on the nights when I saw my 10-year-old self

holding a doll in the corner, humming a tune I was no longer familiar with.

I wish I could hold on and stay for a little while longer

I wish cradling the past didn’t become a habit

I wish you were there for me. 

Yours truly,

Painted Shadow

Posted in Uncategorized

Big girls don’t cry.

Falling in love with you was like skinny dipping in winter

Falling in love with you was like

Benjamin Franklin

standing in the pouring rain

holding the key high enough

hoping to feel some sort of spark

some sort of electricity.

It was reckless

It was a suicide attempt.

Falling in love with you

was the only thing I felt good at.

 

– excerpts from a book I’ll never write.

 

Yours truly,

Painted Shadow

 

Posted in Uncategorized

Ballerina

I’ll call her my very own ballerina Image result for ballerina

as she pirouettes in and out of my mind;

her feet barely touching the ground

passionate, yet seemingly detached

as if they weren’t real limbs at all.

I’ll call her my very own ballerina

as she turns and points and scurries through my thoughts

poised and graceful;

dancing her own performance in hypnotic circles

in the theater of my mind.

She finishes in a grande jeté,

She leaps forward from my hidden corners

and bows in front of me,

arms outstretched

white knuckles clenching a beating heart

She was my muse,

and I, her biggest balletomane.

Yours truly,

Painted Shadow

Posted in Uncategorized

Hurricane

Chapter 389

I was lying face flat on the bed

sweat dripping along the curves of my body

Your fingers  scratching away the memories from last night,

desperately trying to forget.

Chapter 349

You greeted me as you pushed me against the wall of the elevator,

while planting the softest kiss

on my hungry lips.

My heart churned awake

Thunderstorms and hurricanes brewed in the pit of my belly.

Chapter 370

You floated along,

careful to be with everyone

but me.

I replaced the desire of wanting  you

with the bitter taste of vodka.

Chapter 355

You laughed and tossed from side to side

messing our neatly arranged bed.

That afternoon, I found Orion the hunter on your back

Chapter 362

Your perfume lingered on my neck

and I found myself inhaling the memories of you

I was way too comfortable

I was in trouble.

Chapter 381

I’m sorry I didn’t seek comfort

from the warmth of your skin

I wish I was different, sometimes.

Chapter 1

You had me at Hello.

– – – Extracts from a book I’ll never write – – –

Yours Truly,

Painted Shadow

Posted in Uncategorized

This is not a love poem.

If I were to write a love poem

I would stitch my fingertips to the constellation of stars on your back

so my fingers would never get lost in translation

I would trace the outline of your body

and draw maps better than Google,

my fingers would find every small dent,scar and bump along the way.

I would kiss you until the name of your lover was erased from your tongue

I would sing you songs about the stars and the moon

and when they collide; when our lips finally touch,

I hope to God they’ll form a world around you.

I would whisper stories about your smile
to the birds and the wind

and watch it sing back the stories for everyone else to hear.

I would argue and debate and fight

that comfort can only be found in the

depths and corner of your thudding heart.

If I were to write a love poem,

I would name it after you.

 

Yours truly,

Painted Shadow