Changes

Change is the one constant thing in everyone's lives. Your age, your appearance, your bank balance, your heart and soul all undergo change . Your occupation could go from being a tiny tot to being the CEO of a big company, over a lifetime. You could go from being the nicest and sweetest girl in class to being one of the bitches, over a number of months. You could become a slumdog millionaire, rich within a matter of hours. What drives these changes? What drives us to become who we are today?

Some would say it's our life experiences. Going through those tough spots or not having had any at all. Having had people who have used me constantly for what I can give them while giving me nothing in return, you would think that I would stay away from such situations ever again. And you know what? I do. I have gotten better at saying 'no' to people than ever before. I have stopped shying away from standing up for I want to do, the best for myself. There are obviously certain weak spots where I have allowed myself to be naive and careless about myself but those are under reconstruction currently.

What about peer pressure? That seems to be a large motivator for most actions these days. You want to run with the prettiest girls in class? The ones who bitch and moan about everything all day? Who try to make things interesting and play games? Who are reckless with people's feelings? That's fine by me but I sincerely hope you do not get hurt by them. I have grown wary of such people over the 12 years of abuse I've suffered from people just like them. They are nice when it is convenient, when you agree with them, when you're on their side. The moment you take a stand for yourself and are on a side that's not theirs, they go into offence mode. They are the type of people who will turn on you in a matter of seconds. That's how the whole world works.

Your own insecurities and weaknesses leave you open to such abuse and pushovers. You decide where and who you want to be, darling. Let nobody else decide that for you because what you can do, nobody else can. Don't change for the worse, choose what's best for you, not what others will like to see. You choose the path you want to take, take the road not taken.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference. 

Dreams

The hero that I tried to be
It wasn't the role for me.
Shattered time and time again
Yet I never got off the train;
As it twisted and it turned
My gut dipped and churned,
Losing a piece of my soul,
It just spun out of control.
And now that we barely talk,
I'm sinking like a frozen rock.
Again I live in my dreams
Because in them it seems
I still have my best friend,
And in them I can pretend
That reality doesn't matter.
It keeps swirling far away
Dragging me in its sway.

The Piano II

His fingers moved seamlessly, one with the ivory keys, brushing the black brothers gently. His feet worked the pedals as his heart flowed through his limbs. He loved making music on this beautiful piece of art. The black ebony shone in the thousand dazzling lights of the chandelier, brighter than anything else his eyes could see. The tone of this exquisitely crafted instrument resonated with the sounds of his furiously pumping heart. They were one, the man and the Ebony black grand piano.

And then the sky fell upon them.

They were torn apart, why, no one could really tell. He watched with anguish as the other musician touched her keys and drowned himself in her sensual tone. His heart was heavy, his eyes drier than the Red Sea as they made music together, as the songs he had wanted to compose rose from them instead. He lived and relived the feel of the softness of that beautiful ivory surface, on each key. He decided he would never make music with another piano again; it could never feel so right ever again. He lay down in the niche he had carved out for himself, and holding on to the little tag that had come with Ebony, he closed his eyes that he may live in his dreams...

A tinkling woke him. There stood a Walnut piano, lustrous in the dawn rays. A minute spark of interest flew from his fingers. He reached out and struck a chord. The harmonious notes echoed around the room they were enclosed in. He played another, and another, and another. And then he withdrew his hands, for he could feel his heart writhing inside of him. He stepped back, slowly, tiredly.

The Walnut grand piano stood silently, waiting, longing for her notes to be sounded again, to feel the joy of making music. She watched as the man sauntered over again, hesitantly caressing the inky black keys, his fingers working their way over the ivory planes. She basked in the joy of it, carefully forgetting that he might leave again but hoping he would not. She knew he felt he was playing just some piano, not the piano, knew also that his heart was not in the music he was making with her, but hoping nevertheless that he will make music as he once had, fiery and passionate.

But he did leave, his heart still yearning after the Ebony beauty.

The cold, still strings lay in the dark, dust beginning to settle as the Walnut grand desperately hoped he would come back. She watched and prayed.

When he came back, sweet music filled the air. She rejoiced but a small, nagging doubt crept in for it seemed his fingers struck the keys yet his heart was far away. She strove to give her best, her strings resonating as loudly as she was built for. 

The music stopped abruptly. A soft sigh before he played another song. He shook his head, his heart heavy. He played a chord, tears in his eyes. "This would be a lie," he whispered, as he stood up as an old man would. His steps wobbled, his joints hurt and he was short of breath as he walked away. 

The Walnut grand stood echoing in the silence, worn. She slammed her keys shut, vowing to never let it open until his fidelity has been proven to her. A long, minor note rang out as she wailed into the darkness. 

The Ember

The void of oxygen hurt,
It clenched its throat;
Strangling the air out,
The last wisps it'd held to.
It shivered and withered
As the icy remnants of it
Fought to stay alive.
Shrivelling as slugs in salt,
It heaved laboriously
And took that one final breath. 

The Skeletons of Paranoia

That familiar mist slinks around.
Heart pounding. Thoughts burning.
Thud, thud, is all I can hear now.

The second hand drags on by;
Strung up, like a marionette doll
I jerk, this way and that, I cry.

Fingers tremble with each word,
As the cold sliver of steel feasts,
Screeching, my soul it clawed.

I know it's there, yet you insist
Smoothly wooing my beliefs
Towards, "It does not exist."


The voices fade away to deathly silence.