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perfect ghost · 06-04-2006, 05:56 PM

I'm sorry that my submission is late, I was having some problems with my internet so this is the first chance I have had in several days.

A dot of red on white

Sometimes I feel that there is no way to describe the way that day clashes with night… the pain I feel when you caress my skin with your burning hands. You would be surprised how much the touch of fire hurts even on the surface of something so numb. It felt as if you had stolen the majestic moon from the beckoning sky and placed in upon the corrupted ground where every undeserving soul could stare at the broken pieces and judge them. I felt sick as I watched all of this happen in my mind; the way that they would collect the star dust and use it to line their deceptive eyes.

I would shake as I watched the way they would stain the earth with the embrace of their stale words that would linger in their throats for several days, past the point of having any meaning at all. Their faces did not match the faces of those in my portrait of when the moon used to function in the dark oblivion.

Sometimes I feel afraid to close my eyes, and feel things that can only be felt within the corridors of a mind. But even in the isolation of a dark corner, I felt the burning of your touch, so intensely that even the cool rain could not wash away the effects of the everlasting pain.

Sometimes I expected to see imprints on my skin; ashes that spelled out every time that you pushed me so close to the edge. But every time I looked at myself in the mirror, it seemed that it was only my own touch that ever left a mark. Only my own interpretations and the things in which I blamed upon myself were significant enough to make a mark deep enough to last forever. In the wind I can see the colours of when you spoke to me at midnight, promising me moments of glory , moments that seemed to only linger and evolve in my dreams but they were moments that I once believed in more than any breath I could ever take. In the wind, I could see the colours of the water, where my face looked darker then it did when I looked into the mirror.

You made me hate the colour red, for all I ever did was look into the deepest shade and see the reasons as to why I could only see my own reflection and never have any proof of you standing there beside me. It made me wonder if I could possibly have caused myself the pain that I blamed upon you. I remember when your eyes looked as if they were tinted red, it was the night that I told you that I wanted to live in my dreams. But then you told me that in my dreams, I could not see colour; that every image would be a dark shadow against an exceeding white background.

I told you that it was getting too hard to breathe, while fire choked me, you lay surrounded by transparent fantasies, but you looked so scared. Was it simply a nightmare causing you fear? Or did you see the same image that I saw when I looked into the mirror?

After I had decided that you were only dreaming, I wanted to carve my face in stone; an everlasting picture that would tell you the story that I could never finish. While you were dreaming of the way you once restrained me from moving at all, I was about to forbid myself from seeing colour ever again. I decided that I liked the idea of being able to see one shade, where there was no exception for one dark figure to be frozen over so much white.

Because even if I was given eternity, I could never make you feel the burn the way that I felt it on my skin, for your eyes will never match the deepest shade of red.

06-04-2006, 05:56 PM	#29 (permalink)
perfect ghost Senior Member Join Date: Jul 2005 Location: Toronto,Ontario Age: 19 Posts: 737 Points: 1,929.93 Bank: 0.00 Total Points: 1,929.93 Donate	I'm sorry that my submission is late, I was having some problems with my internet so this is the first chance I have had in several days. A dot of red on white Sometimes I feel that there is no way to describe the way that day clashes with night… the pain I feel when you caress my skin with your burning hands. You would be surprised how much the touch of fire hurts even on the surface of something so numb. It felt as if you had stolen the majestic moon from the beckoning sky and placed in upon the corrupted ground where every undeserving soul could stare at the broken pieces and judge them. I felt sick as I watched all of this happen in my mind; the way that they would collect the star dust and use it to line their deceptive eyes. I would shake as I watched the way they would stain the earth with the embrace of their stale words that would linger in their throats for several days, past the point of having any meaning at all. Their faces did not match the faces of those in my portrait of when the moon used to function in the dark oblivion. Sometimes I feel afraid to close my eyes, and feel things that can only be felt within the corridors of a mind. But even in the isolation of a dark corner, I felt the burning of your touch, so intensely that even the cool rain could not wash away the effects of the everlasting pain. Sometimes I expected to see imprints on my skin; ashes that spelled out every time that you pushed me so close to the edge. But every time I looked at myself in the mirror, it seemed that it was only my own touch that ever left a mark. Only my own interpretations and the things in which I blamed upon myself were significant enough to make a mark deep enough to last forever. In the wind I can see the colours of when you spoke to me at midnight, promising me moments of glory , moments that seemed to only linger and evolve in my dreams but they were moments that I once believed in more than any breath I could ever take. In the wind, I could see the colours of the water, where my face looked darker then it did when I looked into the mirror. You made me hate the colour red, for all I ever did was look into the deepest shade and see the reasons as to why I could only see my own reflection and never have any proof of you standing there beside me. It made me wonder if I could possibly have caused myself the pain that I blamed upon you. I remember when your eyes looked as if they were tinted red, it was the night that I told you that I wanted to live in my dreams. But then you told me that in my dreams, I could not see colour; that every image would be a dark shadow against an exceeding white background. I told you that it was getting too hard to breathe, while fire choked me, you lay surrounded by transparent fantasies, but you looked so scared. Was it simply a nightmare causing you fear? Or did you see the same image that I saw when I looked into the mirror? After I had decided that you were only dreaming, I wanted to carve my face in stone; an everlasting picture that would tell you the story that I could never finish. While you were dreaming of the way you once restrained me from moving at all, I was about to forbid myself from seeing colour ever again. I decided that I liked the idea of being able to see one shade, where there was no exception for one dark figure to be frozen over so much white. Because even if I was given eternity, I could never make you feel the burn the way that I felt it on my skin, for your eyes will never match the deepest shade of red. __________________ Lock the last open door,my ghosts are gaining on me...