Loving You Like An Hourglass.

Loving you is like loving the sand in an hourglass

Silky smooth yet coarse as you pass through my fingers.

It’s like catching raindrops in your hands

for every bit you catch, so much more is slipping past.

We had a past.

A pretty good one too,

Yet I must be an hourglass

As I can feel you slipping through,

Your body running over mine

I guess we used up all our time..

I wonder if I’m still on your mind?

You’re on mine..

Every time I close my eyes I feel the touch of your lips, your mouth on my neck, your hips on my hips.

But then they open and I’m alone again, on my own again.

Looking at you through a pane of glass I can see that you’re happy.

Or you seem happy.

Either way I’m happy you’re happy or seem happy cause honestly as long as you’re happy it’s fine that I’m not.

You found friends and a direction

While I payed to get lost.

I disappeared into a sea of bodies and alcohol and way too hyped DJs

I did this on replay

Over

And over

And over again.

And while I’m getting better at hiding the pain

I can’t seem to stop meeting new people with your name.

I’m not sure if this is a sign that I’m supposed to forget you

I mean I’m certainly glad I met you

But now I need you to let me go,

For the final time

I loved you

Now it’s time for me to go.

.

.

.

C.C.

The Boy In A Thunderstorm.

Do you ever feel like you’re freefalling and everything and everyone you’ve ever known or loved is just slipping past your fingertips as you desperately try to regain control?

Cause that’s what I feel like.

I feel like everyone else’s life cycle resembles that of a raindrop, a slow steady fall where they can be lifted and spun around by wind’s encompassing embrace; I feel like a bolt of lightning.

Screams out, dashing down to the ground as quickly as possible

But in all actuality it’s my impact that hits first before they hear my words.

By the time I gather the strength to cry out it’s already happened.

The only thing left is a memory of the scream and maybe an afterimage if you were looking at me.

..it’s all very, brief.

Short lived.

By the time you blink me out of your eyes it’ll be like I never was.

A tiny mark on the ground for where my body landed.

And even this will be washed away in time by the rain I call my friends.

For isn’t that what rain does?

Washes away and purifies?

Though if we go with that

Does that not mean by proxy I was impure?

And if I was impure how does that speak of those who came before me?

The brief bolts of lightning who seared themselves into my brain leaving only a brief afterimage in my memories

A little mark.

Perhaps that is why lightning is forked?

So we can revisit the spots of those who came before

And those who will come again.

Perhaps that is also why the rain resembles teardrops,

they both came from the same place but took different fates

and still the rain will linger as dew drops until it yet too drops,

Just like i did

Only slower.

I cannot conceive which to be the worse fate

That of the rain

Or the one that I take.

.

Well my ear thing fixed itself but now I’ve come down with a cold two days before a commercial audition, really hope it clears up in time or there’s minimal chance I’ll actually get the part. Ugh, why world? Why?

C.C.

~A Cigarette Daydream~

Everyone disappears don’t they?

Especially the ones who say they won’t.

You were a cigarette daydream

Warm, fading, and small.

I’m not sure when I became addicted.

But running after you was like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands.

That is to say I had to watch you drift away.

Calling after with smoke filled lungs.

Wishing you would stay.

.

Or maybe I was the smoke.

The daydream.

For I’m losing sense of what is real.

Drifting through life.

Trying to feel.

Something..

One thing?

Anything?

.

Isn’t it beautiful how the wind dances?

In the trees and their leaves, the way it shifts and prances?

I envy the wind.

It’s here until it just..isn’t.

No one cries for the wind.

.

It’s so.

So cold.

I can’t feel my body.

Except for the smoke.

Within my lungs.

Oh, how it used to flow from our tongues.

Those smoke like promises.

To last a thousand suns.

I guess.

They couldn’t even stand.

A single.

Night.

.

I’ve lost myself.

And I.

I can’t see you.

Not anymore.

You’re gone too.

Or maybe here.

But just looked on through.

.

I exist right?

I exist.

I exist.

I exist.

I-I..

.

.

.

So I noticed a lot of people enjoyed The Volcano, this poem was obviously a bit of a different breed from it in terms of both writing style and emotion but I wrote this a year or two before The Volcano when I was in a fairly bad place of my life. Luckily with meditation among other methods I’ve managed to crawl out of that headspace to become the wonderful peace loving, tranquil, hippie soul that I am today. I think in the end I just decided, I don’t care about what career I follow in my life. I didn’t care about following a career. I wanted to find and chase happiness which led me to searching out every possible avenue I could do that from, so I did.

I’m still searching. But the more I travel this world, the more people I meet and places I go? They generate seeds of happiness in my soul. Soon once they’ve sprouted i’ll be able to carry them with me everywhere! Can you picture it? Won’t that just be bliss! Keep chasing your happiness and keep chasing your dreams! You’ll get there, I believe in you. ^-^

Peace, love, and tranquil vibes people,

C.C.