Failure

The only real failure is the failure to try. And the measure of
success is how we cope with disappointment. As we always must. All we really know about the future is that it will be different. So we must celebrate the changes. Hope I think it’s called.

Read me!

  My friend “F” made this for me the other day. Makes me feel slightly less sad.

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Two Quotes : One Image

“To think of him in the middle of the day lifts me out of ordinary living”

“Do not seek the because – in love there is no because, no reason, no explanation, no solutions”

By Anaïs Nin

Death

While life slowly evaporates from your body. Those who look on can only contemplate. You’ve wished for this day for so very long, but once confronted with this cold reality, you desire to let go of deaths cold grip.

You struggle to find the words that best describes your state of mind. But all you see is regret. Forgotten moments and missed opportunities. But once you have summoned death, you must obey by his rules.

Close your eyes and inject yourself. You are only minutes away from the eternal sleep you have for ever longed for. Your own Novocain. Sleep my love sleep. You can’t feel my pain anymore.

Question :

When does it fade ?

“He left his pain inside me”

My first try at a sonnet. I used the traditional english organisation “ABAB CDCD EFEF GG” and to complicate things, did it in Alexandrine (12/12).

 

If only I had known, I would never have gone,

How one look can change everything, and everyone,

Of course, he took his time, it didn’t take him long,

The alcohol was flowing, it’s never just one,

 

Oh, it look us one week, just one goddam week,

Many would say that the shit’s hit the fan, so true,

But I ran, I ran so blindly in, a loveless freak,

Gave me absolutely nothing, and as if on cue,

 

First came the pleasure, then the pain dripped down my cheeks,

Just like the blind, Searching for his heart, for his key,

He knew what he did, he left his pain inside me,

Open the door, if only he knew what he seeks,

 

I wish him only one thing, that with every breath,

When he sleeps, I’ll be inside, creeping in like death,

 

 

 

 

 

L’organe

Des fois quand tu as un mal de cœur. Tu as cette envie d’enlever le tien. De le mettre sur une table et le regarder. Le malaxer entre les mains. Lui demander pourquoi toi. Pourquoi il a mal. Pourquoi tu as mal. Pourquoi il ne pourrai pas être médium et te dire avant d’avoir jeter les dés, que la partie était perdu d’avance.

Étrangement. Parler à toi même ça peut paraître dingue. Mais c’est ce qu’on fait lorsqu’on ne sait pas quel chemin prendre. Tu tourne, marche dans ta tête, dans tous les sens, essayant de comprendre pourquoi. Parfois il n’y a pas de solution. Enfin si, mais tu ne le sais pas. Alors tu continue à t’acharner à creuser. Puis un jour, tu trouves la solution. La page est tournée. Tu as tout oublié. Peut-être l’autre aussi. Peut-être pas.

L’amour c’est comme la mort. Après les pleurs, l’incompréhension, la colère, vient l’enterrement. Cela peut prendre des semaines, des mois. Même des années. Mais un jour, tu ouvres les yeux et il reste plus rien. Il est enterré. Tu nettoies tes lunettes et tu repars. Tu comprend certes pas plus qu’avant, mais tu as fait ton deuil.

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Je dédie cette écrit pour toi, F. Je t’aime. xxx