'It's my heart. It's broken. Can you tell?'It's been a bit long since my last post so it's high time I had an update.
Got back from Naples, Italy late last Sunday but had major drama at work before hand.
I'll go into depth on these a bit more in my next post but for now I wanted to post one of the most honest, cynical and jaded pieces of my writing I may ever have written.
I wrote it a couple of years ago. I had finally reached new levels of clarity in regards to dating and men and after a heavy drinking binge of a night out I came home full of angst and just wrote the anger down in the best way I could in such a state of intoxication of both alcohol and bitterness.
After I had written it and I had read it in the harsh light of the day with a heavy hangover I decided the only title I could possibly call it was an old word word of French origin with aristocratic connotations, therefore a very 'me' word; Ingenue.
Anyways, here it is:
INGENUE By A.R.W.
Bastard followed by a fucker, don't think I could take another.
You to me were just a retaliation, a physical act of gratification.
I thought I had you in a box by my bed, then that all changed with what you said.
No man shall come so close again, too close you got...never again.
As times of H.James and times of now, men always seem the same somehow.
You always think you have the upper hand, but this again I will not stand.
Although I strive to be meek and mild, no longer am I a forgiving child.
I feel for all those who think they know me so well, for to you all I say go to hell!
I paint a picture of calm deep blue lochs, but I am a torrent of twisted knots.
A thorned rose I am and forever shall I be, get too close and I shall hurt thee.
Once I was a little lamb, that lamb was long since slaughtered for a gram.
A gram of lies of which I bought, a long hard lesson I was taught.
A hymn to the heart, a hymn to the soul, love is a lie, love is droll.
I cry not, I cannot weep, I pray for rain, my soul to keep.
An old soul, a young mind, love is a projection, love is not kind.
Was it love? What is fate? It's all such a tattered state.
A state of affairs which I shall no longer engage, what's left of my heart is in a cage.
A cage of which I myself have built, I will still have my marital kilt.
I see the truth behind the lies, do not think it is in their eyes.
The eyes lie still, as silent as the grave, don't look to them, but to yourself, be brave.
Lovers come, and lovers go, in the end, the finale is always woe.
And so I leave you with my findings, they are mine, not all are binding.
I am just a simple boy, who loved and lived with open joy.
But seems it is so, this was wrong, this was not the path to go.
So who or what can you be, in life, in love, if it's not "me”?
You to me were just a retaliation, a physical act of gratification.
I thought I had you in a box by my bed, then that all changed with what you said.
No man shall come so close again, too close you got...never again.
As times of H.James and times of now, men always seem the same somehow.
You always think you have the upper hand, but this again I will not stand.
Although I strive to be meek and mild, no longer am I a forgiving child.
I feel for all those who think they know me so well, for to you all I say go to hell!
I paint a picture of calm deep blue lochs, but I am a torrent of twisted knots.
A thorned rose I am and forever shall I be, get too close and I shall hurt thee.
Once I was a little lamb, that lamb was long since slaughtered for a gram.
A gram of lies of which I bought, a long hard lesson I was taught.
A hymn to the heart, a hymn to the soul, love is a lie, love is droll.
I cry not, I cannot weep, I pray for rain, my soul to keep.
An old soul, a young mind, love is a projection, love is not kind.
Was it love? What is fate? It's all such a tattered state.
A state of affairs which I shall no longer engage, what's left of my heart is in a cage.
A cage of which I myself have built, I will still have my marital kilt.
I see the truth behind the lies, do not think it is in their eyes.
The eyes lie still, as silent as the grave, don't look to them, but to yourself, be brave.
Lovers come, and lovers go, in the end, the finale is always woe.
And so I leave you with my findings, they are mine, not all are binding.
I am just a simple boy, who loved and lived with open joy.
But seems it is so, this was wrong, this was not the path to go.
So who or what can you be, in life, in love, if it's not "me”?
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