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There existed a friendship in my life that I like to refer to as a poetic synchronicity. Here follows our hearts, bleeding onto the page…

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Me: I ache for the miracle that will lead me to you.  I have sheltered myself with contradiction – self-preservation and self-destruction co-exist as my guide in your absence.  My numbness embraces disbelief cloaked in remorse.  Faithless, I make an empty plea to the resounding silence that outlines nonsensical elusion.  Left to wait, every nerve vibrates with the lack of control while drops of naive hope somehow slip through the cracks in the hollow shell left behind.  I must blindly follow my contradictory nature – preserve by burning all bridges to self-reflected passion, relying on a miracle to forge connections anew.

She: Flickers of light redden the darkness shielding my hungry eyes.  Wrapped in chaos, self inflicted scars burn my slipping soul.  Slowly, I feel my humanity fade into the distance.  And yet, I yearn…I crave… as I find myself consumed in this eerily mindless world, I search inward for any traces of you left behind.  Mechanically, I open my eyes to see but find nothing worth maintaining.  Find me, awaken me to what this life should be, for alone I fear I breathe freely only within.

Me: Though isolation comes self-inflicted, too often self-implosion cracks the fragile surface, suffocating my heart within its comfortable cavity, beckoning an outward explosion to welcome an influx of air into my contracting lungs, which begin to shrivel in anguish at the loss of passionate freedom.

She: Panic strikes my frail existence, terror swells in my voiceless throat.  Suffocating from within, I welcome the end.  Too long I have suffered alone in this prison of self-reflection, diving into the deepest depths of my dying heart, hiding from you.  Caving inward, I claw at the brick walls built to fortify my desperate need for your touch.  I wish to burn, to feel this torture I have both created and earned.  I pray for salvation.  Enduring this agony as it slowly seeps to my lost soul.  Time slides effortlessly as I wait for a burst of our once shared passion.

Me: I beg for the end to finally snuff out the suffocating panic, stealing my breath, my voice, my bleeding heart, existing as doubles in my self-reflecting prison.  Any remaining logic reveals I warrant the panic that viciously tears at the vestiges of my taut nerves, pulling against the brick hiding me from your burning caress, which blindly mirrors the anguish of a lost soul unable to surrender your memory to the encroaching blackness.

September 25, 2010

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