Jade Time

She was the obvious....

And obvious in so many ways....

And that's where he came into play

You see he specialised in the not so obvious.

So the mystery was how these two clicked without ever touching

Without ever....

Speaking.

Stares served as so much more than just communication.

Agreements had been sighed with blinks and twitching finger.... hanging in the air.

So she was the obvious,

And he specialised in the not so obvious.

Obvious beauty, the obvious dazzling smile, she claimed the attention of a room,

But within the obvious and expected.

She could have been special but she was obvious.

Gave nothing for the eyes to search.

But this is where he came into play.

Never had he once spoken to her.

But he had smelt the scent of her.

Closed his eyes and imagined being tainted with it at dawn.

A promise that the night before had happened,

And she would lie next to him as proof.

But that was firmly only behind his eyelids.

Her obvious smile....

He saw the trace of the frown she had worn all night....

The others just smiled back.

Her skin flawless.... they all looked in awe

But he sees her hand prints....

All over her body....

She's been trying to hold herself together again in the dark.

She had not lain in her bed alone last night....but she had gone to sleep so.

She gave pleasure.... it signified her worth, she imagined.

She gave but never received.

Now when she walked by, he would memorise the prints...

Make sure to have his hands cover her exact prints.....

He didn't want the pleasure but he wanted to SLEEP with her.

Hand prints to cover her previous, something she could feel.

He watched her.... determination set in.

He would teach her to receive.

He would teach her to be special.

Let her know that being obvious.....

Baring it all out,

It never stops them from looking for more.

Standing in wide open spaces does not mean you are not hiding.

She was obvious.....

He specialised in the not so obvious.

He saw the HER she was trying to hide....

He was fascinated by her unwanted....

Captivated by her breakages and cracks.

Memorised hand prints..... like maps.

He was sure that if he matched them they would lead to her core.

So many things he would do....

But she was out there...

He couldn't get to her.....

She was obvious, but he wasn't.

He specialised in himself.

The unseen....

She was obvious....

But he wasn't.....

These are drafts I've had since forever but somehow never been able to finish, but I guess reading them now, they seem to have somehow finished themselves. So, since none of them were big enough to post up on their own I decided to put them all together.... I think it makes an interesting read... I think. Personally my favourite is the second piece, when you leave something long enough and come back to it, you read it as something new and its great to see how you can take yourself back to that place in time.






He was waiting for me in the dark. he sat on the chair by my bed...just waiting....he had smelt my sheets and night dress before. I had no idea what else he had smelt. I walked in dropped mybag by the door. I could  sense him before my hand found the switch...strong finger on the soft of my palm stopping me from flicking the switch on. A hold on my waist...not fingers this time but hands. a forceful pull and we're back to chest,dangerously close. I'm scarred but I can not get my heart beat to pick up pace


                                                           ******


Souls slip away from the fingers of the earth and theres nothing it can do bout it...its responsibility was to look after them but they are slipping through...it now sits in misery while mother nature goes bout her thrashing...death screams are murderous and loud but she doesn't hear them. too much Pleasure in the havoc she is causing....souls too tiny and insignificant take their sentences on their knees,hands together and heads bowed,praying..pleas help Haiti


Mangled body parts lay askew everywhere,this place should be deserted but it isn't.it is occupied with the dead and the living know better than to interfere
Unheard screams are embodied in the lifeless....gloom paints a lovely picture where everythin lifeless has a character.Gloom knows no discrimination.
The tune of faded heart beats rock these lost souls to sleep.there is no caretaker for these ones,each remain on d memory of what was.... Please help Haiti
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The satisfaction that comes from our tumbling game is bearable. Each body part entwined in the other, yet heart and souls couldn't be any more detached. Activity engaged in only to feel.... both know that when the tumbling ends, things will be as they were. two minds secretly wishing to be as connected as their limbs and arms, two minds knowing the possibility is barely feasible, but hope lingers on the outline. So, during the tumbling, bodies say things that the mind and heart will never say. Fingers touch like the eyes that will never be locked in a gaze overflowing with the silent promises. lips kiss like words that will never be said..... but unfortunately can not penetrate any further than the skins surface. The tumbling game may seem almost comical, but it participants beg to differ, it is a language for the mute with voices....

I had always had dreams... i was expectant so it was expected... for a while you had been a reoccurring dream... and with each hard thought i pushed you into my dreams during the day... you see you were/are the person....and for a while you were my person... the dreams of 'how it was supposed to be' eventually turned into nightmares.... looking at the dream from an outsiders point of you it was hard to pick out the mare.... it was a perfectly beautiful dream of the end of a long wait.... it was a deserving dream.... we had waited so long... we had made it through....and now we met.... but it was just a mocking sneer, seeing as all my other dreams had disappeared at the stating fact that we were no longer together.... but this dream however stayed behind.... and would on occasional nights come and rip one 'Stitch' from my recovering heart... but enough of the gloom.... i wanna take you into the dream.... 

You would hold me, you should hold me... memories of the two of us muddled together in a corner of somewhere... i sat on your lap, knees up to my chest....and your arms going fully around me... it almost looks like you were trying to keep our lil bubble intact... i could smell you... all of you. The scent, relaxing, calming but honestly you were calming enough. We sat in our world and whispered secrets about the perfectness of our lil bubble/world.... the outside world all sat in their favourable positions starring.... but your eyes never left mine..... The world in full swing of vibrant colours.... like a kaleidoscope....but we were in black and white and our bubble in grey.... we were simple.... the bubble kept complications away and we lived it... it was time to leave behind everything that alters back, get our focus forward and our love back on track- i need you so much closer.... words that would resound in my head...
At that moment, i come on with a frantic struggle trying to get more of me in the inside of you... I NEED YOU SO MUCH CLOSER! Louder in my head... jabs and swings at my sanity. But i still needed you so much closer... our simple bubble was becoming thinner.... this dream was coming to an end and you would vanish and i would gain my colour... but the words were still on loud echoes in my head.... i still need you so much closer.... but they were futile efforts... i could feel our scent being mixed with the scent of the coloureds but i kept on struggling... grabbing as much of you as i could... you were oblivious to my wondering hands grabbing.... you were oblivious to your own disappearance, like you didn't know what it meant.... like you didn't know this was a dream and WE would be gone in a matter of seconds.... your expression remained unchanged.... your stare still never left mine but my vision had become blurry as liquid eased down my cheeks.... you were mute to my hustle and bustle within our tiny bubble..... still you starred on like i had never moved... like we were still playing the secrets game... at this stage i was pretty sure i was screaming.... your arms were still around my frame... but that was it... i could no longer feel the pressure of your hold and i was slipping but you weren't aware.... and then.... you vanished! i was sitting upright....no colour.... no scent... the only thing i brought back with me were the tears... that's all i ever managed to bring back and yet night after night i would still struggle hoping that one day i could bring you back with me.... despite the vanishing lines of your existence..... felt like your hold was getting weaker with each passing night... the dream itself was fading.... the thought of this should have brought relief but tears gushed out angrier.... my night of mares were finally coming to an end... but i was mourning the original dream and the expectations it brought with it.... cause they were finally coming to an end too.... SIGH... lay back down... this was routine... this was the second phase of my night... the dreamless night.... my mind would still race unconsciously but it was never able to create an images.... just the blank darkness... i started slipping AGAIN, but not before i put my finger to my face and tasted my own tears.... my desperate efforts to clutch onto something real through it all..... I NEED YOU SO MUCH CLOSER.... but now barely audible through the silent drops of my tears...

Today I died 7 times and you didn't know.... today I was put 6 feet under dirt and you didn't know. How could you know, I was left in a box for a while and they said they would leave a gap in time. A gap for whoever loved me to come and claim me, but I waited patiently as you do when you are put in your death box, legs straight and hands meekly crossed over my chest......but nothing....you never came.... I heard the people outside the fridge make jokes about reasons why no one came, they hurt.....but not at first, as first I thought, let them laugh, you would soon come and then I would rise and have the last laugh. But instead I had the first tear. And though already in my death box, it hurt a lot. I died today 7 times and you didn't know, how could you? you were never there. They put me under dirt in hopes than I would eventually turn into dirt....but I couldn't, you see I had unfinished business..... WE had unfinished business, but it doesn't work the same way as ghosts, I don't get to come up in transparent form and haunt you...... because technically I am not dead, just waiting apparently....for you..... so I've waited and nothing.... waited some more and still nothing.... suddenly I was the one being haunted, I was haunted for my patience, trust and hope in you...... and then I was mocked because even in death (well almost dead) I still believed. Days passed and the rage started to flourish and it was murderous. Hate soon came in to replace the rage. It was calm and deadly, it was solid and had turned the soft part in my chest concrete...... and so I found out after of couple of days that I had died. I had been completely consumed by hate...... you killed me, and now thoughts of whether this had been your plan all along played flirtatiously in my mind and I succumbed to them instantly...... I lusted for any reason to draw blood..... I closed my eyes and waited for the lifted feeling that you get, the one that was meant to come before I ever got into the death box....... when it eventually came I refused to walk into the light.....I had unfinished business and I was prepared to make that understood.........I died 7 times today and you didn't know, how could you, you weren't there. I'm coming after you and you have just unofficially signed off your sanity, but you don't know, how can you, you have never been there.......

For those of you who think they know whom this is about...it is not.... I could never hate said person.... the love wasn't THAT strong :p .....record time of 7 mins...I'm impressed with myself..... I'm not one of those ppl that write when they are filled with joy...i write when I need to release... when something is too much for me to carry, when it becomes uncomfortable...when I'm happy, I want to stay happy for as long as possible, so, i don't write then...i keep it all in... but when in pain sometimes....i like to see it all out in front me...and i have found that i am more expressive when in pain....writing this has put the biggest smile on my face...call me twisted....but this is what comes naturally to me....this is what i write...

Everything hurts...I put my first stitch in today and it hurt twice as much as the wound and I cried twice as hard.
There was nothing left to bleed though. These arms are no longer long enough to hold this body together.... I can't stop this breaking effect...I thought there was a limit to how much one memory could break me but I was wrong, cracks that were too tiny to see have some how found a way to split into two. These violent vibrations that rock this fragile body are catastrophic....they shake everything away...self esteem, the very core of who I am and I can't seem to stop it. I have become a cripple.... And to think that this is only the first stitch, to think that this one wound will require many more excruciating stitches... the thought makes me want to second think healing at all. You took me away from me, you broke me while you were still aware, it was a concious effort on your part....and though the blood I bled radiant, brighter than any other, still wasn't enough to call your attention to your written tragedy.... This written tragedy which is now my life. Cries and screams that frighten the body that they come out from were not enough to make you want to come see about me. Pain so deep it has its on heart beat. I gave everything and then some....and as I write right now I know I am not coming from a place where love exist or were the courageous dwell....but its surprising that I still carry this love in my heart.....it is represented in every shredded piece of this heart. I know I still have a pulse some where....although excitement runs over me when I can't find it sometimes, I wish to be without pulse.....I wish to not be. But it would be too easy to hurt once and not wake again.... too easy and too kind.I can not put a finger on the source of this maddening agony because again that will be too easy, throbbing of nothingness in me makes me beg for numbness... I do not sleep any more I just hurt in my unconsciousness and wake up to the reality of my pain. I feel no shame in reassuring you that you broke me, You took me and broke me. You can take credit for this art....you have orchestrated these daily nightmares I now live ...pinched myself so many times to try and wake up, but only causing further wounds which will eventually need healing in the future. If I refuse to heal I walk around being labled your trophy, a walking proof of just how strong you are.... But I can no longer be the blank canvas that you destructively paint on. I am weak from the shoves and pounding, the bashing and splashing, and from the occasional slashing..... I only take comfort in knowing that pain like this has been felt before, misery so comfortable has been broken before....I will be brave enough to put that second stitch in some day....but not today...today I wallow in the pain of this one stitch and rock myself from nothing into something.....Today is my first stitch...

This is about a relationship that has lost its spark = a story that has come to the end.... It is my book and I am desperately trying to save my pages from my once writer/lover and his loss of talent.....he was meant to finish my story once and for all.

You said we don't have to turn the page, that the story had only just began,
And yet we've turned so many,
we're close to the end and I don't have another book!


I thought this was my last story,
so I stopped collecting books, I'm all out!
Now I'm quivering with fear.
I have become so dependent on this story and recently obsessed with saving my pages.
This is all I got!


Why'd I listen?
How could I have thought this was it, my last story.
How did I give it all up for this?
Nothing and no one is this confident and sure.
And I should have known from my library full of books with endless stories.
My past books should have highlighted these signs, they should have schooled me better than this.
But unfortunately I am still none the wiser.....


This story is starting to look like others.
Lines and style are no longer warm and promising,
More vague and senseless.
My pages stay still obediently, take these here lines...


Scribbles no longer send sensations to my spine.
The movements of your hands against my pages are loveless and absent minded,
They cause damage, rips, tears, jagged cuts.


What happened to you hand?
Your well crafted hand that would excite my pages?
What happened?
Do these pages no longer birth inspiration for you?
Have they lost the smooth caress they give your palms?
Has this become like every other page you've written on?
Do you blame me for your staleness?


If all these are the case, I beg of you please stop now
And save me some pages,
Something to console myself with, maybe I can finish my story with my own hand,
Maybe...
I beg of you put a stop to this mad writing for the sake of what it used to be.
Pen marks on pages like daggers in flesh.
Ink blots like blood stains appear.


You abuse me and mock me with your pointless letters.
Please stop!
Do not TURN THE PAGE!
No more!
Our story has ended long ago but you have become eccentric and neurotic!
Put an end to this madness and a start to my sanity
TURN NO MORE PAGES!