Broken CD's

A new tragedy in my house caused by the wielder of disappointment, me.

The pieces of my anger and desperation lay there in a pile in the form of broken CD's. My tears have long dried up, but the memories wont fade away. The night leaves it's impression on the soft sheets of morning. The rain stains the pages of the book. The hate remains strong, almost tangible.

 

Every glare has a meaning, every twist of the mouth a confirmation of disappointment. The words unsaid seem to wield the most power, cut the deepest, hurt the most. The why's are left unanswered, the if's ignored.

 

Music too loud, sadness too evident. Light too grey, darkness not dark enough. Vines made up of emotions grasp everything, winding around bedpoles and climbing up the staircase. They strangle everything, determined to make sure their emotions are the only ones felt. Despair, sadness, disappointment, desperation. Happiness, freedom, love, kindness. The latter is taken over by the former who trails the stench of hurtful wishes and bad dreams.

 

The vines are impossible to avoid, impossible to ignore. They take over everything and it seems hate really has become tangible. Happiness has become an echo. The proof of past smiles remain only in pictures hidden.

 

As the vines crawl up the wall, we fade into the shadows and give up the thought of anything good today. The CD's remain broken, the vines remain unharried, the tears remain fresh. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Its what we all hope under the cloud of depressing emotions, even if we wont admit it.