Cheap words are never worth the price. No matter how Inexpensive they are.

once a beautiful girl told me i was a mystery.
a game.
a puzzle to be solved
but ever evading resolution

i tried to grasp onto these words as my throat closed off.
they were coming
as the man with the lies spoke
with his fake profundity

they began to spill as his superficial voice grew
i began to tremble and i said to myself
you are a closed book
don't let him read you

and the tears wet my face as i tore the phone
away
from my ill-fated ear
i tried to lift my drooping heart

it sagged to the floor
i left it there
as i tore him apart
searching for what i had come for

they would not win this time
they would not rise up to save him
i would get them
and only then would i be solaced

his lies were cowards
they ran as i attacked
i hoped they wouldn't return
but not even i could dream up such an unreachable task

they would be back soon enough
along with all his other
fabrications and
ever continuous words



the latter were back sooner than expected



he spoke of the pain he's felt
and i sensed the tears falling
i almost felt for him,
as the wool began to darken my sight

he asked
"do you think we could learn about life from death?"
and the illusion was
shot

his words wouldn't have even been scripted in the tackiest film

did he really think i would credit this---respect it even?

this tawdry sentence 

sickened me 

it played

over

in my 

mind

"do you think we could learn about life from death?"

his words are always so cheap

so innocent 

it's hard to resist stopping to ponder the merchandise 

it's a good thing i've learned not to buy

because though the show is dazzling

the performance 

always. falls.

short.

but now i'm rambling about a conversation

that never happened

not to me anyway

because i wasn't there

my body was, yes

but me, oh the elusive 

me

who i really am

was gone.

whisked away by the wind

as the phone was torn from that



ill-fated ear 

"We're all individuals!"....."I'm not"....

I really miss my playlist singing to me.  It was so comforting to log onto my blog and hear everything that ever meant something to me play along with my writing. All the anger and pain I've felt, I would just listen to it, and type along to the beat, as the guitarist strummed the strings of my heart and the pianist struck the keys in my head.  Cheesy no?  Well that's my life. I like cliche statements, and sappy lines now ahh-days.  I talked to my beloved sister, Ari, about it and we've come to realize a few things.

Things My sister and I have Realized:


1.  Cliche statements are only cliche, because they are repeated.


2. Cliche statements are only repeated, because they are true.


3. We like Cliche statements and sappy lines.




I finished a book today.  Doesn't that feel good?  yes. yes it does creepy conscience asking me questions. Please go away now.  Anyway... It feels good.  I love those books that you can't put down until the very last chapter.  The books where you get to the ending lines and you let a gasp escape your crusting lips--- you've licked too often while you were in such concentration over the plot line--because you've almost reached the end and you don't want it to be done.  Ah so many people have written that line. Haven't they though?  So many avid readers who leaped into Alice in Wonderland and attempted to enjoy the silly decisions made in Gone with the Wind.  So many have written about not wanting a book to end.  So many who've not wanted to come back to the shining, sun lit, world of reality; where the glare of the bright light fuzzies up the line between right and wrong.  They want to stay in the world where the protagonist knows exactly what is right, where the villain chooses wrong for all the right reasons.  Where you can still have pitty for the bad.  Ah so many that want to stay in their books.  How cliche.  (:  


In the thesaurus it has a sentence before all the synonyms of the word cliche, it says "a good speechwriter will steer clear of cliches."  What a shame, I guess I'll never be considered that good.  I love how true cliches are, I can't steer clear of them.  It's like when you see what someone else is wearing and you think.. wow I like that, I'm going to dress like that, and when you do, suddenly you aren't being yourself you aren't "original" and you are claimed to be a copy cat (meow).  It's like that.  You were still being you, you liked what that person wore, YOU did, but because someone else has already worn it, it therefore CANNOT be yours.  Thats how I see cliche statements.  They have been said by others, so therefore it's not your opinion, even though it really is.  How sad.  How sad that suddenly in this world, where we are all considered individuals,  we have become an individual.  Singular.  One.  We are all one, and not in a good way.  


Is my train of thought on schedule?  
did you catch it in time...or were we too quick, too early?
because sometimes I really don't know if I make any sense. 


......anyway.  This sucks.  It sucks that I finally want to write and the words just don't come out right.  


I want to be an individual, 




















but isn't that just another cliche?

Golly Gee, You really don't need me...

clarity

keeps clouding my mind.

I can see things so easily, it's confusing me.

You don't like me, you like the idea of me.

And we're only friends because we have a common enemy.


These realizations keep occurring to me, and it makes me sad.

It's as if I've eaten a Bertie Bott's every flavored beans and I've gotten the taste of


Defeat.


ah well.
I don't care if we're Just friends; I'll just read a book instead.










I'm old enough now to pretend.