An all consuming fire raged on the plains. The sky was stained with smoke and the sun was now growing from the fields. An echoing roar deafened the senses as everything was taken by faux passion. Her lips cue the rain that will flood and spill over your eyelids. That hand print is now sun burnt into her side, but she hides the scars on her brain behind a confusing smile. You feel the need to rip off your own skin and put on someone else’s, being you is not what anyone wants. Her tears become your tears, raising the crop to it’s former glory with time. Time does not move fast enough for this field, another fire will start itself no matter how wet the ground is. These thoughts flash bright and harsh as lightning, striking eloquently and purposefully. Your time is coming to an end, you’ve decided. It’s for the best and most selfish of reasons: the pain is starting to trickle out your palms and mouth, desecrating sacred skin. With each glance at a sharp edge, all of the warmth of a small flame, every high building you see, the lighting strikes echoing the word, “relief”. As the mighty roar may numb the senses, the feeling of pain still lingers in your heart, as the flames may be fed and the field consumed, the pain is more than skin deep. Although her lips can resolve, they remain pursed in confusion, “Why are you hurting me? I’m just trying to help you!”

Your mind is suddenly blank, the field has nothing, the fire is nowhere, and you can not tell her why. All you can do is apologize and grow the feeling to raze the crop altogether. You’ve sown nothing over the years, the field is cursed, it was all rigged at the beginning. You’ll tell yourself that she won’t miss you. You’ll lie to yourself, and then you won’t touch the field. You’ll remain huddled in a ball on the bed, wondering what brought you to this conclusion and why you can’t follow through. It isn’t hope that you’ll change, it’s fear that you won’t come back from this mistake. That this final mistake would leave the deepest scars hidden behind the prettiest of faces. You stay for her, you die for her, but change you can not.

I’m closing shop.

I wondered if I was on the right path. It was full of fog and mist. As I ventured forward, I heard echoes from the past and looked down to see footprints. The dirt held no signs, but the trail was clear. So I cautioned forward, out of doubt and fear. I wasn’t sure how close I was or how far I went. But I had to move forward, there was no time to sit. At the end of the road, I found my town. The sign said Passion and the dreams gathered ‘round. I claimed my new home in the name of my old city, the one my parents built when they were witty. It is my turn to make a town grow, only armed with knowledge they bestowed.

spaceplantz:

Kiss me