Where Carousel Horses Go To Die… (Revisited, 24th September 2014)

Dawn grudgingly breaks with increasingly late hours. Held back by advancing nights, calm and cold concern. Empty streets, that once echoed that magnificent cacophony of early minutes and lasting love, now only hold the one known waning truth. That today will be just another grey and lonely day. Summer ends, and instead of bringing autumns splendour, graces us with nothing more than heartache and hardship. No rich ruby abundance of shinning colours and relentless aromas of drifting changing life. But the scaled ignorance of another phase. Where did those grand old seasons retreat too?

I sat waiting for you among the dying minutes, knowing you would never again appear. There was nothing more that could be done in an age of wants and never getting. We thought we could use natures laws to mind our minds, but what little use are they when one cannot discern the rights of wrongs. Was there ever a difference between them? Juxtaposed hopes or just forgotten memories? ‘What should have been’ clinched the Oscar for best picture every year. At least the visuals stimulate, right?

A man once said “Is a lie a lie if you mean it at the time?” I lied to you a thousand times until the truth was nothing more than myth. All to keep what little peace there was of that reality of ours in pieces, like our battered old mix tape. No one likes the tunes, but boy! Don’t we just pretend to please the other. All shits and giggles!

To have that sense of being equal I carved a cavern into your heart to mimic the crater created in that pitch black apathy I see ourselves drowning within. I could never reach that pedestal you dangle your feet tauntingly from high above. Were we too vain to see beyond the bold expectations of our minuscule purpose? I hoped for an air pocket somewhere between the cracks, but only ever found that thick black oil slick!

I waited for you like words in a book, waiting to once more feel your burning eyes upon their naked white sheets. But, if words haemorrhage on a page, then our book is a fucking massacre! That doesn’t stop me though. A thousand words fast track us to new beginnings and I know… That all this has happened before and will happen again.

Our Carousel begins, the music kicks in. Will today be just another grey and lonely day? Old horses creak in and out of excited existence. Once more born into fledgling fields of hopes and dreams, to die uncounted times at our whispered desires. All dressed up to only ever go round in circles. Lovers repeated. Happens again, happens again, happens again. The blood runs at midnight.

Here we go again!
And I try to think about the good times…

We had something, didn’t we?

© Phen Weston 2014

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