The Breakdown: Confrontation

She woke up drenched with sweat, the pain in her chest almost unbearable. There was nothing in the room as usual, but still she looked around. The clock said 3.00am, but she was sure that had to be wrong. Because if it was right, then it meant she had only managed to sleep for thirty minutes. Thirty damn minutes! A month ago, if only, her most detested phrase, would never have been her sing song. A month ago, she would never have guessed that there was a possibility for a still heart to have a wound carved in that hurts even when it refuses to beat. A month ago, she would never have watched her (http://mi-herownworld.blogspot.com/2010/05/shattering-dreams.html).
She lay back on the bed, wondering what she was to do next. Sleep was definitely not forth coming as she had now come to find out, and her thoughts needed to be kept at bay, as they always led to destruction, not a good thing for her in case one was wondering. She glanced at the study table looking at the pile of books she was meant to have read. Suddenly a train passed by breaking the almost deafening silence, and though the sudden sound was startling, she found herself missing it as it faded. The silence seemed to reecho, and with it, others seemed to wake (http://mi-herownworld.blogspot.com/2010/05/things-she-fears.html).
Her most dreaded dream came back to haunt her, and this sleep she knew she would be forced to ride out. She sat in the big room amongst others, all awaiting the same thing. Except with her, she felt those who had come to wait on her were expecting more. What a scary predicament she was in. on the one hand, her self-loathe and definite disappointment she seemed well enough to handle. Years of experience had thought her so. But on the other hand, theirs she was not sure she could take on. Suddenly her name was called, and the others seemed to fade away. She was alone, about to face a crowd of expectations and long lost dreams (http://mi-herownworld.blogspot.com/2010/05/blank-pages.html).
Day is here at last, and her sentence to hell has come to a pause. She gets up, showers and dresses. She puts on the appropriate amount of makeup, not too much to draw the attention, but just enough to cover the scars. The smile is turned on and the eyes begin to twinkle. She turns off the house lights, walks out the house and says a bright hello to all that pass her by (http://mi-herownworld.blogspot.com/2010/05/who-would-believe.html).
So now that you have heard her tale, write her a bed time story to help her day. One that rhymes and brings a real smile to her lips. Not the one she currently owns, that she gets for free, but one she can have and hold. If you do decide to take on this mission, click below and send the tale with the name you wish to be addressed by:
tiazmi@gmail.com

Then refresh the tales in 30 mins (for thats how long she has to sleep), and watch the smile you have given her unfold....
She lives to love, she loves to live, she lies to love, she lies to live….

Who would believe....

If she told them she was not as shinny within,
If she told them the glitter was surface wise only,
If she told them at the end they face a fall,
Who would believe?

If she told them she was scared and alone,
If she told them it was now far too late,
If she told them the hands of time showed no mercy,
Who would believe?

If she told them her fate had mislead,
If she told them the blame was misplaced,
If she told them she despised she more,
Who would believe?

If she told them the pain was there,
If she told them it was not an excuse,
If she told them her punishment was worse,
Who would believe?

If she told them how she tried,
If she told them how she feared,
If she told them how she fought,
Who would believe?

She dreamt of a happy ending,
She dreamt of that long awaited smile,
She dreamt of that final pride,
But now at the end,
Who would believe?

Shattering Dreams

She watches the chips fall off,
One, then two, then another still.
She watches the paint wash off,
A stroke, then two, then another still.
She watches the picture fade,
A scene, then two, then another still.
She watches her world crash,
A piece, then two, then another still.
And as she watches her shattering dreams,
The tears still won’t fall.

She watches the story change,
One line, then two, then another still.
She watches the faith despair,
One inch, then two, then another still.
She watches the scenery move by,
One, then two, then another still.
She watches the color fade,
One tint, then two, then another still.
And as she watches her shattering dreams,
The tears still won’t fall.

Is it pride that holds them in?
Is it fear that keeps them sealed?
Is it fate that she has come to accept?
Is it her nightmare that has now merged with reality?
Is it disbelieve and false hope that hold her still?
What is it that keeps her still heart still still;
Even as she watches her shattering dreams fall at her feet?

Things She Fears

Silence is a terrible bed mate,
But suspense is a vengeful lover,
And failure, the unrequited love.
In unison, my heart’s breaker.

The reaper is a dutiful collector,
But the movie player is like the Russian mob.
And the cause is the coy mistress.
The union holds the tag: DON’T FUCK WITH.

The numbers cut like knives,
But letters drain the blood. Slowly. Surely.
And the fallacy in her hopes is like a salty balm,
In their union, she toys with death.

She has opened Pandora's box,
Slowly but surely it is unveiled.
The world shall soon bear witness,
Of her self-doctored execution,
And they shall watch the first outpour in disappointed silence,
Not caring for the story that led up there in.

Blank Pages

Blank page sits before mi,
Like the book of judgment.
I sit here waiting for the words to appear.
I sit here waiting for the invisible ink to move across.
Writing my sins,
Dirtying the now beautiful white with black, brown and crimson.

Blank page stares back at mi,
Like the book of judgment.
What would the ink write?
What details would it leave out?
The world awaits, and I shudder in fear.
For they must turn to hate and disgust after my sins are revealed.

Blank page sits before mi,
Like the book of judgment.
Would it be enough to hold my transgressions?
Or would another blank paged stare need to be endured?
A bitter laugh bubbles up as I realize like one vain at death’s door,
I wonder more about my appearance than I do the vast sins I posses.

Blank page stares back at mi,
Like the book of judgment.
Funny isn’t it; that we are back at this?
Then I wished to have a longer leash,
But now I see that the shorter was better,
As being yanked back from a great distance hurts a lot more.

Blank pages sit before mi,
Like the book of judgment.
Don’t judge mi is what I wish to say,
I had my reasons is the explanation I have to give.
But as I stare back at the soon to be disappointed stares,
I save my breath.

Blank pages stare back at mi,
Like the book of judgment.
Soon I know it would hold my sins,
My deceit, my lies and my failures.
And though I have enough reasons to make my case before the judge,
I fear sadly, this jury is worse than he.