Forever and Ever
Axel Martin
“‘Maybe...you'll fall in love with me all over again.’”
“‘Hell," I said, "I love you enough now. What do you want to do? Ruin me?’"
‘“Yes. I want to ruin you.’"
“‘Good," I said. "That's what I want too.’”
“Who said that,” the girl asked sheepishly.
“Ernest Hemingway, in his book, Farewell to Arms,” I replied.
The lake appeared stagnant on the hilltop beneath the trees. Intimacy between Rae and I felt vibrant as ever while the Sunday summer sun rested on her pulsating radiant skin.
“Oh I know him! My father used to read his poems to me before he passed,” she reminisced.
Her plain expressions refused to acknowledge the immense sorrow that has inflicted her over the years.
“Well your father sounds like a phenomenal person,” I said at an attempt of sympathy.
“He was, meaning not anymore, your average dad... at best. Don’t try and patronize me for losing him. He’s dead. It’s life. It happens,” she said in resentment.
“Rae, I didn’t mean to patronize you… I just knew how much he meant to you, that’s all,” I pleaded.
Her face turned from fierce embarrassment to soft vulnerability as her face was embellished with sharp tears. She reached for my arm in compulsion.
“I miss him, Ari. I think about him every damn day. He was the only person that loved me unconditionally,” she sobbed.
“You’ll see him again one day. But for now, you have to be strong okay? That’s what he would have wanted,” I said emphatically.
Rae has a chameleon-like presence when it comes to her emotions. But I see right through that. I see a person who has been hurting like an injured mother buck protecting her three young children on a busy road. Plagued by adversity, but too prideful to accept help. Or, maybe it was fear. Fear of getting hurt again.
“Rae, I’m not your father, and I never will be… but I love you, and for as long as I am alive, I will always love you,” I said without hesitation.
“Ari, I don’t know what to say, I… I....” she stuttered seamlessly.
She leaned over from her side of the towel we shared, overwhelming me with beauty. Milky grey clouds replaced the eye blinding sun creating a grey atmosphere that perfectly contrasted with her popping luminescence. She glared at my beating oblivious soul with tempestuous keen eyes.
“I love you too,” she said, mirroring my confidence.
She reached through her back pocket for what could be… chocolate? A love note? A gift..? All in contrary to what it was, a knife. A knife with a blade sharper than the stairs to hell. She wrapped her arms around me as she stabbed me six times in the back. Her hands melted inside of me as she wept.
“Now, we will always and forever have each other,” she said, in infinity.
grass isn't greener
Axel Martin
The formalities of your body are merely supplementary to the nature of your grace.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am no adequate man.
My heart pays no fair price.
Through love or through lust,
my lack of treasure is twofold.
With my soul in poverty,
you struck me a chance.
Gave hope in flight,
when I could not stand.
Your love for me is hard to know.
What's a diamond to a dog,
What's a fish to a frog?
We infer a touch.
We know no such.
Until one day we leave,
and it all comes at once.
Cycle
Axel Martin
You said you wouldn't go back.
----------------------------------- But, you did.
Did he cast a spell on you?
Did he hold you at gunpoint?
I'm not mad at you, and for the most part— I understand.
I truly do.
Manipulative people are manipulative for a reason.
Just tell me,
what does he provide that overrides his quoted, narcissism, selfishness, and jealousy?
Though my words speak hostility,
I genuinely want you to know
the end of the tunnel
doesn't
stop
in darkness.
Camphor Tree
Axel Martin
hey, have u heard of the old man and the camphor tree?
have you heard of him?
the old man who goes outside
to pray under his camphor tree.
he goes outside every day
and every eleventh day he sees an angel.
nobody can hear,
see,
nor smell the angel.
only the old man knows the angel.
many have doubted the angel’s existence.
many have labeled him crazy.
many have avoided him.
however, the old man continues to pray.
on one serendipitous summer afternoon,
a curious woman joined the old man.
the old man wasn't bothered by the visitor,
nor was the old man intrigued.
the unknown woman calmly asked,
“when will i see the angel?”
the old man didn't acknowledge her.
angered, the woman raised her voice.
“you're a fraud! there is no angel!”
the old man slowly turned to face his angered visitor.
the old man smiling, pointed at the tree,
“i have been out here for fifteen, now sixteen years.”
the old man rose up facing away from the camphor tree,
“the angel has never appeared”
“until you came”
“on the eleventh day of the eighth month, during the sixteenth year.”
she loves me, she loves me not
Axel Martin
you said the things that made my ears warm
the type of affirmation that assured my unhinged mind.
i couldn't explain it
i didn't want to.
i only wanted your unwavering commitment
but that's foreign to you.
you simply didn't understand how to love.
and i can't blame you.
nobody ever stayed long enough to show you.
so you made your own happy ending
your own narrative.
i was the villain
and he was the savior.
i was too late
and he was right there.
the night swept you
so off you went
in hopeless void
to imaginary wind.
then, suddenly i see you
floating in abyss
realizing just how
shallow you've been.
Breathless
Axel Martin
I wish I could sing
So I can hum to a Canary
And relieve the pain
To whisk away
Great faults I claim
In this dangerous world
Full of trial and conviction
I lived an eternity
But my sentence isn’t finished.
________________
What difference makes different?
When fake is fiction
Love is pain
Healing is addiction.
They’re all the same,
No matter the smile
No matter the face
No matter the promise
No matter the place.
I love you
But you make me feel numb
The seeds in the air
Make the sky turn blue
Me seeing you
Makes me see two
________________
I wish I could sing
And deliver this message
Until that day
I’ll look for you...
Breathless.
hopeless romantic
Axel Martin
My favorite game as a child was chase.
Our version contained the natural elements, person A tries to run from person B.
However, this game had a stipulation.
If person A got caught, person B was warranted to give person A a kiss.
This caveat only applied to my female counterpart and I.
Although I wanted to maintain the integrity of the game,
the prospect of receiving a kiss was tantalizing.
I was very much capable of escaping this girl every single time I stepped foot on the playground,
but I needed to know if she would really kiss me.
I needed to know if she liked me too or if she was just playing the game.
Maybe, if I let myself get caught, I’d see for sure.
A guaranteed answer, to my troubling question.
But I couldn’t do it.
I was too afraid.
Afraid that she wouldn’t kiss me,
and I’d know the truth for sure, her true intentions.
One day I had miscalculated my path.
I found myself in a circular play-structure, where the entrance is the exit as well.
She had finally won.
She captured me.
I was stuck.
I couldn’t run.
I couldn’t hide.
I couldn’t think.
I had to face not her,
but my fears.
Whether she liked me or was she just playing with me.
I mean, the game.
She took three steps towards me…
I closed my eyes,
and she popped a kiss right on my cherry chapstick covered lips.
She leaned away and looked at me.
I took the cringe out of my face
and grinned wider than I ever have.
She smiled back and ran away to the recess bell.
Today, I still run, I still hide, I still contemplate, but now it’s not kisses. It’s love. I run and run until there’s nowhere left to go, and I look the recipient of my love in the face hoping they love me. However, the same hopeful ending in elementary doesn’t occur… I don’t get that kiss. I get the painful realization that they don’t care, they don’t want me, they don’t love me. They were just playing the game of chase all along.
high
Axel Martin
\\
i can't do this
...
i'm with the wind,
i'm through the sky,
i'm in the air.
...
floating tall,
but not far.
moving fast,
but not quick.
...
sometimes i cry
...
i am sad
[...]
i am happy
...
i close my eyes
and dream about you.
...
at the park,
by the lake.
...
we're in the air,
we're through the sky,
we're with the wind.
...
we can do this.
//
Axel Martin
high
I am the Abuser.
Axel Martin
Your naive character ambiguously taunted my narcissistic mannerisms, enabling the snake that internally resides to slither through conversation with ease.
I listened, I learned.
More, I begged.
You felt the comfort, privileging, as nothing seemed to matter more besides you, and the sun that rules your earth.
Peace eclipsed your heart and let out an euphoric feeling, beyond plastic relief.
My illusion that I have curated, is working with immunity.
Nothing I say nor do can be rationed in the same sentence as wrong.
You are mine now.
Like the rest, you are under my control.
The light is absent, and your functionality is futile.
Now submit to me in eternity, and accept your fate.
i'm paranoid
Axel Martin
my fears have manifested into illusions of deceit by those from a dreadful past.
i see you in living color though, you're different.
i can see you've been through it too.
the pain.
the sorrow.
the pending sense of doom as you eye those pills.
our heart,
we view it as... repairable
but the beats to my livelihood are only complementary to your presence.
i gave you too many tools
but i thought you were my mechanic
a savior
the one.
granted, you were never real though.
only a manifestation of fears to illusions from a dreadful past.
Cycle part 2
Axel Martin
Every night,
it's the same windswept song.
However,
my love for you swells.
You put me in havoc,
then console me so well, i forget you scar me.
Your manipulation is unique to classical love.
The tactic of build and destroy is malign,
putting my head through an array of mind games.
Then you offer an ice pack that convinces me you heal all wounds.
Your abuse knows no bounds,
but your affection is unwavering.
Love that'll never end.
You're my Valentine, Satan.
Axel Martin
I submitted to you by the complex laws of love. As passion eclipsed our bodies with beauty, I searched for my invidious utopia inside the pitfalls of your hibiscus. My masculinity goes unquestioned by the soothing cries assuring the innocence we so desperately cling to. The absence of light sparked the greatest flame by Prometheus himself.
-
Our love is a dark love, indeed. Fueled by jealousy and envy, cooperating and functioning at its apex. I distance myself periodically to balance not having you and the dark that inherently makes up our love in my trivial meaningless life. Anger and insecurity is a result of the painfully inescapable calamity effecting us beyond comprehension.
But, at the end of the day,
I crawl back
Dance my words around your ears
And hold you like none other...
You're my Valentine, Satan.
Intertwined
Axel Martin
Bitter and Distressed,
I float to your calming words to mellow the storm.
Thorns among Roses,
I cling to the belief that I will be relieved of this curse filled void that is alive inside me.
Death is surely an easy way to go.
Free of Fear.
Free of Anger.
Free of Sadness.
Free of Free.
The thought crosses my mind as often as not.
Sizing the belt up against my throat.
I feel the waves of emotion.
Good. Bad. Irregular.
I imagine the distraught face of you by the occurrence of my passing.
You and Death.
Intertwined.
Axel Martin
“‘Maybe...you'll fall in love with me all over again.’”
“‘Hell," I said, "I love you enough now. What do you want to do? Ruin me?’"
‘“Yes. I want to ruin you.’"
“‘Good," I said. "That's what I want too.’”
“Who said that,” the girl asked sheepishly.
“Ernest Hemingway, in his book, Farewell to Arms,” I replied.
The lake appeared stagnant on the hilltop beneath the trees. Intimacy between Rae and I felt vibrant as ever while the Sunday summer sun rested on her pulsating radiant skin.
“Oh I know him! My father used to read his poems to me before he passed,” she reminisced.
Her plain expressions refused to acknowledge the immense sorrow that has inflicted her over the years.
“Well your father sounds like a phenomenal person,” I said at an attempt of sympathy.
“He was, meaning not anymore, your average dad... at best. Don’t try and patronize me for losing him. He’s dead. It’s life. It happens,” she said in resentment.
“Rae, I didn’t mean to patronize you… I just knew how much he meant to you, that’s all,” I pleaded.
Her face turned from fierce embarrassment to soft vulnerability as her face was embellished with sharp tears. She reached for my arm in compulsion.
“I miss him, Ari. I think about him every damn day. He was the only person that loved me unconditionally,” she sobbed.
“You’ll see him again one day. But for now, you have to be strong okay? That’s what he would have wanted,” I said emphatically.
Rae has a chameleon-like presence when it comes to her emotions. But I see right through that. I see a person who has been hurting like an injured mother buck protecting her three young children on a busy road. Plagued by adversity, but too prideful to accept help. Or, maybe it was fear. Fear of getting hurt again.
“Rae, I’m not your father, and I never will be… but I love you, and for as long as I am alive, I will always love you,” I said without hesitation.
“Ari, I don’t know what to say, I… I....” she stuttered seamlessly.
She leaned over from her side of the towel we shared, overwhelming me with beauty. Milky grey clouds replaced the eye blinding sun creating a grey atmosphere that perfectly contrasted with her popping luminescence. She glared at my beating oblivious soul with tempestuous keen eyes.
“I love you too,” she said, mirroring my confidence.
She reached through her back pocket for what could be… chocolate? A love note? A gift..? All in contrary to what it was, a knife. A knife with a blade sharper than the stairs to hell. She wrapped her arms around me as she stabbed me six times in the back. Her hands melted inside of me as she wept.
“Now, we will always and forever have each other,” she said, in infinity.
grass isn't greener
Axel Martin
The formalities of your body are merely supplementary to the nature of your grace.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am no adequate man.
My heart pays no fair price.
Through love or through lust,
my lack of treasure is twofold.
With my soul in poverty,
you struck me a chance.
Gave hope in flight,
when I could not stand.
Your love for me is hard to know.
What's a diamond to a dog,
What's a fish to a frog?
We infer a touch.
We know no such.
Until one day we leave,
and it all comes at once.
Cycle
Axel Martin
You said you wouldn't go back.
----------------------------------- But, you did.
Did he cast a spell on you?
Did he hold you at gunpoint?
I'm not mad at you, and for the most part— I understand.
I truly do.
Manipulative people are manipulative for a reason.
Just tell me,
what does he provide that overrides his quoted, narcissism, selfishness, and jealousy?
Though my words speak hostility,
I genuinely want you to know
the end of the tunnel
doesn't
stop
in darkness.
Camphor Tree
Axel Martin
hey, have u heard of the old man and the camphor tree?
have you heard of him?
the old man who goes outside
to pray under his camphor tree.
he goes outside every day
and every eleventh day he sees an angel.
nobody can hear,
see,
nor smell the angel.
only the old man knows the angel.
many have doubted the angel’s existence.
many have labeled him crazy.
many have avoided him.
however, the old man continues to pray.
on one serendipitous summer afternoon,
a curious woman joined the old man.
the old man wasn't bothered by the visitor,
nor was the old man intrigued.
the unknown woman calmly asked,
“when will i see the angel?”
the old man didn't acknowledge her.
angered, the woman raised her voice.
“you're a fraud! there is no angel!”
the old man slowly turned to face his angered visitor.
the old man smiling, pointed at the tree,
“i have been out here for fifteen, now sixteen years.”
the old man rose up facing away from the camphor tree,
“the angel has never appeared”
“until you came”
“on the eleventh day of the eighth month, during the sixteenth year.”
she loves me, she loves me not
Axel Martin
you said the things that made my ears warm
the type of affirmation that assured my unhinged mind.
i couldn't explain it
i didn't want to.
i only wanted your unwavering commitment
but that's foreign to you.
you simply didn't understand how to love.
and i can't blame you.
nobody ever stayed long enough to show you.
so you made your own happy ending
your own narrative.
i was the villain
and he was the savior.
i was too late
and he was right there.
the night swept you
so off you went
in hopeless void
to imaginary wind.
then, suddenly i see you
floating in abyss
realizing just how
shallow you've been.
Breathless
Axel Martin
I wish I could sing
So I can hum to a Canary
And relieve the pain
To whisk away
Great faults I claim
In this dangerous world
Full of trial and conviction
I lived an eternity
But my sentence isn’t finished.
________________
What difference makes different?
When fake is fiction
Love is pain
Healing is addiction.
They’re all the same,
No matter the smile
No matter the face
No matter the promise
No matter the place.
I love you
But you make me feel numb
The seeds in the air
Make the sky turn blue
Me seeing you
Makes me see two
________________
I wish I could sing
And deliver this message
Until that day
I’ll look for you...
Breathless.
hopeless romantic
Axel Martin
My favorite game as a child was chase.
Our version contained the natural elements, person A tries to run from person B.
However, this game had a stipulation.
If person A got caught, person B was warranted to give person A a kiss.
This caveat only applied to my female counterpart and I.
Although I wanted to maintain the integrity of the game,
the prospect of receiving a kiss was tantalizing.
I was very much capable of escaping this girl every single time I stepped foot on the playground,
but I needed to know if she would really kiss me.
I needed to know if she liked me too or if she was just playing the game.
Maybe, if I let myself get caught, I’d see for sure.
A guaranteed answer, to my troubling question.
But I couldn’t do it.
I was too afraid.
Afraid that she wouldn’t kiss me,
and I’d know the truth for sure, her true intentions.
One day I had miscalculated my path.
I found myself in a circular play-structure, where the entrance is the exit as well.
She had finally won.
She captured me.
I was stuck.
I couldn’t run.
I couldn’t hide.
I couldn’t think.
I had to face not her,
but my fears.
Whether she liked me or was she just playing with me.
I mean, the game.
She took three steps towards me…
I closed my eyes,
and she popped a kiss right on my cherry chapstick covered lips.
She leaned away and looked at me.
I took the cringe out of my face
and grinned wider than I ever have.
She smiled back and ran away to the recess bell.
Today, I still run, I still hide, I still contemplate, but now it’s not kisses. It’s love. I run and run until there’s nowhere left to go, and I look the recipient of my love in the face hoping they love me. However, the same hopeful ending in elementary doesn’t occur… I don’t get that kiss. I get the painful realization that they don’t care, they don’t want me, they don’t love me. They were just playing the game of chase all along.
high
Axel Martin
\\
i can't do this
...
i'm with the wind,
i'm through the sky,
i'm in the air.
...
floating tall,
but not far.
moving fast,
but not quick.
...
sometimes i cry
...
i am sad
[...]
i am happy
...
i close my eyes
and dream about you.
...
at the park,
by the lake.
...
we're in the air,
we're through the sky,
we're with the wind.
...
we can do this.
//
Axel Martin
high
I am the Abuser.
Axel Martin
Your naive character ambiguously taunted my narcissistic mannerisms, enabling the snake that internally resides to slither through conversation with ease.
I listened, I learned.
More, I begged.
You felt the comfort, privileging, as nothing seemed to matter more besides you, and the sun that rules your earth.
Peace eclipsed your heart and let out an euphoric feeling, beyond plastic relief.
My illusion that I have curated, is working with immunity.
Nothing I say nor do can be rationed in the same sentence as wrong.
You are mine now.
Like the rest, you are under my control.
The light is absent, and your functionality is futile.
Now submit to me in eternity, and accept your fate.
i'm paranoid
Axel Martin
my fears have manifested into illusions of deceit by those from a dreadful past.
i see you in living color though, you're different.
i can see you've been through it too.
the pain.
the sorrow.
the pending sense of doom as you eye those pills.
our heart,
we view it as... repairable
but the beats to my livelihood are only complementary to your presence.
i gave you too many tools
but i thought you were my mechanic
a savior
the one.
granted, you were never real though.
only a manifestation of fears to illusions from a dreadful past.
Cycle part 2
Axel Martin
Every night,
it's the same windswept song.
However,
my love for you swells.
You put me in havoc,
then console me so well, i forget you scar me.
Your manipulation is unique to classical love.
The tactic of build and destroy is malign,
putting my head through an array of mind games.
Then you offer an ice pack that convinces me you heal all wounds.
Your abuse knows no bounds,
but your affection is unwavering.
Love that'll never end.
You're my Valentine, Satan.
Axel Martin
I submitted to you by the complex laws of love. As passion eclipsed our bodies with beauty, I searched for my invidious utopia inside the pitfalls of your hibiscus. My masculinity goes unquestioned by the soothing cries assuring the innocence we so desperately cling to. The absence of light sparked the greatest flame by Prometheus himself.
-
Our love is a dark love, indeed. Fueled by jealousy and envy, cooperating and functioning at its apex. I distance myself periodically to balance not having you and the dark that inherently makes up our love in my trivial meaningless life. Anger and insecurity is a result of the painfully inescapable calamity effecting us beyond comprehension.
But, at the end of the day,
I crawl back
Dance my words around your ears
And hold you like none other...
You're my Valentine, Satan.
Intertwined
Axel Martin
Bitter and Distressed,
I float to your calming words to mellow the storm.
Thorns among Roses,
I cling to the belief that I will be relieved of this curse filled void that is alive inside me.
Death is surely an easy way to go.
Free of Fear.
Free of Anger.
Free of Sadness.
Free of Free.
The thought crosses my mind as often as not.
Sizing the belt up against my throat.
I feel the waves of emotion.
Good. Bad. Irregular.
I imagine the distraught face of you by the occurrence of my passing.
You and Death.
Intertwined.
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