our souls are fickle things

they float about the world

lightless and heavy

with one mission in their heart

to find their mate

to find that one that fits

to find the counterpart to their lightless and heaviness

 

there is a fable that connects a red string and your wandering soul

giving it direction and clarity

fate- a woman with power and strength

ties you to another soul that intertwines yours

that's pieces fit in with yours more perfectly than any puzzle

that connects with you on the deepest most cosmic level

you will touch and the stars will open up to reveal themselves to you

you will kiss and the flowers will bloom with vibrant colors of destiny

you will be connected through every life

every atom

every breath you take will bring you closer to them

and you will love

and be loved

 

the blue prince loved me like we were connected

he spoke to me as if I was the only one there

his careless eyes opening up a sea of possibilities

and dazzled me into a hazy stumble

we loved

we cherished

and every word he spoke I believed he was true

his manipulations became common

it was as if we were laying in a toxin-laden field

with thin ripped masks

holding hands and smiling

because we didn't know what it meant to be wrong

we thought that each step we took together

was in the right direction

but we had wandered so far off that yellow brick road

that it was amazing the flying monkey’s hadn't ripped us apart

it was a simple fact of...

we didn't fit

yet I loved

thinking that's what was right

for we were connected

yes?

 

then I mourned him

for fate had cut our tie

and I believed his soul now fell

into the vast darkness of the afterlife

I was left with a simple message

a fleeting letter written with hast words describing every detail

the blue prince had fallen and bloodied his pale knees and wrists

although fate isn't that kind

his green skin ripped at the seams

and his half-eaten heartbeat with anger

he reached to me his dead fingers wrapping around my string

I could not love a deadman, and he couldn't be unloved

he held onto me with avid determination

determined to crawl his way back

love love

he wanted love I couldn't give

for he pulled too far away, ripping our tie

his determination turned to anger and violence

each word becoming more poison-laced

and our toxin-laden field thickened

“I will always have a piece of you, and you will always have a piece of me,” he said

and he was right,

he held and held

and I couldn't seem to get away

because with each block I sent he seemed to rise from the rubble

it was like a rebirth and the cycle continued

“Sometimes I pretend they're yours”

he said,, along with a bloody photo and nimble fingers

i... couldn't breath

was this what love was?

fear?

how could a dead man be so alive?

how could a dead man never seem to cry?

that deadman was so alive

and every moment next to him was a blur

I don't even remember how I buried him once again

all I remember is the magnetic pull of the shovel 

as he disappeared under the dirt 

I laid cement over his grave and set it with garlic and silver 

I took every precaution

but that deadman

will always have a piece of my corpsed soul