Choices. Our lives are based on them. The smallest thing can change the history of our world. It can change our present and future. You can make the choice to walk across the street, depending on what step you take depends on whether or not you make it the whole way across. You can choose to say something which can cause a reaction. Or you can choose to do what's right for you, or what's right for everyone else around you.
I've never been good at making these decisions, the easier one is to be selfish, to serve yourself before others, but that is wrong.
These choices can tear at your very fibre of being, make you into something unrecognisable by even the people closest to you, the ones you love and would do anything for. Choices can make you good or evil.
I didn't take the easy option, but then again, I never do. What's exciting about getting everything the easy way? Nothing, it would make me a shell of myself if I took the easier option.
So I lie; I lie to my family, my friends, but mostly I lie to myself, I tell myself that this is right even if it rips tears from my eyes and punches the sobs from my chest. I silence them, the voices in my head are mute, the wind in my hair is nothing, the smells around me are tasteless.
I can drink from the most beautiful creatures and they are bland. I can talk to the most interesting beings and I am deaf. I can touch the warmest skin and I feel cold.
The life I wanted was not the one I got because I made the choice to please others, not myself. I stayed with him though my heart pulls somewhere else, or what's left of my heart. It doesn't beat anymore; a silent echo of noise is all I receive.
The fire froze over in me a long time ago.
A single black rose in a field of white.
The pain is a work of art; threaded together by the choices I made, causing a blissful sting in my eyes; its woven red and black, a few silver whispers of tears sewn in separately. This is left to hang, a fire burning deep and bloody for everyone to see, though they misinterpret it, thinking it's a fire of love and passion in my eyes when it is a frozen lake of despair and hate. How can two be mistaken so? Because they aren't that different, emotions are twisted like the choices I made.
They are mine, no one else's, so the only person to blame here is me; the curly red head with the innocent smile and chocolate eyes. The slightly glistening skin that she adopted from her father, that's me and I hate it.
The choices I made were stupid and if I could choose again I wouldn't have it any other way because everyone around me is happy, all but one, though he is far away.
The love I had for him burnt like a hot poker in my mouth, a tingle on my tongue, a scar for all to see, the most beautiful scar I wear in my eyes that everyone over looks.
The Dog thinks he won, but in the morning when I'm gone and his bed is empty with nothing but two words he'll know who really won.
The winner is the dark haired, red eyed diamond in Italy, he gets the prize and he'll appreciate it and know how I've felt.
The Dog will wear the pain like a cloak; dirty and dark, choking with every step and every step will leave another fragment of dusty pain with it.
Meanwhile I'll be happy with my new choice, and me and my love with wear the crowns like they weigh nothing, a simple feather in the wind, white as the peace that will be distilled in my heart.
Walking down the cobble stone streets in the dead of night, as literal as it is said, the wind brushing my hair and the stars smiling at me for the first time in years I finally feel free, even the pained howl sounding from hundreds of miles away not deterring me as I see the crimson eyes looking in mine with wonder.
I simply wind my fingers in his hair and smile at him as his arms hook around my waist and we look nowhere else, because to be honest;
Love Cuts. x R