With weighty shields
Held up to hunched up shoulders,
She rides, inside inversions of
Javelin games that preceded
Fanatically styled themes of
Within previous experiences
Within emotion’s scents.
Wracked with regrets,
She sought evidential proofs;
That a life riddled
Did not, in kind, deign
That empires had been
Then, decidedly, estranged.
Her discontent in vulnerabilities
Proceeded by winged frenulum strengths,
Fraught in her gossamer threads,
That could’ve been avoided
Had she stopped to think for a bit.
Silent emanations of netherworlds
dastardly play with emotions
as though they were toys.
Jenga piles; lip services
placed and reapplied,
suctioned into vacuum seals
then labeled as misnomers.
Patterned jigsaw tiles;
warped cardboard designs
of pinpointed accuracies,
Casted pea pods;
of circumstantial amazements:
Miniscule orbs illuminated in subtle glows
Float towards cloudless cerulean skies
As plum blossom petals loftily distract her zigzagging eyes
In absorbing trances of mesmerizing perspectival glances.
Steadily, she places her hands on the hilt,
Bracing her legs to make the next leap
In the labyrinthine curves of tilted mounds
Where mice would swerve and sulk past her feet.
She pauses, images of misstepped darkness
Blinds in olive, sorrowfully fading inside
Abysmal medicinal remedies of impossibilities
Successionally staring in rotations, blankly.
An instruction guide
Or tutorials displayed
Efface their opponents,
Dismantle then restructure,
Adjust and adapt to rules.
Wielding a knife
Is the quickest way
Doubt lingered in the new world I stumbled upon
But I thought
It would not have been difficult for you
To hide your tracks with the materials
You kept stored in your backpack.
So I’d follow anything that came close
To footprints you left in deserted tundras.
She spoke of love and sex.
She had purple flowers
In her hair,
Threw them flamboyantly in lines
Like you had shown me before.
She used the words you used to use.
She had a caramelised voice that
Almost sounded like yours.
She spoke of tides and sands,
The last thing we spoke about
Before you departed on your adventure.
She’d throw letters at the cliff’s edges
Which I’d clumsily scramble to grasp
Before the winds could scatter
Them across the frozen topography.
The time she appeared almost matched the days
You decided to have me play
Your cat and mouse game,
Where I had always been the cat.
She spoke about our game too.
She spoke of birth on the night of my own,
Something you might have known.
I chased after her shadows night and day,
As birds would inconsiderately twitter
Regardless of the extended time frame.
She was a silhouette; a figure,
I probably, mistook for you.
She was similiar,
But the possibility remained,
She could have not been you,
Something felt wrong,
Something was strange.
So I tried to fold her
Into the pages of past mistakes
And set out to find you again.
Burdened by the time that had passed,
Thinking you had given up on our game
And called it quits,
Doubting the possibility
Of retracing your steps,
I tried to give it another shot,
As vultures circled round, decaying
Bodies in hopes optimistic venture.
Maybe if I had not been as successful
In my quests the last three times you left,
Then maybe I would have just kept her under the radar.
Instead of factoring in your deceptive nature
As a possible tool
You could use
To keep yourself
Hidden from perception.
One sided games have always been pointless
When opponents are overpowered,
Equipped with superior armor and weaponry
Or by faulty programming.
Fighting a losing battle isn’t worth fighting.
Or you stop playing.