Metaphor

A tapping on the keyboard and the clacking isn't like the sound produced by other keys- not piano keys which fill my soul, or house keys which say 'you're home', or car keys that mean I am running far away.... instead I spill out cruel replies to your cruel words because we can't see each other's faces. It's so much easier to be callous when I don't hear it from your voice; so much easier to be harsh when I can't see your blue-green eyes asking why I said that. (And to think I actually slept that night.... is this where past betrayal leads us? To disregard someone who we used to say we loved, like they were nothing more than just an annoying child? Is part of the danger of unforgiveness holding the grudge against those who never even knew the trespasser?)

And are these ramblings (for the days when poetry won't come) just my way of hoping you're not like me? (Never fall in love with someone just like yourself. You start ignoring your own flaws because theirs seem beautiful) Or are they just my way of trying to work out what happened? (Last night you finally forgave me... it's so much harder to be mad when you have to see the other person's feelings scribbled across a paper face with pain's carving pen) All I know is that sometimes I'm tired of learning- I just wanna know for sure. Tired of the trial and error of everything and I just want to hide. I am not a scientist, even though biology is my best subject. I cannot test and work out and try again. I am a crazy artist who paints out the shades of gray, and weeps because black and white seem so harsh but sometimes you want the pang of honesty. 

And all my life is a metaphor.