Dolor: Poetry of the unspoken

"I think I've seen this film before.."

The window was whispering
"Honey, it's late. You're supposed to be sleeping"
The day was pretty tiring,
But the war cries inside my head were deafening.

Forcing me to move my eyes upon the screen inside my mind,
Where plays a scene of a familiar film where I pretended to be blind,
Not literally, but it was a moment when I was a rock under a hydraulic press,
All eyes on me and the atmosphere was tense.
You're talking to someone else,
Are they expecting me to get pissed?

The spirit of envy was never on me,
My conscience is as clean as the Greek's sea.
It is when a deja vu contacted my senses,
Immediately, I alerted all my defenses.

History was written for a reason
Was that reason supposed to be for people to repeat the same destructive actions?
No, and yet just like as written, people never learn.
There was one that I learned though, but the others didn't because they were not the ones who lost something. Or maybe she thought she did.

The next scene was vivid,
So clear that she didn't want it to end as it did.
The owner of the point of view regretted that she didn't hide it,
She knew it was gonna be a bad idea, and now she's just gritting her teeth.

The window whispered again "Can you blame the fire for spreading after lighting up a match recklessly with your name previously being recorded in cases for arson?"
Recalling the time I've spent in that prison,
I remembered how the film was about me after I got out of suppression,
And the frame suddenly flashed the scene where I first lit the fire.

The fire resulted in me having a second degree burn,
I got hurt and lost my home but when I turn,
I saw the house of my neighbor whom I despised,
It was also burning fast in a wild fire of my spite.

It was a horror movie that I would never want to play again,
But the Goddess of destiny has a weird way of coming back to those who caused pain.
As much as you dodge the bullet, if karma was the gun,
You will never be saved even if you run.

Inside my head were screams
"Stop the tape! I don't like this type of making-me-repay scheme!"
But still, it continued with handcuffs on my wrist
I tried wiggling my fist,
Trying to get rid of the cold metal steel,
The cold travelled from my hands to the room I was put in,
"Now you must pay for your holding a match stick and attempting a second arson",
And they left me there in complete isolation.

Next, I felt the cold wind brushed through my face,
I opened my eyes and I was in daze,
The television was still on by the time I was awake,
Shivering on my feet because I know that I was again remaking the same movie that I said will be moved to drafts because the plot was awful,
And again watch my life as it turns into a romantic downfall.