Running as Father-S.M. Bjarnson

Running as Father

            He calms his breathing as he slows to a stop; watching the world run by him, in his green sea water swimming shorts. His hair has aged to gray and blackish, he tries to keep strong in such a hating world. He moves and moves and steps further and further, running and jogging farther away from the abyss. Searching for comfort and help with raising teenagers who seem to despise him. They intended no harm or hurt.

            Suit and a tie is what he lived in for days and years as a grown up, trying to make an impact in society. As he ran past a merry-go-round he found himself having a flashback, of when the teens were little and innocently loving; he smiled at the memory. Passing stores and houses in a small town where he had grown up and where he had raised his own five dollar family.  He was quaint and a little man sturdy and strong-minded. He was selfless in others eyes, he waved and they waved as he swept on by down the road. While he rushed through abandoned streets and alley ways, he began to wonder his purpose among others and himself.

            Stopping to breathe in the fresh night air, agitated he took a slow walk around a red brick house. He stops and stares across at the snowed on pine trees and faded yellow garage door. So many memories, so many happy and sad times, all seemed to flow out at him all at once. A prideful tear drops onto his white bland shirt, he whips it away as he drops to his knees, frustrated wondering where he had gone wrong with them all. Exhausted and hopeful he gained courage and rose from his brandished kneeling, he sprinted giving way to lost and useless questions that were unimportant to a day. 

-S.M. Bjarnson 

I'm Only Living a Lie When I tell my soul I am fine, by S.M. Bjarnson

It wasn't clear to me about how far our livelihood had come.

We are travelers on a path nobody has a map too. 

I listen to the yearnings that pull me to every unmentionable path. 

I am alone.

Watching the waves hitting the bottom pits of the ocean.

They are encircled in time when there has been no time but now.

We are living in a breathless fought over universe only we are the only ones at battle.

With ourselves we are the only ones looking for victory when victory has already given into us, time and time again.

We are poor soldiers waiting to go home, awaiting a decision from the leaders we think execute their plans with us in mind and not from their own ambitious winnings.

We were right weren't we, leading a team of masked teenagers into a battle, no one had ideas of winning.

Our paths stained with generational bloodlines. 

Our maps colored with veins.

The world was a line and there had been for curves created to save those who were not absolute in the eyes of our leaders.

Claims and taughting of voices made it clear we had no voice or reason to commute the exile pathway.

After everything is said and down we evidently find ourselves at the beginning again, with a clearer frame of mind, understanding what roads to neglect and others to partake in the journey of.

Rumors will be true if you let them live on.

The fictitious character we call time can be reset anytime.

I'm only living a lie when I tell my soul I am fine.

-S.M. Bjarnson

The Whispers in the Walls, by, S.M. Bjarnson

They heard my cries, but did they whisper to one another about my pains, my belonged sorrows of fear. There I stood upon which I would call shivering waves of tempting tides of love and hate; both exotic and fundamentally underdeveloped to the extent they can become. Much is known about the things I wish to share with you; here I am lying in a bed of memories.

The only ones I have of you.

I pull fragments of each second I got to spend with you, the touches underneath each breath I was able to take around you. The one that always seems to live on inside my darkest corner, the way you didn’t kiss me or thrill the premonition I had always wished for, between me and you.

Bloody mirrors, paint the way of what honestly could have been, definitely still could be. I fear, as many times before me in making a choice. To taking that chance, here I will live with you, always in an infatuating romance of love and desire.

Those are things you always wish for, times you go back to.

Recalling memories you always wish to step through and become again. Relive the fantasy of living in such a moment of you and I. If I cover my eyes will you become the person I have longed for and so desired? Will we speak of unending times of running away to once lived romance, to somewhere alive inside of us?

Blindness covers me and still you make me keel over in a torture pain in my gut, I have to see you. The rush of what could be secretly wants me to let it take over, devour every good intention I ever existed in. But, it would never work. Things such as fantasy never seem too, so I’ll live out my last desires with you, upon this wrinkled page of thoughts and somewhat begot feelings; I once loved to reminisce in.

Now I am searching for a destiny, a reality that I don’t have to keep putting in quarters in the slot machine to live over, again, and again. You’d be there right alongside of each nightmare, holding my touch with such fragrant fiction that you would kiss away any pain I had in me, I loved you, then and there in the twilight of my dreams. You were always there in the back of my pocket, waiting to become reacquainted with my imagination.

I will take you anywhere you want, my dreams are fading and suddenly I want more out of you, the more I had not really ever gotten the chance to be a part of. Looking back upon everything I had, everything I wanted to have with you, with myself, I am sick with envy. Most of us, wishing to live as we did, in the moment of times we can remember.

I wish for, I live everyday to be that way. Living in each memory as if I will remember them all, because they are all that elastically brilliant to you, to me.

Truly that is really the only place you have ever really, breathed a free atmosphere, inside of my own free atmosphere, in the world of imagination. Creative spurts of happiness overflow to your part of the haven I have given up to you.

My time spent fantasizing about what could-be, I want to touch basis with hormones, undiscovered.

In the end, we are just like that a faded memory made up into a story created by a lust, or desire I am not being fulfilled by, an hour of your time and here I stand oblivious to reality. Maybe, I never wanted it to be true.  Dreaming on an open dream. Wish, a little?

-S.M. Bjarnson

I hope you all are enjoying the short stories I have been posting, please feel free to comment and talk amongst the fellow readers, we are all living a storyline.

A piece at a time, -S.M. Bjarnson

My concentration broke and I was at the worst of them. Breathing under strict rule of where and when I was to leave and bleed my words and to whom. My glued eyes shut I reminisce in a once victorious land. I stand alone at the battle field of the mercenaries. I am a king if not a queen to the trap of solitude. I am the heir to a terrible crumbling kingdom. With cruel intent I will seek them out to become more than just a maiden in a chamber. There will be blood as there always is the red stain among the men in history.

Wishful thinking tells us that we are longer good, we are longer able. Who is the judge in the case? The ruler that signifies us disruptive. For a short time we may live out the remaining years will a solemn prayer of being an achievement of the human race, but you see that is the mistake we are all in a race.

Hills and valleys will let us know if our succession is relevant or rather a mistake of guidance on our elders part. We are children being led away with a string or a rope, led to another world where our imagination is held captive and our irrelevant lives became purposeful.

We stood through streams and creeks remembering our fallen brothers. The cold chills turning over the aged rocks, exposing secrets my lovely sisters kept. A dark hidden past was one thing and then another when the light made it glow. Terminal, the position our beloved on us. Our potion was a category for defeat and victory was not on the contents of victory. Sacrifice on the other hand was a very big ingredient in the poison.

Fruit taken from the tempting tree were we all at the devils hands, tug graves and cutting corners. There was music in the air. Swirling the temptations of what had come and what had not. We would not last the night, the morning dew taking the place of our final determination. Trembling words fluctuated around the matters of factual and factious.

Could you remind me of my crime dear sir? Could you so ever gallantly refresh my deprived memory of the crimes you accuse of me committing?

There was a line I had drawn upon the fallen walls of the kingdom we called home. White marks leading up and down and curve to remind us we were never to be left alone in this day in this age, we were prisoners. We were the answer to the most disgusting of questions.

The solutions for a match made in ever. Our turbulence qualified for a ok landing, but there was nothing and we stood for exactly that.

A piece at a time.

-S.M. Bjarnson

Lazy as Goodbye

It was a lazy Sunday, you were going away, again.

The leaves were changing and you thought it would be a good time for leaving.

You call me up, I said what’s going on?

You said, I’m leaving.

Where you going?

Why you leaving…me, again?

I thought I told you, you can’t do this anymore.

If you wanted to be gone, you should have stayed away the first time.

You should have stayed gone.

But, now you’re back, and there isn't no changing that.

I know you’re scared, because you've never been hurt before.

You think leaving will save you from that heart ache.

But, I’m still the one here, you’re only hurting me.

Just give this a chance, a chance to be something more than a day in misery.

Now we may fight, we may curse, but baby were strong enough to get through all that trouble.

Look at me, feel this love.

Don’t be scared of tomorrow’s problems.

Because, today is today and tomorrow may never come.

Let’s live today.

Please just tell me one thing do you love me?

Do you want to be here with me?

Where you going?

Why you leaving me, again?

I thought I told you, you can’t do this again.

If you wanted to be gone, you should have stayed away the first time.

You should have stayed gone.

But, now you’re back, and there isn't no changing that.

You look at me, fear deep in your eyes.

My smile comforts you and brings hope to them.

Don’t worry, I say.

I won’t be leaving anytime soon baby.

You say me either.

I’m staying for good, this time.

 -S.M. Bjarnson

The Morning Cocoa

The morning was brisk. Next door neighbors making a commotion about finances and lack there of. They ruled the block with their awful stares.
We had become inferior in this couple's eyes. 

We were if not put aside as someone else's idea of fortune. 

We had the funds but not the manner, the polite expression, but neglecting the whispers of back stabing.
I was aware I came across as ordinary. 

I splashed when pushed off limits. There was a point one is not allowed to return from.

 Beyond that you were succumbed to no doubt, nor the knowledge of power or intellect.

Our circumference of attitude towards these individuals, are as followed; firstly we ignore the bajesusers out of them, second and most important we dominate them by ruling the PTA meetings.

 They scream out numbers on bills as I quietly sip my hot cocoa and stare carelessly into another world, that I don't seem to understand.

I shrug and wash the growing worry upon my face, their solutions are not my problems and via versus.

 I let out a sigh because I find out within myself is where the universe really begins.

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