Jibberish

A reach through the cracks
of quiet insanity,
all that remains in tight ribbons,
red,
strapped tenderly against solid gold -
so not to bring damage to the solitude,
"hand it over!" said the man with the hat,
"no! to me! to me!" the blonde woman scowled, as usual.

"i'd risk the fate of tomorrow just to stand with you today!
can you sit there knowing what you betrayed?
how can i compare what is mine now, to something unknown?
like a rose, so pretty when bleeding, thorns and all,
plus, the prickly dancing adds to the memory,
so sad, sick, morbidly ugly and built with it's own sense
of rhythm ... maybe not ... haha,
far from streamlined is that,
bumpy, kind of quirky,
ha ha.

though these words be slightly tedious,
may confuse you too
as i have brought a pulse to my own mind,
ha ha,
what does this mean?
jibberish, jibberish, jibberish,
yet, to a lullaby, perfect clarity makes it tedious,
so jibberish is the best form of clarity ... in a lullaby.

in a lullaby - even through broken glass - can be sang,
maybe it's pretending to think everything's fine,
maybe that's the fun of it ... pretending,
ha ha ... or not,
depends who you are ... i suppose."

"Did you like those flowers?" asked the man with the hat,
"Yes, of course, if you're into that..." the blonde woman said ... rather uninterested,
"I didn't get a call from you, did you not get any numbers?"
"No, i got your numbers ... i just didn't have a pen." the blonde woman's cat crawled onto her lap,
purring,
"oh.." quite confused, the man with the hat walked,
and he walked, he walked, and he walked some more,

"if thinking this thought
that her thoughts lie with my thinking,
am i wrong to assume that she has thoughts of me
while she is thinking?
oh..." a rather pleading tone took the man with the hat,
"jibberish, dear jibberish! i beg a favour!
give me words to describe how much of her i favour!
maybe it's her scent? no, her flavour?
ha ha, no,
intimacy's flavour it's too strong to mention,
her aroma it shall be then!
i would describe her movements to remove the tension,
speak in prose? or talk in poem?
with rhyme? or just rhythm?
oh, dear jibberish, grant me the term
to say how i adore the blonde woman!
...
...
...
AHA! i have it,
maybe these words will win her heart,
maybe they'll fall, and break my own ...
uncertainty, uncertainty."

"Oh, man with the hat, i beg a favour!" the blonde woman called,
the man with the hat came as soon he heard!
"i beg you! i beg you!"
"what do you beg, dear miss?" the man with the hat panted.
"i need to tell you of something,
but words do forbid me to tell."

"Ahem. i do believe your little enchilada interrupted my ramble,
dear sir, dear miss.
though annoyed i am, i have your resolve at heart,
you love, you love, point to you both,
simply utter the words you wish to speak,
or act the words, whichever you wish,
just leave alone, abandon your conquest,
hard to get? no.

simplicity beats out complication with a trio of words,
simple, easy words.
but be aware of the danger..."

"Ahem. dear sir, i ask you your name,
if you know of my complication then surely you know something of me,
so may i know something of you?"

"love and friendship met one day..."
"i do not ask for a story, simply a word of your name."
"My name is the story, for i am whoever you need,
i may be the print on that letter in your hands
or maybe i'm your hat, perched gently yet firmly on your hair.
pray tell me, dear man with the hat, why do you fear?"
"I do not fear, i am a man,
with a hat ... ha ha,
fear? why would i fear?
what do i have to fear?
and in that, what does fear have for me?
nothing i say. nothing."
"listen to your ramble! you fear, you fear!
ha ha. see? i can read, yet you can't yourself.
...
...
...
oh! i almost did forget, blonde woman?"

"what use could i be in such a discussion,
you speak like a slapper, maybe you are!" the blonde woman snapped, jealous.

"My dear, dear, dear woman,
a slapper is simply a woman with the morals and values
of a male."

"you retort well." the blonde woman answered, defeated.
"oh, blonde woman, you retorted just as well to me."
"i thank you, man with the hat."

"Do you two often refer to one another as to your looks,
or do you not have names?
did you not get a word to call your own?"

"Aye, i did."
"Aye, me too."

"well then, why don't you start off by telling each other what you are called?"

"I am Erin." said the blonde woman. "just a girl,
but my appearance makes the mind judge that i am a woman."
"I am Alec. I to, am just a child,
not a man, but a boy ... tortured by my older youth."

love and friendship met one day,
walking, faster, faster, even faster,
walking and walking until the thought of it became boring,
"you know friendship, you slack off." said love.
"no i don't. you slack off!" shouted friendship.
"well, how many friends can you see out there, compared to the amount
of lovers?
come to think of it, i have been away,
it looks like i'm not needed."
"no love, just that, while you were away,
instead of doing my job, i ended up doing yours,
as usual.
friends have become lovers,
lovers have become friends,
oh! i have failed!"
"No dear friendship, i have.
such a failure i am,
to think that i cannot be."

"So Erin, what do you think,
friends to lovers?
our charade has come to an end,
breaking point, if you will."
"Oh, dear Alec,
you know how i adore you,
but i'm afraid my heart belongs and bleeds for him."
Erin ran to the other man, who before she said
talks,
acts,
moves,
and implied that he is, a slapper.
Yet, she spoke like he was a woman,
confused?
i am.

"Oh, just like the rose,
pretty when bleeding, thorns and all,
yet when my rose bleeds,
the thorns curl inward, stabbing,
making me bleed more."

after his heart was broken,
it bled and bled and bled.
the man with the hat turned into,
the man with the hate.

"beware of the danger,
said without emotion, need, heart,
the tender, simple phrase i love you'
can rip you apart."