I cry today, oceans of self-worth on my living room floor. Lover’s fingers touch like music, seeping strength into my bones. “I hate seeing you like this,” he says. I sniffle in response to say I hate it too. And after I sleep, after the raft sinks, I swim.
PART TWO She tastes the scent of earth and dirt in his hair, on his shirt. Where the blood starts to dry, where the tears brim his eyes. She tastes fire and life. Before she kisses the stars on his nose, she thanks the moon. She let’s him go.
I’ll fucking destroy you. I’ll dangle you above a sea of starving sharks. They’ll rip you limb-from-limb, while you scream for someone, anyone, to save you from the pain. While your blood coagulates around massive gashes, I’ll destroy you more. I’ll bundle everything you love— and own- into your favorite rosemary quilt, light a match, […]
something in you keeps me trekking through this darkness, reaching fruitlessly, ambling as if on a stroll, your hand wrapped in mine. i should’ve known better– never trust the darkness in the guise of light.
Why didn’t you warn them? Haven’t you done this before? You call my torrent of hate precious though all you’ve ever known, are my hungry, wicked veins, like tunnels, spreading, plaguing, leading you, and them, back to me. And, Dear Boy, you should’ve warned them.
“I had a dream. Do you dream? “We were the same. In tenth grade. “We made the waves during the day. “At night we’d bring peace. Do you sleep?” “Then, did it break? Did you wake?” “I lived my life #centuries. “Dramatized wild plots and schemes. “And you were right there with me. […]
The #willow weeps with loss of sleep and cries into the sky. The moon hushes its whimpering leaves, while the wind wipes its eyes. “Please don’t cry,”‘ you dare to say, from beneath its leaves. “Heaven bleeds, “its jealousy, “but you’re safe with me.”
Another morning, wake for work. Can’t do this today. Listen to the misery- all pointless complaints. Straight for home, “Shut up, #vile world.” Gets hard to face the day. Another year, another moment left to contemplate. Should I? Should I?
Flotsam of your memory, supinely on my bed, satin pillowcase underneath your head. Jetsam piles keep floating, on your furious sea, Whispers of chimera dreams, given back to me. There, among the clouds. There, I saw you sleep. Songs of remembrance here, where I weep.
I, the #flotsam that braves the storm, that exists, that survives, only to observe from outside my own window, to watch me make the same mistakes and call it life. The rubbish that fills the junkyard in my head, soul, heart… art. Me, watching from the outside.