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  Sep 2017 J C
Alysia Michelle
My words now
Seem only
Adequate
But I cannot seem to adequately
Put into words
What I want to say.
J C Jul 2017
I cleaned up my cabinet today,
and I saw the first doodle
you had ever drawn.
I cleaned up my cabinet today,
and I'd thought I'd have the strength
but I found it was all gone.

I cleaned up my cabinet today,
and it was unearthing tin cans
I can't seem to break.
I cleaned up my cabinet today,
and the dust of what once was
I kept in an ashtray.

I cleaned up my cabinet today,
and all I have to remember you by
is how the n caressed your lips
when you said my name—or
at least think you never said good-bye.

I cleaned up my cabinet today,
and I'm trying to keep afloat
but there are too many holes in this boat
and I'm sinking,
thinking,
how to throw your memory all away.
Unfantastic Beasts and How (Not) to Move On
a tale by
An Empty Cavity
J C Jul 2017
I close my eyes to sleep
to see you smile through
your long, wavy hair.
Through uncoated curtains,
the warm gold of sunlight is
soft on your fair skin.
And pearls don’t shimmer
as your eyes, wide and (bright)
as heaven is on dark, cloudless nights.
And my eyes turn to yours
and we laugh like it’s new and
we fumble over hot breaths
and we sigh deep, (a deep,
contented sigh)
of unused I love yous.
And when mouths no
longer utter the right words,
the silence dwelt in is home.
In the blink of an eye,
the crank of a ****,
once more the cogs of life turn anew.
Since when do flies feast hastily
on rotten hopes
of unfulfilled promises and dreams?
To sadly realize (terrible fruition)
there is no home to go to
when there is no you—a fate worse than
death.
J C Jul 2017
Someone asked what depression felt like.
“What?” I asked.
“What you feel it's like,” he gasped.
I've been in and out of this all my life, I thought.
“It's something,” I said, “something you can't let rot.
“It's when you feel freezing at 2:17 p.m. on hot July 24,
“and you shiver and sweat blood you can only see.
“It's when you feel water filling your lungs, clogging every pore,
“clogging so drowning is all you breathe.
“It's when all the ticks and clicks and noises in your head
“are all you feel—not hear, feel—in bed,
“and all the while [silence] breathes down your neck.
“It's when the world doesn't stop an inch for you
“but slows enough so you're left more than unhinged,
unscrewed, and you want the days to go by faster
“but time says no, and melting is your only answer.
“It's when you sound content on the other line,
“but all there is [in your throat] are a million little knives
“and they can't hear you from the other side of the glass
“from all their 'You'll be fine. It'll all just pass' [*******].
“It's when you down all the Citalopram in the world
“you fit in your hand but still feel as grim as the [under]world,
“and all you want to do is sleep so you're all alone,
“but the Ambien fails so your eyes and regrets stay open in its bone.
“It's when the closest thing stopping you from the trigger
“is the thought that you'd have Mom clean up the mirror
“from all the blood and flesh you leave behind
“but you still think of pulling, keep [the lead] in your mind.
“No, it's not something you will want to feel,” I said.
“It's not something as easy as talking to a friend.
“It's not something you leave to rot in your head.
“It's not something you want in the end.”
Rest in peace, Chester B.
J C May 2017
We're stardust, you and I.
The iron and calcium and magnesium
in the [stars], collide
within and beneath skin and bones;
and I've never felt—saw—myself alone
when I see the galaxy in your eyes.

We're electric, you and I.
The protons and neutrons and electrons
dance and [fade] into a trance
when our lips first sealed;
the first kiss—electric—wrecked on
the idea of bad good-byes.

We're thunderstorms, you and I.
The heat and the pressure and the cold
form tornadoes [slowly], thrashing
the home we built in our hearts;
and I've never felt—myself—more alone,
more paralyzed watching you cry.

We're supernovae, you and I.
The explosions and light and blackness
consume all matter [away], leaving
nothing in our souls—left—nothing
but the stardust in you and I.
J C Feb 2017
A slow serenade of pianos and birds,
solemn, broken voices caress
lonesome souls wandering the world
endlessly in black print dress.

Hands softly touch carved ivory,
[dark and white].
So easy, so effortless, and without disdain—
never false honesty, an unfaked feeling of pain—
a specter, an angel, clad in beautiful light.

Hair flowing like wolves under moonlight,
lips colored cold, pale wine.
Eyes drowned in a weariness pulling
magnetically, hypnotic in eerie delight
a hopeless promise of paths entwined.
J C Jan 2017
On an autumn day, they saw him stand;
on a winter night, they saw him on cold lands.
Such earthly things he needed were friends,
and there was no one, no one in the end.
They all knew about his loneliness
and his accompanying sorrow.
Smiles and laughter were objects
he could never borrow.
The birds and trees still stand witness,
the sky refusing once more to tell.
Everything he thought he knew
could neither be smooth nor well.
At the sun’s first ray of light,
at the trembling crack of dawn,
he spread once more his arms,
mimicking wings.
And he was gone.
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