I feel the meat of myself, the fleshy bits of personality
Setting with purchase once again to the skeleton foundation
Left bare for a time. A great, terrific wave of life, the amalgamation of
Grief and loss and love and duty and exhaustion that
Time blended together all at once and rushed toward
That current of fragile self. That crashing, toiling weight tearing
All but the sturidiest pieces of who I thought myself to be,
Washing them to their sedimentary settlement Bygone.
Now a hungry, rattling, airy thing I am, shouts and drools to be fed.
A present of consumption is at hand, and who I am but a servant
To the needs of me? The bones need meat to feel whole,
Fill holes, and it matters not from what source that marrow
Drinks, and chews, and gouges. A season of fat shall come,
And bones sing to the insulation and warmth it will bring.
Let me be whole again, and the new me brace for life's next wave.
May 10, 2021
May 10, 2021 at 2:25 PM UTC
I have a barren emptiness inside desperate and thrashing for the intense desire filled by another.
A thirst quenched with a fleeting eclipse and as infrequently found to satisfy.
To feel the outline of the depression you instilled as you squeezed the void between us into an almost something.
Then satisfied with the relief of a potential connection, decompressed your you from any meaningful we.
Apr 26, 2021
Apr 26, 2021 at 8:54 PM UTC
Whether you know it or not, you murdered
Me. Or at least a version of me.
The me who flew off into those potentials
And maybe's and what if's
As if the only way forward was up.
He sought the greener pastures
Littered with your name and played
The game of same-nes(s)-cessary
Action only to find an oblivion
Of ambiguity.
Apr 14, 2021
Apr 14, 2021 at 11:03 AM UTC
A historian who retells humanity's triumphs and downfalls, only to their journal every night.
A preacher set on converting the masses, barracading the doors of the chapel from the inside.
A marine biologist on a mountaintop, speaking of the things of the ocean to the sky.
Passion and desire meeting the fruitless nature of distance and doing nothing to close it.
So too is your heart, searching for affection and adoration yet hidden from even your own eyes.
Apr 9, 2021
Apr 9, 2021 at 12:33 PM UTC
At night, against the pulsing embryonic black which could
Squeeze any number of untold horrors from it’s voided heft,
There sits a door; bright searchlights unmoving, having forever
Ago found and revealed the menacing target of their feverish hunt.
The lights, beacons of vision and revelation stay still,
Afraid to ever lift their gaze from the door.
The door; a crimson sentinel of conformity’s’ demands. A gate
To a finite space of infinite secluded terrors. It’s mocking facade,
Not the true foundation of the haunting visage, but it’s chosen
Illumination against the choking nothingness around it.
There is nothing else but it, and if the lights lose
Their oppressive gleaming, there will be nothing.
Would it not be better for the deep to win the ever waging war
Against our struggles to find hints of sight and recognition?
If the door were to vanish from the othering out there,
then it would be impossible to not turn inward. A forced reflection,
a mirror that’s presence is known, existence felt, but is unseen,
only available when the absence is absolute.
Nonplussed, the bastion remains, a gravity well pulsing
In and out the night, as if the darkness centered around
Maintaining the illusion of safety from knowing ourselves.
Do not be afraid, you will not be forsaken or alone with anything
Other than the beating of your quickened pulse, the edges
Of your vision shrinking until all that you are
Is mirrored in that crimson sentinel.
Apr 7, 2021
Apr 7, 2021 at 9:28 PM UTC
I swear I just heard the trees breathe, a deep contented sigh. Harmonious to the one echoed in my soul.
Breathe in, Sway out.
Breathe in, Sway out.
Let the breeze move through your mirrored branches.
A movement dedicated to life beyond your center.
Apr 5, 2021
Apr 5, 2021 at 3:41 PM UTC
I weirdly - no, wantonly - want to kiss you the next time
Your blue-gray eyes besiege my focus and I resign
My sight - no, soul - to your vision and spread your word
As the bearded and fattened prophet of these feelings deferred.
Apr 5, 2021
Apr 5, 2021 at 3:38 PM UTC
Red heat burns at the extension of my
Fingertips, ashes stoked for a second night of
Inhalation.
Clandestine wetted brown sinks it’s teeth
Into my lips again, it’s breath in my lungs a smoky
Tessellation.
Warmth fills me for the first time in
Months, but a fire lit myself pales dimly in
Comparison
To yours. And yet, there is welcoming comfort in
Knowing that it’s closeness won’t flee the
Garrison
At the first sign of invading intimacy. The risk of
Cancer here is but longing brought to
Manifest.
Cut me with glances, burn with touch. Gods and devils
Both pine for the heart you’ve already
Possessed.
Mar 25, 2021
Mar 25, 2021 at 4:14 PM UTC
As the night settles to simple silence,
My brain seeds in diminished doubt,
Waters it with cold contempt and waits.
Waits to grow lonely compliance,
And the inevitably harvested fallout,
The lungs and heart equally bates.
Bates the breath and feeling both,
As thoughts collect sowed dissent,
And into the broth they’re swiftly stirred.
Stirred until they take a boiling oath,
And hateful knee truly bent,
So that notion of self fully blurred.
Mar 22, 2021
Mar 22, 2021 at 10:34 PM UTC
I run my fingers everywhere,
Well, almost everywhere.
They dance along your back in reassurance,
Seek shelter in the comfort of your own,
Press matter to matter to confirm your existence,
Wring the day’s dripping tension from your back,
And shoulders, and feet.
In the mornings they profusely itch,
Until they get the chance to text you good morning,
In the afternoons they gnawingly ache,
Until they’re knocking at your door.
But mostly, in the evenings they joyously sing,
Home once again wrapped up in yours.
I run my fingers everywhere,
Well, Mostly everywhere.
But mostly, they strain to breaking
Reaching out to you.
Mar 17, 2021
Mar 17, 2021 at 2:13 AM UTC