The moors are cold and dark this morning.
Rain Drips like diamonds onto the grass.
My thoughts long to be captured by the cold winds,
And taken far far away.
But,
They fester inside my head.
Like a disease with no cure.
The cold wet darkness that surrounds me,
Is my only comfort now.
Maybe I could lie here and
fade fade
Away
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 8:21 AM UTC
some people never leave.
they're always inside you,
crushing your glass bones,
and setting fire to your paper heart
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 8:14 AM UTC
i think how we need to be loved as adults stems from our childhood (or lack thereof).
if you were abandoned, you need to be smothered, to know every second that you're adored. but as a child you were always alone, so the very love you crave makes you feel suffocated and crawling white knuckled to get out.
and so this war rages inside of us, until we have exhausted ourselves & perhaps those who were brave enough to extend their hands.
©raine cooper
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 8:13 AM UTC
Now mind is clear
as a cloudless sky.
Time then to make a
home in wilderness.
What have I done but
wander with my eyes
in the trees? So I
will build: wife,
family, and seek
for neighbors.
Or I
perish of lonesomeness
or want of food or
lightning or the bear
(must tame the hart
and wear the bear).
And maybe make an image
of my wandering, a little
image—shrine by the
roadside to signify
to traveler that I live
here in the wilderness
awake and at home.
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 8:09 AM UTC