There’s a ponderous reality,
Really,
That knocks about
On the door in front of me,
The one labeled Home.
Glaring,
Daring me:
Yield.
I ruminate
Berating myself in
Dramatic parades of
Of gashes
Seeded deep
In haphazard running
Of a careless heart
Causing too much scarring
To relinquish
Control
Of a new breath.
But then again
I look
At that page
Where not enough words
Scribe how I feel
It’s indescribable
Nothing left to write
Because nothing’s missing
Misery’s been cast out
Squabbling the scramble of my attempted grasp
See, it gave me comfort for so many years
I find misery in not having it
Mostly though, I feel the drop of you
Holding my head
Spiraling down
Into the lush of you
The embrace that
Have your eyes
The ones that are blue
Flirting with grey
The ones that look at me
With such adoration
That I think you must be
Staring through me
Until I realize
I am the dead end.
I am yours,
Don’t you know.
Unforgivably yours.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 7:02 PM UTC
Sit me here again.
Bewildered by the blinking screen
That beats with my impatience.
Haunted by memories
That once stirred my soul
Into crazed longing.
Sit me here again.
Beholden to a disastrous mind
Which fills cracks
With insatiable glue.
Yet again what if
Rattles in my chest
Reminds my humbled heart
That this
This has stakes
And longevity.
And yet sit me here again
Tortured by the unwavering
Possibility
Of disappearing
With quick flicks of stubborn tongues.
It’s chance
With 8,000 miles more
Of unbridled yearning.
I hate that
Prolonged responses
Fills me with
Burning cuts
Of heartache
That my craziness
Once again reveals its eager head
I don’t need reassurance of love
I hold that, dear,
Too dear
Dear enough to break me
Into little shattered pieces of repeated fears
But I don’t know
If my armor stands strong enough
To not concave to
Piercing blades
Of loneliness
Of gashes
That ripped my bloated heart.
This hole of desire
Burns right through my skin
Out my sunken eyes
Painting my mouth red
Chewing the same edge
Of a trembling lip
So sit me here again.
Refuting strikes
Of persistent longing.
I can’t
I mustn’t.
How do I explain
It kills me.
It slowly eats away at my will
Making scars in deep cavities
That rarely pumps enough blood
To suffice life
But pounds on haphazardly
Since laying eyes on you.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 6:59 PM UTC
It’s stapled
Ricocheted with bad music
And over-eating
But it’s stapled now--
Overshadowed
By the all consuming
Heaviness
Of death himself.
Wielding his scythe
Seething with the past.
The burrowing sensation
Now mixed with
This deep hole
That stretches for
Miles
And miles
And miles
Spitting out over the end of the world--
And there he is
Beaming
With a shiny toy gun in hand
Whispering
I’m not asking to marry you today
But I love you--
Gun pointed at a temple
One second
Two second
Three second
Boom
And you no longer
The ravager
Of my heart--
Those holes
Belong not to you
But to the boy
Who wore too many sweaters.
It’s twisted
This twist of fate
That in death, I find release--
Not from Death himself,
Wielding his scythe
But from
Drunken cupid
Who shot me
Repeatedly
Sadistically
Knowing that the eyes I would set upon
Were yours
And I was to never
Ever have you.
It’s not
Cauterized
The wound
Imprinted
On my swollen heart.
No
Now it plays
With the hole
Telling stories
Of depression
Of nights
Where air wasn’t enough
To fill
My heaving.
When the only liquid
That burned
Made my face numb
And my eyes sore
And my throat tight--
It’s stapled though
Slowly,
Horribly
Stapled.
So that’s good.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 6:55 PM UTC
I have dreamed all the possibilities,
played to all the fantasies,
lived in dreams for years where this, whatever it is, works,
and then I start awake,
and I’m back to loving you from afar.
Seeing you, formed before me.
A torch-able being,
living, speaking,
lighting up in just the way I imagined.
This is what elation is.
It hits me days after, but the bittersweet taste bites my tongue.
I know truly what longing and loneliness is.
Unlucky in Love, I am.
Yet the insanity I claimed fails to stick with the finality of your embrace.
In some world, maybe we are together—
We must be, because my heart has never jumped like this.
I am ignited, wanton in my wanting,
but nevertheless reminded I am alive.
Speculation does me no good;
the proof has morphed into a cruel torment of what I am missing.
Now the concept of you repeats,
frail and over used.
In this moment, as I soar above the dreams of those who pray, I want you.
Hot in my hand,
catching my breath with yours,
silencing my running mouth with a palpable glance.
Not through convoluted mediums, but immediate.
I want you real.
And then I wake,
And then I wake,
And then I wake.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 6:49 PM UTC