It is Wednesday evening
and the world feels like
a sudden inward breath.
A storm is in the air
but only I can feel it.
Silver flashes, turns to red
rivulets down my leg,
endorphins in my head
and the storm abates.
I exhale.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 7:37 AM UTC
I do not want to blame you.
I fell hopelessly, desperately in love
and that was not your fault.
Our summer was smiles and laughter
and sleepy morning *** and cuddles at 2AM.
How could I not love you?
All was golden in your presence
and nothing hurt.
The demons of yesterday were banished
by the warmth of your adoration,
and I slowly forgot the sorrow
growing around my heart like a sickness.
I do not blame you.
But no one taught me the difference
between love and dependence.
No one taught me that I could love you
and still say no.
I let you tie me down, hold me,
Hurt me,
because I was terrified to lose you.
I know I shouldn't blame you.
But I still flinch at unknown hands,
still pull away when I feel threatened,
and I feel threatened more than ever.
Anxiety claws my throat,
hands shake, vision blurs,
His eyes are your eyes are his eyes
and I can still hear your voice.
"Kneel ****
I don't know how I stand up now.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 7:33 AM UTC
I am surrounded by voices-
my loved ones, my demons,
my own rational thoughts.
They swell and ebb like the tide,
A perfect chaos which drives me on,
drives me forward or drives me mad,
echoing in the chasms of my mind
like the voices in the dark night.
The things I know to be true,
to be real and honest and fair,
my anchors, my ports in the storm,
the stubborn rope which ties me
to a mortal coil I've so often tried to escape.
They are undermined by that call,
that desire, the siren song which
drags me back to the blackness,
which promises that numbess is better,
less painful, less terrifying than living.
All my life I've heard the call,
denied its lure or thrown myself,
desperate and thoughtless,
into its depths.
I ignored the destruction I wraught
in its name, the quiet lipped,
cold eyed terror of those around me,
the frantic trembling of my own soul.
The slow death of the drowned.
Sirens do not starve or bleed or die,
gasping for air and choking down screams,
cold water closes over their heads,
freezes their bones and invades their lungs.
I am no siren. I am warm blood
and flesh annd love and passion.
I will not dampen my fire for fear
of what it may release any longer.
I will not drift, forgotten, along the sea bed.
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 5:02 PM UTC