by Arcassin Burnham


I feel like..i feel like,
i feel like being close to you is not gonna hurt...
if i run..if i run,
if i run out of time,this won't be good to you...
bet you noticed..bet you noticed,
bet you noticed all the times i was there for you...
i was saddened..i was saddened,
I was saddened by how you would react..
The miles of love we've ran for days has never came to pass and,
And each time we sacrifice something that never caved in,
Too many feelings we embark,
I've only loved you from the start , then it faded away in the dark.

/

Swearing this piece of cloth on this floor would remind me of all the playful times,
there is no secret that i use to love you more than you assumed i did when i was out of line,

And saying things i didn't mean,
it did not seem like it was a dream,
from kissing you in all the various forms in your possession when i bleed,
new blood,
of forgotten love making we created ,
i was thinking maybe it would be something more authenticated,
you mistake it,
for an open relation,
that wasn't so,
but you moved on like a central station,
and i..
Started from the bottom,
just add some rocks in..
Dealing with my problems,
containing my sins..

/

Mysterious Girl,
you don't have to owe the world a proven doubt at all,
when the only thing you do is fall,

like the leaves that posses gravity like we all do,
its not your fault but we all deserve to have a helping when
we have no way out of this hell we call a world in its weakened state as
when they relate to a common goal and a familiar phase,

Mysterious Girl,
Don't cry,
please dry those eyes cause the man himself will join us shortly.

"                        "
      !            :                  ,                .
              ,            ,            ,                .
      ,              ;                              !
                    ,

The distant park
Was a graveyard of dead stars.
Each streetlight a system of worlds,
So many lives between each mote of light,
Indistinguishable in their unique love,
Bespoke hate, and the drama of the modern age.

Drunk laughter behind transparent
Double doors. Another hotel balcony,
Another cloud behind the canopy
Of marijuana eyes
To unsettle me from the crowd.

She points out, when you look closely
You can see the disorder
Amongst all constellations
Of life and love and litter;
Of discarded Coke cans
And temporary highs.

She says this is not a scene
To imbue the ****** of a present mind,
More to baulk at the incompletion
Of one thousand to-do lists;
A million reasons why
You should just stay inside.

She says you can see the human swell
Of ignorance, our city lights
Blotting out the stars
In a black ocean of broken politic
And irretrievable fault lines-
Divisions between us all.
Lives twisted with professional smiles
And eyes lit with stunning indifference.

Still, I have felt charity and warmth
On the doorstep of lunatics and fascists.
I have read the love of life
In faces of those who gave up.
I have recounted countless artists
Who saw beauty
In moments that precisely lacked it.

I have spent too many nights
In anaesthesia,
Fleeing each instance of feeling
And terror; all the tremors
That tell me I am still alive.

Continued to stare at the lights
Long after her voice
And the laughter inside had gone.

Heard waves in the traffic.
A world so large, so expansive,
It can never truly sleep.
Every broken heart,
Every war-torn land,
Every promotion,
Every one-night stand.

I wonder what would happen
If we all stood still.
If we all took one moment
To observe the motion
That unfolds beneath
Our static windowsill.

If we all took one moment
To recover our loss.
The wars that we won,
The feelings, forgot.
The hell we retain;
Our paradise, lost.

Somewhere, amongst the debris
of cigarettes after ***,
chemicals to induce sleep,
I forgot what it means to love.

I forgot what it means to breathe,
to sit still, and just be.

Somewhere, beneath these hooded seams
of solitude and well-versed grief,
beats a heart less cynical,
less tamed by vague distraction.

My nervous ticks and bad habits,
line of best fit for a near-hit
of satisfaction:

This is not enough, I know.
This is not nearly enough
to cool the bray of life
that still rattles meaning in my bones.

I forgot what it means to love,
what separates a house from a home.

Somewhere beyond this thirst
for brand-new words
is a gratitude for all that has been.
Every cliché holds a truth.

Every sentiment, a cocoon,
that I should lie so still inside

until I am wholesome,
until I am new.

Bloom bound prairie

shake off these frozen confines

Brace for nothing

The sun stays away

familiar strangers cluster

****** another murmur with your abrasive tongue

Kick a can IF you must

This is a paradise for the broken home hero

Tilted shadows hide an uneasy nostalgia

Tree side muck pond ripple

A stone thrown for the sake of motion

A sigh retired for the sake of gumption

Fanatic ghosts reminisce over dusty diners

Tables like saw dust and lights dulled from a haywire hand

Grease plate pallet

you whisper

"God bless America"

into your headpiece

Indeed?

I think not sir

Dry toast and indifference for the soaking

Truck stop sickly and the road is endless

Rest stop epiphany and the desert screams with concurrence

Falsehood frenzy

our collisions grow more hysterical

grow more contrived

What a combination for the ponder patch

A slice of sanity on a pie full of red light liquidation

A drive by delusion

concrete echoes notions of finality

Spent for the folly

Sprint for the skyline

it keeps receding

I keep pleading

Show me what it means to be nonsense

Show me the theory that keeps us nodding like wire birds

wondering why we lack buoyancy

Wanting perches and obligatory blindness

Break me the way you broke the rest

A smile like satire

A mind like lunacy

Between I find something resembling reason

My always black shoes
I love them so much
Reminding me of the size of my shoes
When too little...
Children are playing
Hearing their voices
Bikes are laughing
rainbows on their pictures...
Why are YOU laughing ?
When the Jasmines are not white
anymore in my every month's loosing blood
I love my black shoes so much
I cry when looking at my mom's face


کفش های همیشه سیاهم
من آن ها را خیلی دوست دارم
اندازه ی پاهایم را به یادم می اندازند
...وقتی خیلی کوچک بود
بچه ها بازی می کنند
صدای خنده هاشان را می شنوم
دوچرخه ها می خندند
...تصویرشان رنگین کمان دارد
تو چرا می خندی !؟
وقتی که گل های یاسمن دیگر سفید نیستند
در هر ماهی که از من خون می رود
من کفش های سیاهم را خیلی دوست داشتم
به صورت مادرم که نگاه می کنم
...گریه ام می گیرد

A mess of thighs and hair and love
We ******
For the same reason
That kids throw rocks at the sea