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Aniseed Apr 1
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they always mention the sins of our fathers
but never the trauma of our mothers


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It takes two to tango.
Aniseed Mar 10
There are still nights
Where the frequency in my head
Pierces the silence,
And every face I thumb through
Looks like yours.

Your ghost breathes heavy
In this house
And you still manage to
Be the center of every conversation.

Part of me hated that about you.

There's something inside that says
Remembering the fire and the snow
Is both betrayal and therapy;
You were not,
In any sense of the word,
Perfect.
But the blood dried on your face
Once ran in your veins
And your heart beat with
How fiercely you fought
Against the world.

In retrospect, you were my
Biggest muse.

Part of me loved that about you.
Quite a bit of my writing had been - and still is, I guess - inspired by my late sister. It's been one year, three weeks, and six days.
Aniseed Dec 2019
In Pantheon roars,
We shouted
And threw boulders
In the night
Where the sirens
Were our only witnesses

-----------------------

Give me back the mornings
Of quiet snow and soft music

The yawning sun, not quite
Awake

Give me the solitude, the
Fleeting moments of sanctuary
So I may find myself a saner
Sort of clarity

There is peace in snow

-----------------------

I once wrote on unrequited love: "This is going to take some time."

It's felt like lifetimes.

-----------------------

If it hurts to hear
Your heart beating,
What was it that
I wanted, then?

If I ran away again,
What would happen then?

What would happen, then?
Recently moved, combing through old journals for inspiration. For... something.

I hope anyone reading this is doing well and to remember that they're good enough.
Aniseed Sep 2019
Wrestling with this hourglass
Trying to bring back
All the times that we fought
And all the times I lost
With you

There's a lifetime of moments
We still had to share
But the dust of your bones
Settled before the dust
In your veins had a chance

These days I've lost all sense
Of what's worth it

I haven't listened to music
In a month.

I've never known a darkness like hers.
Not really.


You went in a hail storm
And I don't know if that's poetic
Or just the crescendo of what
Your life led up to.

You always were chaos incarnate.

A gun with a hairline trigger.

The only blank left in the barrel
Is the one taking space in my head
Since you left.
I never knew how many facets
There were to grief.
I don't think they make numbers that
Big.

There's a pinprick of nothingness
In the world
And most people pass it by-
But some eyes, they haven't
Let it out of their sight.

I have grey hairs you'll never see.

She told me it was nothingness.

The anger on my tongue died later
Than you,
But so help me,
Give me one more day to relive it
And maybe I won't feel so empty.

Just one more.

Please.
My younger sister passed away from a ******/fentanyl overdose some months back. This is a collection of thoughts that also I threw lines in from an old poem also about her.

I'm not over it.
Aniseed Aug 2018
These words are fingerprints;
A momento of the fleeting seconds
Where I overflow with emotion
Like a glass under a faucet.

True, these portraits are usually
A collection of broken mirrors,
But let me write when I am howling
At the moon in my car
As the man on the radio makes love
To his microphone
And the glow of streetlights light
The path home.
Let me write when the floors are clean,
Lemon cleaner and sunlight pouring in,
And I'm trimming the ends of flower stalks
For a vase that paints these walls of mine "home".

I am not entirely fragmented.
My ankles may weaken
And my spine my stiffen
And static might overwrite my thoughts
When the sun retires,
But against everything, I stand.

I stand.
A moment of clarity.
Aniseed Aug 2018
It's a dance I've forgotten the steps to
An equation, a misplaced formula
A melody with lost lyrics

Forgiving myself is as easy
As putting my hand on a hot skillet

Loving myself might as well be
Rocket science

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Bitter are the memories
That marr my skin
In unwanted scars
And paint my prose
In purple flowers

Give me an IV
Of rain-soaked November nights
Or dry heat against my skin
And fresh earth between my toes
Or the feeling of a hand
On my shoulder
Maybe I need to talk to someone.
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