Eternal life is strong
(love stronger than death)

Creatures fragile
(love stronger than death)

on a clear day
idyllic scene
panoramic year

murmur in the juices
sinking teeth into fruit
luscious tableau

allow me to process
picnic with villas of brick
and concrete balusters in the view

i could suffocate
from the sweetness
the despair lifted in the wave

You talk about me like I created the stars
That’s a hard compliment to take
But the truth is: it’s true
I’ve created them for you
And if my life was at stake
I would create even more
every night if you want me to
I’ll fill up the sky with glitter

lights dim, warm
like the tongues of tiny flames
grazing my skin.

walked-on carpet,
not as fluffy as day one
beneath my bare feet.

hem of my white dress,
tiny yellow flowers
blossoming at my toes.

chin and summer-flushed cheek
resting heavily, sulking
against my fist.

breathing accelerates.

the thrill.
the oblivion.
the fear.
the relief.
the loneliness.
the aching.
the feeling-found.
the feeling-seen.
the possibility--

--of words,
pen to paper.

right in front of me

"write,"
i command my fingers.

"write and never stop."

paranoia.
guilt?
shame.

shadows dancing down the stairwell.
wide-eyed side glances toward the hall.

flashback:

slouched
like a crescent moon.
vulnerable like never before,
i allow myself to be seen
as i sink further into the brown fabric.

"you just sunk your ship deeper."

fear-striken eyes.
no . . . used to the defeat.

trembling fingertips
aimlessly yet methodically
tapping at glass.
hopeless.
useless.

tear-stained cheeks,
rubbed-raw skin
& bloodshot eyes.
hallows beneath my
chocolate brown
windows.

a heat-kissed flush
paints my face
as i gingerly sweep
a curtain of hair
from my view.

my view of my
nightmare.
only i'm not asleep.

fast forward:

frozen.
silent.
listening for footsteps.
coward
no . . .
guilt?
no . . .
shame.

i just sunk my ship deeper.

assertive wind
tearing through
my saltless hair.

restless waves.

fading cornflower-blue sky
& pale pinks and purples.

our star sinking slowly
into the horizon,
swallowed by the lake.

smokey wisps and whirls
float among the aimless
muted gray puffs akin.

we walk beside each other
in constant companionate
chatter.

carefully
stack &
balance
lakefront
jagged
rocks
&
smooth
pebbles
atop
sturdy
stones.

i want to hold his hand.

badly . . .

but i reel myself in.
i don't hold his hand.

because i know
it is not his hand
i am longing to hold.

it's yours.

limited.

vulnerable.

raw.

primitive privileges.

pen.

paper.

outdoors.

you.

aching.

longing.

me­.

pen.

paper.

I'm sick of burying my friends.

I'm sick of saying that I'm sick of burying my friends.

I'm sick of planning ******* candle light vigils.

I'm sick of funerals, sick of grief, sick of the hole in my chest that keeps getting bigger.

We are so young. How are so many of us already dead? Why is it that every few months, someone that I love leaves this Earth?

It's not fair.

I'm sick of saying it's not fair.

I'm sick of "I wish i got to see you under better circumstances, but I missed you." I'm sick of crying. I'm sick of watching friends and parents and spouses and children cry. I'm sick of reminiscing on stories and looking at photos from lifetimes ago, when things were simple and we were happy.

I'm sick of "they'll always be with you."

I'm sick of "they live on through us."

I wish they'd just live.