An olive branch,
in hot September,
on a bridge of embers,
entices the *** to stir.

But her table’s always empty,
even if food was plenty-
too broke, too broken
for any to gather around.

A med concoction,
from no other option,
except the great allure…

A barren planner,
hung on a sun faded wall,
by a nail ripping through
it’s cross-stitched heart.

This is what reminds her-
Reminds her she’s all alone.

Attempting to toss
into coordinates of comfort,
I fail to find a prime position
to support my heavy heart,
and to contain my racing mind.

A blanket–
always too stiff–
clings uncomfortably
to my spent body,
which I reluctantly trust
to wake up once more again.

A pillow–
always too flat–
smothers the thickening air
as my lungs try to
swallow reality once more.

I plea to the pause
fragmenting awareness
to rise and resume,
as the void encroaches
and consciousness escapes me.

With hand sculpted verity,
I’ve fixed the flimsiest frame,
Suiting for my narrow view.

Contoured to my convenience,
Auto shaded by defense,
I’ve shaped lies– it’s nothing new.

Contained by intense borders,
My framed lies appear separate,
However, this is untrue.

With self-awareness clouded,
The frame shields me from myself,
But is it not fair to you?

From the harshness of Everest,
To savage war trenches,
There's the will to survive,
While keeping your senses.

And once you do,
Life has a way,
Of taking it all,
anyway.

The gold, velvet curtains
allow the sun to slip through,
contrasting the flat, make-shift fabric
that used to shield these rays.

Light dances on the fresh paint,
that clings to the sad, bare sheetrock
you shamelessly had on display.

With brushstrokes askew,
and a lively orange hue,
we tried to mask the dents–
remnant of her past rage.

We covered those scars
with our framed memories
and sentimental assets,
now side by side and entwined,
weaving our worlds into one.

This newfound atmosphere
clears the congestion in my chest,
and rejuvenates our spirits,
injecting a freshness
we thirstily absorb.

We're granted a reset,
for we’ve painted vibrance
onto a clean slate.

With sunlight dripping
onto this fading couch,    
washing the dizzying pattern
I’ve become so used to…

Once more, I fail to act–
I fail to engage.

I’m spewing in the rays,
but, closer to stagnant water
filling a murky pond.  
  
Motions feel heavy,
thoughts– slow, clumsy
and failing to flow.

Washed by my water
I’m colored by dullness,
corroded to flatness.

I’m growing dry,
evaporating along with
the pattern of my couch.

As you came into my view, I could see…  
There was something missing internally.    
A void was preventing me to be free,            
And was plaguing me, since eternity.            

But with your presence, I suddenly knew,
All along, my insides have felt askew.        
It’s keeping me down; it’s painting me blue.    
But now the color is displaced by you…        

Displaced by you–my gaps vanish in whole,  
Displaced by you–integrated my soul,      
Deep–into every last wrinkle and fold,      
We’re integrated–together we’re rolled.    

And as you’ve become ingrained in my veins,    
There’s no pause to the pattern or plane,      
We sit flush, joining as if we’re the same,    
This feels familiar--there might be a name.        

But how to define something of the sorts,
Existing naturally, without a source,
But now apparent, an obvious force
As it all made sense–I uttered...

“of course.”