In the quiet murmur of hushed tones
And blasphemous whispers
I burn a torch over a simple question

For many suns and moons, I have wailed to the stars
My bloodied will, brandishing my broken body
The rhythm of my feet kissing the burning sand

For inside my chest, a song beats
Bereft of love, and the banality of wrath - no,
But of obedience, and blind faith,
The crucifixion made living

Carved into my back, a gruesome tapestry.

The slave driver orders me forward.
“Elohim?” I shout to the heavens, on my knees.

I have stared into the abyss
And it has stared back at me

Know that God was not there.

Instead, I hath walked the land of the suicides,
Asphyxiated in the blood which flowed from my open chest,
Languished in the agony of my consciousness,

And cried mercy to the divine, only to find the void -
Howling in a gnawing silence back at me

It was not “nothingness” which I hath found in the pit
For the abyss I found
Was an abundance of mirrors

1:45 - Go to the party tomorrow

                                                                                                            1:45 - No

1:46 - Go to the party tomorrow!!

                                                      1:46 - I can’t. We have a no contact rule.

1:50 -̶I̶ ̶j̶u̶s̶t̶ ̶w̶a̶n̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶s̶e̶e̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶r̶e̶.̶ ̶I̶ ̶k̶n̶o̶w̶ ̶i̶t̶’̶s̶ ̶h̶a̶r̶d̶,̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶I̶ ̶k̶n̶o̶w̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶i̶t̶’̶s̶ ̶p̶r̶o̶b̶a̶b̶l̶y̶ ̶b̶a̶d̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̶m̶e̶,̶ ̶b̶u̶t̶ ̶I̶ ̶m̶i̶s̶s̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶.̶ ̶I̶ ̶m̶i̶s̶s̶ ̶b̶e̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶w̶i̶t̶h̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶.̶ ̶I̶ ̶m̶i̶s̶s̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶r̶ ̶s̶m̶i̶l̶e̶,̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶I̶ ̶m̶i̶s̶s̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶r̶ ̶h̶a̶n̶d̶s̶.̶ ̶I̶ ̶m̶i̶s̶s̶ ̶h̶o̶w̶ ̶w̶h̶e̶n̶ ̶I̶ ̶h̶u̶g̶g̶e̶d̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶,̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶w̶e̶r̶e̶n̶’̶t̶ ̶s̶k̶i̶n̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶b̶o̶n̶e̶ ̶l̶i̶k̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶g̶i̶r̶l̶s̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶i̶d̶o̶l̶i̶z̶e̶d̶.̶ ̶I̶ ̶m̶i̶s̶s̶ ̶h̶o̶w̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶f̶e̶l̶t̶ ̶w̶h̶e̶n̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶w̶e̶r̶e̶ ̶i̶n̶ ̶m̶y̶ ̶a̶r̶m̶s̶.̶ ̶I̶ ̶m̶i̶s̶s̶ ̶h̶o̶w̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶f̶e̶l̶t̶ ̶w̶h̶e̶n̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶s̶l̶e̶p̶t̶ ̶w̶i̶t̶h̶ ̶m̶e̶ ̶-̶ ̶b̶e̶s̶i̶d̶e̶ ̶m̶e̶ ̶-̶ ̶e̶v̶e̶r̶y̶ ̶n̶i̶g̶h̶t̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̶a̶n̶ ̶e̶n̶t̶i̶r̶e̶ ̶y̶e̶a̶r̶.̶ ̶I̶ ̶m̶i̶s̶s̶ ̶h̶o̶w̶ ̶I̶ ̶h̶u̶r̶t̶ ̶w̶h̶e̶n̶ ̶I̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶n̶’̶t̶ ̶w̶i̶t̶h̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶.̶ ̶I̶ ̶m̶i̶s̶s̶ ̶h̶o̶w̶ ̶p̶e̶r̶f̶e̶c̶t̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶f̶e̶l̶t̶ ̶w̶h̶e̶n̶ ̶w̶e̶ ̶w̶e̶r̶e̶ ̶n̶a̶k̶e̶d̶ ̶o̶n̶ ̶a̶ ̶t̶h̶u̶r̶s̶d̶a̶y̶ ̶a̶f̶t̶e̶r̶n̶o̶o̶n̶,̶ ̶a̶l̶o̶n̶e̶ ̶i̶n̶ ̶o̶u̶r̶ ̶r̶o̶o̶m̶ ̶w̶h̶e̶n̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶r̶ ̶p̶a̶r̶e̶n̶t̶s̶ ̶w̶e̶r̶e̶n̶’̶t̶ ̶h̶o̶m̶e̶.̶ ̶I̶ ̶m̶i̶s̶s̶ ̶d̶r̶i̶v̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶a̶t̶ ̶n̶i̶g̶h̶t̶,̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶I̶ ̶m̶i̶s̶s̶ ̶d̶r̶i̶v̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶h̶o̶m̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶r̶ ̶p̶l̶a̶c̶e̶ ̶-̶ ̶o̶u̶r̶ ̶p̶l̶a̶c̶e̶.̶ ̶A̶n̶d̶ ̶y̶e̶s̶,̶ ̶I̶ ̶k̶n̶o̶w̶ ̶i̶t̶’̶l̶l̶ ̶h̶u̶r̶t̶ ̶i̶f̶ ̶I̶ ̶s̶e̶e̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶t̶o̶m̶o̶r̶r̶o̶w̶.̶ ̶I̶ ̶k̶n̶o̶w̶ ̶i̶t̶’̶l̶l̶ ̶h̶u̶r̶t̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶I̶ ̶w̶o̶n̶’̶t̶ ̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ ̶h̶e̶a̶l̶,̶ ̶b̶u̶t̶ ̶s̶o̶m̶e̶t̶i̶m̶e̶s̶,̶ ̶a̶ ̶l̶o̶t̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶t̶i̶m̶e̶s̶,̶ ̶I̶ ̶w̶a̶n̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶j̶u̶s̶t̶ ̶s̶a̶y̶ ̶*******̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶t̶r̶y̶ ̶a̶g̶a̶i̶n̶.̶ ̶B̶e̶c̶a̶u̶s̶e̶ ̶y̶e̶s̶,̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶r̶e̶ ̶a̶r̶e̶ ̶s̶o̶ ̶m̶a̶n̶y̶ ̶c̶u̶t̶e̶ ̶g̶i̶r̶l̶s̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶s̶o̶ ̶m̶a̶n̶y̶ ̶o̶p̶p̶o̶r̶t̶u̶n̶i̶t̶i̶e̶s̶,̶ ̶b̶u̶t̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶w̶e̶r̶e̶ ̶r̶i̶g̶h̶t̶.̶ ̶F̶r̶o̶m̶ ̶t̶i̶m̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶t̶i̶m̶e̶,̶ ̶I̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶ ̶h̶a̶p̶p̶y̶.̶ ̶I̶ ̶w̶a̶n̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶t̶r̶y̶ ̶a̶g̶a̶i̶n̶.̶ ̶I̶ ̶w̶a̶n̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶f̶e̶e̶l̶ ̶w̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶i̶t̶’̶s̶ ̶l̶i̶k̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶b̶e̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶d̶ ̶b̶y̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶,̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶o̶n̶l̶y̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶.̶ ̶I̶ ̶h̶a̶t̶e̶ ̶h̶o̶w̶ ̶I̶ ̶c̶a̶n̶’̶t̶ ̶r̶e̶v̶i̶s̶i̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶s̶.̶ ̶I̶ ̶w̶a̶n̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶t̶r̶y̶ ̶a̶g̶a̶i̶n̶.̶ ̶P̶l̶e̶a̶s̶e̶ ̶g̶e̶t̶ ̶b̶e̶t̶t̶e̶r̶.̶ ̶P̶l̶e̶a̶s̶e̶ ̶s̶e̶e̶ ̶a̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶r̶a̶p̶i̶s̶t̶.̶ ̶P̶l̶e̶a̶s̶e̶ ̶g̶e̶t̶ ̶h̶e̶l̶p̶,̶ ̶b̶e̶c̶a̶u̶s̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶l̶a̶s̶t̶ ̶d̶a̶y̶ ̶I̶ ̶s̶a̶w̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶,̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶w̶e̶r̶e̶ ̶b̶e̶a̶u̶t̶i̶f̶u̶l̶.̶ ̶Y̶o̶u̶ ̶w̶e̶r̶e̶ ̶e̶v̶e̶r̶y̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶I̶ ̶w̶a̶n̶t̶e̶d̶.̶ ̶Y̶o̶u̶ ̶w̶e̶r̶e̶ ̶e̶v̶e̶r̶y̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶I̶ ̶s̶a̶w̶ ̶o̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶f̶i̶r̶s̶t̶ ̶d̶a̶y̶ ̶w̶e̶ ̶m̶e̶t̶.̶ ̶Y̶o̶u̶ ̶w̶e̶r̶e̶ ̶k̶i̶n̶d̶.̶ ̶Y̶o̶u̶ ̶w̶e̶r̶e̶ ̶u̶n̶d̶e̶r̶s̶t̶a̶n̶d̶i̶n̶g̶.̶ ̶Y̶o̶u̶ ̶l̶i̶s̶t̶e̶n̶e̶d̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶m̶e̶.̶ ̶Y̶o̶u̶ ̶m̶a̶d̶e̶ ̶m̶e̶ ̶b̶e̶t̶t̶e̶r̶.̶ ̶Y̶o̶u̶ ̶t̶o̶o̶k̶ ̶a̶l̶l̶ ̶m̶y̶ ̶s̶h̶i̶t̶,̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶s̶m̶i̶l̶e̶d̶ ̶b̶a̶c̶k̶ ̶e̶v̶e̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶o̶u̶g̶h̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶h̶u̶r̶t̶.̶ ̶A̶n̶d̶ ̶I̶ ̶w̶a̶n̶t̶e̶d̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶h̶u̶g̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶.̶ ̶I̶ ̶w̶a̶n̶t̶e̶d̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶k̶i̶s̶s̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶t̶e̶l̶l̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶e̶v̶e̶r̶y̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ ̶b̶e̶ ̶f̶i̶n̶e̶,̶ ̶w̶e̶ ̶w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ ̶w̶o̶r̶k̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶o̶u̶t̶.̶ ̶I̶ ̶w̶a̶n̶t̶e̶d̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶g̶i̶v̶e̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶t̶h̶o̶s̶e̶ ̶f̶o̶u̶r̶ ̶m̶o̶n̶t̶h̶s̶,̶ ̶b̶u̶t̶ ̶g̶o̶d̶ ̶h̶o̶w̶ ̶I̶ ̶k̶n̶o̶w̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ ̶j̶u̶s̶t̶ ̶h̶u̶r̶t̶ ̶u̶s̶ ̶b̶o̶t̶h̶ ̶m̶o̶r̶e̶.̶ ̶S̶o̶ ̶p̶l̶e̶a̶s̶e̶,̶ ̶g̶e̶t̶ ̶b̶e̶t̶t̶e̶r̶.̶ ̶I̶ ̶w̶a̶n̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶s̶e̶e̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶t̶o̶m̶o̶r̶r̶o̶w̶.̶ ̶I̶ ̶w̶a̶n̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶s̶e̶e̶ ̶w̶h̶o̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶a̶r̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶m̶o̶r̶r̶o̶w̶ ̶-̶ ̶b̶e̶h̶i̶n̶d̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶d̶i̶a̶g̶n̶o̶s̶i̶s̶.̶ ̶B̶e̶h̶i̶n̶d̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶r̶ ̶p̶a̶i̶n̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶r̶ ̶h̶u̶r̶t̶.̶ ̶I̶ ̶w̶a̶n̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶s̶e̶e̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶.̶

1:50 - Okay.

...But at night

My head is a radio tower

The thoughts and information bouncing off the walls of my mind

Front to back

Voices from different frequencies

Endlessly bombarding me.

Never stopping

Never ending.

.
.
.
.


And for the first time in my life

.
.
.


I find myself begging for a place

.
.
.

Where I don't get cell service.

"You deserve it."


                                                          "Sometimes I just don't feel like I do."


"Sometimes we all feel like we don't."


                                                                                                             "Yeah..."


"That's why we call them blessings."

I’m not going to lose anymore.
I’m not going to take it in the gut without throwing a punch back.
I’m not going to go down without attempting to get up.
I refuse to lose you without burning myself trying to win you back.
I refuse to look for refuge or safety like I used to because I found something I want to fight for.
I refuse to let you go without staring down the chamber of a .44, looking you in the eye before you pull the trigger.

So if you pull the trigger, at least let me know why.
If you’re going to **** me, **** me on my feet.
I don’t want you to be my enemy.
I don’t want you to be the anchor that pulls me down to the bottom again.
I don’t want you to be a missed chance, or a “could have been”
I don’t want you to become someone I resent, or a waste of time.

I know you’re looking at this.
I know you’re watching and reading these words.
You know what I want.
It’s been a few weeks, but the time we spent is valuable to me.
And dare I say it was valuable to you too.

I don’t waste my words.
I don’t say things if I don’t mean it.
I don’t lead people on.
I don’t tell you I care for you if I’m just going to spit behind your back.
I don’t say “I love you” if I didn’t put so much thought into what I was saying.

You’re right. We are different.
But I was never looking for the same. I have enough of the same.

I want you because you teach me.
You unlocked something I never thought I knew about myself.
You taught me how to be vulnerable.
You’re someone I didn’t know I could grow to love.
And you have so much more to teach me that you don’t even know.

I know your time is precious,
But want you to be mine.
I never promised you forever -
But I promised you one day at a time.

And If you want it, you still have it.


Yeah?

Nothing makes me feel as powerless


As hearing you cry at the other end of the phone.