"There is a clarity you feel...something like a bride would feel, removing a veil and seeing her husband without it. No thin mesh, clouding you. There is a clarity you feel when you finally put down your abuse."

I say while abusing once again. It's funny how light on dark moments makes the light seem brighter than normal. The truth is, the light is no different than any other day, but since you've never seen the light here its brighter. A funny perspective skew. With abuse it's the same way. You quit, give up the vice that holds you tighter than any human hand. And feels more comfortable than love. You quit addiction for sun light because after you've given death a few rounds you realize that sun isn't just bright...it's warm.

It touches your skin
and all your cells race
to the surface,
antioxidize my sins.

Months pass and you become used to the light. It's normal again, and it grows weary under the weight of the boots. The veil would be better than this.

It was better than this.

And so the light becomes the same, and maybe you need darkness again to feel that warmth. Maybe you need the vice to cut off your circulation, make you shiver in the summer winter. So that sunlight doesn't just slide past you, so that it touches you again, the way it did when you opened your eyes for the first time...

Guilt rides your
back instead,
the warhorse
of an individual
apocalypse.

You make it, though...you keep secrets, you tell lies, so no one knows. It's not just darkness, it's silence, to deprivate from

"You can get through this"
"You'll be okay"
"Youre strong"

Because paranoid whispers are better friends. But it takes awakening from the right dream to remember that the sun loves you more. Your sun loves everyone, it pours down on everyone, it fills the darkness. All the darkness is just empty space anyway. Waiting for something warm to fill it.

It takes awakening from the right dream to make you realize that the sun doesn't just fill darkness, it grows life, it lives at the crest of mountain peaks, above the ocean of clouds.

So you understand that sun lights a path,
and you run it,
you plant feet
and
oaks blossom.

You never again take the world for granted.
You never again compare light.
Because even if it is the same light overflowing a new dark,
It is a growing light.

And it is always warm,
And it sometimes burns.

For a long time I was very scared to write about my emotions. For even longer than that, I've been very scared of writing about emotional experiences. I mean, I wrote about them, but I put them in the context.

I let a metaphoric poem tell the world about molestation or depression. I danced around the fire as it burned me, hoping my wild movements might appease some higher god into letting me forget myself.

I'm not condemning anyone who finds strength in this form of poetry, I just wasnt doing it for that reason. For me, metaphor was an escape not a release. I looked around at the pages laid before me and found only stepping stones into memories I'd have rather forgotten. Playing hopscotch on the fingers of child molesters.

When I was very young, I was woken in the middle of the night by a stranger's hands down my pants. He whispered I'd be okay as I tried to push him away until I finally got up and left the room. My cousin sat on the couch to the side of me. As I walked away he proceeded to touch her too. It was probably around 3 in the morning. My family, or the ones who could stay awake, were drinking heavily and talking loudly about things I didn't understand. I sat in a stairwell hidden from them. Close enough for them to hear me breathing. And I couldn't muster the courage to tell them what had happened. What was happening just downstairs to my cousin of the same age.

For a long time I tried to make people laugh. Because I was too sad to know why and I didn't know how to show it. I moved my fingers across the fine lines on people's faces and scrunched my nose at them. I hated them for being what I wanted. For laughing like I wished I could.

I let laughter find me a path to peoples happiness hoping it would come to me. But it never did. I lost myself in being a person I never wanted to be and I did it because I thought contentment was in someone else.

When I was a little boy my mom was dating a man named Danny. I'm sure by now I've blocked out every memory of this man except the one that lives with me. A memory torn in two because I see my sister and my mom. My sister a mirror image of myself, wrapped in duct tape from head to toe like a mummy. Nose and mouth too. Danny's handiwork. Were both shouting through silver tape, and trying to let someone know that our air is finite and our lungs are small. My mom finally tells Danny to stop. Not concerned so much as annoyed.

For a long time I tried to **** myself. I walked a razor line tying together old bits of my skin and dragging them behind me. Sewing the solid chunks of plain happiness to the rotting vibrant gangrene of my depressed parts. Hoping I could heal all the decomposed skin with a little bit of happy motivation.

I let other people remind me of who I was. Forgetting all the time and being reminded again and again so I could try to be someone new. Someone only they could see.

When I was a teenager, my dad and stepmom came up with a system for helping me lose weight. At any chance they'd get, they would make small remarks or comments about how my weight affected me daily. From how far down the car drops when I step in it, to my girlfriend's must be cheating on me cause why me. I didn't realize this was supposed to be for help. So I began to see myself as who I was and to this day I can't see my girlfriend walking down the street near another person without wondering if they are together because I'm a fat slob. I can't get in a car without wondering if anyone's noticed how much its moved because I've stepped in. At this point, I'm just hoping for the heart attack.

For a long time. I was only the pieces of myself I let other people see. I was a mirror that caught every Whisper and disgusted glance and fell apart whenever I actually saw myself. I couldn't be me. But this mirror is broken and cracked, all the chips replaced with parts from different mirrors.

I let that mirror shatter recently. And it's scary trying to decide who I am. In a world full of people holding up mirrors.

Set ships mast,
Set sails,
Set the wind to blow,
Set your heart towards the canopy,
Set all these desires on fire.

Criminalize the masses,
Decriminalize the drugs,
Incarcerate the children,
Forward facing guns,
Man and man with no Goliath.

Drink away the glass you covet, crush the glass between your toes.
Like grains of sand made muddy ******, lose yourself to the gold.
And melt it all when earth rampages, melt it all and melt the faces.
Burning bushes speak to you? Your dreams are government weather balloons.

Dearest Darling,

The lights are awake, Love. Each one dancing around the sky, falling, burning,
Dancing in the firepit.

For you, the lights are awake, My Love. Chanting with their high pitched hum. Using rays of light to strum harpchord lullabies. And they do it for you.

They do it for you because I sent them, I wanted to see a beauty so fitting yours. I wanted to tell the world through impossible means that Angels don't fall, they are born.

And I wonder...

Had you fall'n, I'd have been there. Within moments of hearing Hell try to breath you through the dirt, I'd have been there. Reaching for your immortal soul, to save and cherish.

And in the hours spent wrapped up in each other, I'd have loved an Angel. I'd have seen the wings and how they glide, I'd have found myself understand how one could be so lost.

Lost in love,
Lost in mind.

Dearest Darling,

My heart races daily, when I see you again. My fingers find a pen and write to you, to tell you of all the ways you ravish me. How you conquer me, how I'm lost to you because I've not given my heart to wandering women...its been given to my Goddess. My Lover in the clouds who shades me from the sun.
I write words for you with the stars, that if you ever go back home,
You may use them as guides.

And when you've made your home again, up in the embrace of a cloud with my touch.

I hope you find yourself reading them,
Those starlight sonatas I've composed for you.
I hope you find yourself remembering me, My Immortal Beloved.

A lounge singer came across the water for me,
His shoeshine and perfect polish.
And the light only made sense to direct attention to the ripples in the water.

So, he came forward,
Opened his mouth and belted rotten,
Beautiful tufts of ulra-violet sound.

The lake seemed to caress the ivory echos of his voice,
Each note executed precisely,
Each page full of half notes on behalf of the executioner.
-P.S.

Three days ago I found my sunlight peeking through a crack on the back of a rusted dumpster. My body, forced into it by people unwilling to give me a second chance.


It was blistering cold and the wind cut like snowflake diamonds zipping all around. I remember I was walking home thinking “maybe this is all I have left to give”


So two days ago I decided I'd let that dumpster bright ray of sunshine go. If my only good moments were covered in filth, I'd rather just let them go.


My thoughts raced on what was ahead of me. A millennia of starscreams opening across the galaxy as my silhouette becomes the shadow of a dwarf.


I know I'll miss the sunlight though...and even through cracks in rust I think my sunlight might someday become platinum.


Yesterday I met a face that felt like hot shadows. She sung catapults of fire in my mind. I saw her on the stage at a local cafe, strumming demons away from my side. Her fingers bleeding sunshine through her fingertips. Dipped in ridges and vibration.


I found a fool's worth of hope in the skyline and lost a lifetimes worth on wishing.

I'm standing in a small living room, dead center. My family and even some people I don't know, all proud Mexican people, stand around me.

I don't know why, but this memory is blurry and filled with static.

Some buzzing, angry voice cuts my ears. The sound a sharp, electric squeal. It hurts less as I get used to it, but I've been used to it. My ears tune the squeal and I know this sound. My uncle maybe. To be honest I can't remember.

My mind drifts off.

I blink in the light from the projector. Words flash across a sterile screen, something about an opioid overdose. First aid training presentation. I sit in a chair that's too small for me. My hips feel bruised.

Someone in class answers a question but I'm barely paying any mind. I can't stop thinking about drugs. I read the words in our follow along study guide earlier and now I can't get it out of my head...my head.

The hum turns into a low rumble.

I glance over to where it's coming from, the corner of a ****** apartment, the rumble creeps through the wall until it hits the sliding door to the balcony. Lightning bolt. I'm tripping acid somewhere I used to live.

I know I'm not there though. Just more flashbacks. Just more memories of things that feel good.

The phone rings.

I'm in my car, my cousin hesitates through the phone. My grandpa has cancer. I don't know how to feel because I've been avoiding him. I try to feign distress. Maybe make him think I'm not a terrible person for not knowing if I'm supposed to care…

I know I feel something. My stomach feels uneasy, like it always does. Except right now it feels uneasy like it usually doesn't. I tell him I need to hang up. I do. But it feels like a lie. I am self centered.

I am quiet.

The living room full of brown skin and brown eyes, red spit. They yell at me. My uncle's make fun of me for being ashamed of my skin. My last name is Montejano, but today my thirteen year old self has disowned my family. I'm tired of being called immigrant at school.

My cousins are solace, peace. I'm sure one of them told, but they pretend they care and some of them mean it. I am the bully in my family, I see them and I wonder if I even deserve my brown skin.

The memory sort of fades as I listen to the talking in front of me. Projector playing a slideshow. Things I should be writing, things I know. My right index finger is cut by a glass I'm washing in the sink.

The wound is large. I can see loose tissue while I wash it out. We find duct tape and some paper towels from the burgers we had last night.

I snort xanax. I'm outside.

Someone's playing guitar, I'm looking at the ceiling. It's just a memory but it feels so good.

My grandpa is in the driver's seat of a semi truck. We are passing a massive golden spire surrounded by trees. Somewhere near Maine or Virginia. As I try to remember the place we were, his face fades. His black hair is grey. And I don't remember it.

We're sleeping at a truck stop where he warns me not to open the doors at night. I don't sleep.

I step out of my dad's pick up truck a week later and it's the first time I experience perspective shifts, his truck isn't as big as my grandpas.

This is the first time I realise how small I am.

I'm pulling into a parking space as I get home from work. I can't remember how I got here.

The silver shorelinings break waves of thunder against the sand.
An electric ocean pulling me with its magnetic current.

Mountains in Mumbai and bellowing valleys in the Chilean drop.
Scattered soles, cloned from mud and dirt and snow prints.

India bubbles and burns and
Spain tramples my chest.

Italy wavers voices of the ghosts of the canals.

My soul is burning for the countryside and the delicate embrace of my mother earth.
I can feel the sunset whispering my bones into full sprint.
-P.S.

Yesterdays tomorrow never comes.

It feels like living this day yesterday and so on

It feels like being pushed into the same hole over and over

Yesterday left the way today did.

It fell away in subtle grey and now all I know is before.

Before when things weren't yesterday

I could sleep and the sun wouldn't bother me

When things weren't today the way it is

I could find a piece of plastic in a mountain of gold and be convinced.

Today is just like yesterday and it's nothing like tomorrow

But for a while tomorrow lives until yesterday rings through

And the grey turns to sunlight like diamonds of coal

And you yearn for yesterday when grey was a color

And the meaning of today becomes skewed by yesterday

Because yesterday was lightstorms and daggers and ice

But yesterday was something that you felt was just right.

And today feels like then it's just overly now

That tinge of grey singe sitting over your brow.

Yesterday was something that I can not explain

Yesterday is not what I want to remain
But I'm not the same
But I'm not the same
But I'm not the same
but im not the same
I'm not same
I'm not same
Not same
Not same
Not same
Not same

Something makes me feel the way that I always do

But it's not the same

And the grey is just like yesterday

But it's not the same

And my happiness is here like yesterday

But it's not the same

And her touch is a gift for my yesterday

But today it's not the same

Today Im not the same

Today Im not the same

Today Im not the same.

But yesterday was just like today

But I'm not the same…

And you are just like yesterday

But I'm not the same…

But you are the same…

But you never change…

The sun is just like yesterday

Yesterdays tomorrow never comes

Love,
My love lost in tangles.
My lover lost in tangles the wind pushes and pulls,
silk ribbons scarved around metal fence posts.

Carved around sentimental friend posts,
Computer monitor halitosis,
Curvaceous moments leave you hopeless.

Hopeless in the deep end and you drown,
but love,
Lost in angles.
Lost in traditional hang-ups and
Lost on a particular campus.

Divide the mental anguish,
Stand by and maybe hand this,
back to me

I might reciprocate and
Debilitate and the modesty wont
Depreciate as you make your,
point.

Stand by me,
Look lackluster at the edges of
perennial views.

Stand by me,
Walk me down the marital isle of
your perpetual bad news.

-P.S.

It started in the burning starlight




There was nothing in me. I was new and everything was naked.

Memories carry with them the heavy weight of another dimension.

Manipulate

He put the tape over her mouth. And I shouted mom's name. “mom”

My lips go dark. Silver and stuck. My face is small. Only one piece of tape for nose and mouth.

Manipulate

Every window bursts open and the anger creeps in.

Little  brown eyes go black. My body falls and the room siezes. Each frame of the shot vibrating, camera lens cracks and breaks.

My eyes are new, in a big brown body, with strong arms and fast feet.

MANIPULATE

fist for fist. Tape peeled back by revenge. And nothing sleeps right.




Somewhere else there are stars and you don't have to live




Could I be so naive...memories slipping through my fingers like pebbles. Through my tired, fading fingers.


Destroy

I feel breath. Whispers remind you that you cant be persuaded. Hands remind you that you can't fight back.

His lips making shapes in the dark, undoing buttons on child sized jeans.

Destroy

Overzealous heroes charge in and their fists build walls of bruises around would be abusers.

Maybe they save others...maybe overzealous heroes burn it all away.

DESTROY

And then no one gets hurt. Because nothing exists when it's ashes and bone.

But who am I if I believe memories can disappear…

If I refuse to accept the way they lurk in the shadows of my skull.

If I refuse to acknowledge them they grow.



Sunswept, copper sky. The moon sits waiting at the edge of the horizon



There he is. Big brown body like nothing id ever hoped.

Moving in and they can't see.

Repair

I feel comfort. Longing for that in my own skin.

I feel safe. Longing for that in my self.

Repair

Parents stinging child. Words biting the neck.

Poison lingering in veins. In memories.

REPAIR

But it's okay. He says he's been here before. Savior of the nightmares, i know him.

I sit in the backseat alone, waiting for the conversation to end. English to Spanish. My weight. I'm too big for someone so little.

He rubs my head and says it doesn't matter.

The hand is light and rough. Thick. Familiar and strange.

How could I become him...how could I be so incomplete.



It ended with the scorching moonlight

Its sick, I remember it

perfectly.

There was a moment in time when the fear let itself dissolve into my nostrils and her

hands laced in gauze gloves,
injured boxer,
beautiful daughter

and the light gleamed and glistened off of every glass plate,
fractals of xanax bliss flicking themselves on to a filthy rug

and the line thinned itself out,
the lines thickened as it thinned itself out

school busses found themselves in parking lots and
some found themselves sold to private owners and some

drove themselves to our madness.

Sad clown cries tears while he laughs
she gave us our pills for free.

and one morning her daughter awoke,

*third grade called her daughter to wake up early and dress herself for the occasion, as she was only in third grade and couldnt drive,

she went to wake her mother,

and the sad clown dried her tears on the executioners
pillow.

Fell Asleep With Too Many In Her

We spent a few weeks on our knees,
searching filthy rugs for fractals of xanax bliss.

One night I realized what I was doing.

Its sick.

I remember it perfectly.

Sun beam, set upon your skin and balancing on the edge of your smile.

You're a sun beam. We've gone so many new places together, I've seen things I've always wanted to,
Held hands in moments I never thought I'd live.
Youve brought light to midnight walks in the stars. Made stars luminous.

You're courage, coursing through me.
You are lightning in my lungs when I need to be louder,
Thunder in my heart when my body can't move faster,
Each new adventure winds itself through mountain paths and forest trails,
Stepping over the limbs of giant oaks, lifting us up to the sun so that you might become radiance at the tree peaks.

Noni,
We may not spend every moment touching wingtips with cloud bursts.
We can't afford to take vacations every few months,
It'll be a long time before we get to start traveling the world together.

Yet somehow you've taken me so many places.
Let lips act as a full gas tank and taken me over the moon on just one breath.

You've made mountains crumble back into the molehills I made them out of.

I've seen the ridge above the clouds, the sun breaking down to reveal itself to the earth.
Ive seen lightning strike the mountain side and fire in the forest.
I've made runs down green flowing hills, grass moving like ocean waves with the cool rolling winds.

I've done all this from my bed, each trip a moment I'm stuck by your side
Giving kisses to the skin on your stomach,
Raising little hairs on your forearm as our hands slide past each other.

I've never known paradise, but I've known an oasis with you.

You're a Sunbeam, and in my tiny shriveled patch of dirt, you're the rain.

Here you've planted yourself and grown in me.
You're the new places I want to go, and the new places I'll never be.

Youve seen all the versions of me and somehow shine light on the best parts of each…

Sun beam, set upon my skin and the reason behind every one of my smiles.

Happy anniversary. It hasn't been the easiest 3 years...but the best part about you is that you didn't want easy. You wanted love. And you've taught me how stubborn you have to be to love someone with all your heart. To love someone so much that looking at them makes you feel brand new. Blessed. Lighter and faster and stronger and brave.

Happy anniversary. To my one and only. To the one I'll be stubborn for,
To the one I'll fall over for,
To the one I'll be here for.

I love you. My sun beam. My silly goose. My baby girl.

I love you, and there's no way I'll let another year pass without you by my side. Without you in my life.

I take a drag from the last cigarette of the night,
tilt my head back as I stare up at the lightning.

Exhale.

As the smoke smooths past my lips I watch it drift into the still air.

The light catches it in the shadows as it reveals the outlines of a literal nothingness.
The moment fades as the smoke does.

The clouds exchange conversations.

The boom of thunder rolls over the treetops.

The cherry drips silky whisps of calligraphy.
Writing love letters to the oxygen as it diffuses slowly in to the dark.

My lungs ache for the softest part of a warm,
brown filter.
My lips caress it and as it slips away from my face I chase it down with more smoke.

Exhale.

Two bolts of stormy glory let it live on in a particular millisecond in time before it dies out in the night.

I smoke the nights last cigarette and reach away from the world with rock climbers fingers.
Digging in to the cracks of a wall made from oxygen and carbon dioxide.

Exhale.
-P.S.

I keep drifting in and out of my own designs…
watching the world change through all these perspectives,
eyes Ive made up on my own.

each stanza
line
half
full
measure

for all the sounds i hear with different ears, youd think it would be madness.

No, Ive simply been enjoying the pleasure of my creativity.

though i suppose ive been lost somewhat
falling to reality and wondering when ill
come back to visit

I dont live in lies, I write them.
But I live to write…
what does that say about me.
-F.M.

I've lost time counting headlights and lamplights and streetlights and stars. I've literally lost time. Each day I wake up, and watch the evening drift by in a sunset, I fall asleep and watch the moonlight sail away on a sunrise.


It was an empty promise, these lights all around. It was an empty promise, that buzzed with the current a few thousand volts. Lights...pale and broken bulbs bleeding gasses and lies. But I guess in the dishonesty of some idea so pure, I found the dream that Teslas lightning tipped fingers yearned for,


A quest of solid gold that conducted an orchestra of thunder. And so lights couldn't be a lie anymore,


They could only be a dream, a dream never fully realized so long as the frozen dead fingers of liars past held their grip. Edisons overgrown yellow tinged finger nails, piercing through the veil of misty electric sparks,


Yet here i am


The light bulb is over MY head now! And my brainstorm is an F4 hurricane, my bolts like guillotines for your greedy fingers!


Because this is the generation of new light, of new thunder and new mayhem.
Of illumination!


A new generation carrying torches, casting out our light bulbs and our lamp posts. Forcing fire into Mason jars and using flames like they were new again.


No no no
…
Not Mason jars. Pull those ******* light bulbs from the headlights and lamplights and streetlights, fill those ******* with gunpowder and unstable explosive mixtures and make stars, *******!


Make flames that burn brighter than Edison's unholy lies, that tear down the dome and bring the skies falling!


Watch everything we've built, watch corruption and lies and racism and false superiority come hissing out of the cracks, trying to save themselves from the building pressure,


Trying to claw their red boney fingers from the fire but they can't. Because they are the fire,


And we will all watch as they burn like they always wanted to. Their voices shining past all of the glory their burning visage may grant, their bodies becoming one with the chaos that is our country.


And then we will have nothing left but ashes. No more eagles. Only the right and left wings of a Phoenix,


Risen from our ash and tears, flying into the sky to become the sun...To shine like nothing ever seen by our eyes so used to a false light.


Because it's time we became the sun. It's time we chose a real light to follow, not a halogen tube spewing gas over sickly bodies. No more light bulbs to only last a few weeks. Were tired of artificial light...Tired of breathing oxygen made in a lab…


Maybe it's because we've lost so much time under buzzing broken bulbs, under boot heels and tyrannical ideation. We've lost so much time staring into TV lights and camera flashes that we've only been able to wait for someone real to step into frame...


We've lost so much time counting headlights and lamplights and streetlights and stars. Counting the minutes till a new hero appears...I'm ready to be the light.

I always used to think,
Comet tails would whip me across a baron universe.

Traversed by no man

I would ignite the empty space with an apocalypse.

And in the meteor metal would be the lost traces of emperor anarchy.
A cosmos of distant memories.

And the sound would flail past the seperate planets,

The black holes would be full with my legacy.

If I couldn't be the sun
I would be the brink

The lining that makes a whole picture
A puzzle.

She was home.

Little by little the lights dimmed.
Picture it: Ground. Dirt you remember with dry bits of grass.

Seeping wounds.
And the stadium lights grew foggy as this little bit slid a perfect fit in to her side.

Linoleum fluorescence.
These patches of unhindered ground where blood looked thicker than gravel splashed in theatre curtains.

Beautiful Electric Hum.
That cascaded above her shouts and cries for help as the exit wound spilled slander on to the grout.

Overly Dramatic.
When the last bit of shriek slid raspy from her throat.

Whispers.
And no one hears those in a screaming room.
-P.S.

My
My
My
A girl like you


A woman for me


A woman like you


Someone who knows she is


A woman like you




And I wonder how


How
How


You could be here.


Now now now


It's really you


And her here here


It's never you


When you know im looking for something real










It's her I'm looking at. Finding imprints of loving acts in infinitesimal moments
I melt into you like I can't describe how


How


Who you are to me.


Here


Here


Her presence moves.


She moved


Moves. Me.


I write some small sentence to try and rally the passion inspired by her


But I can't find


Lose sight


No more…


I can't forget you and move on




What do you do in all I am


Just the two of us


And I bleed why I can't let you go


Because I'm here for you, baby


Please


Let me unfurl ..


I'm always here right next to you
Forever wherever we go

How do you find me in these places?
Lost in my paradises where I'm never seen.

You follow me into the rabbit hole of my daydreams and
Fall with me into the arms of tragedy,
Into the arms of Gods caressing the mortal souls of Human lovers.

I'd take you anywhere,

We blink and open our eyes to the ocean around us. The sails pregnant with the gust of lovers lost. We stare out into the vast open and never cringe,
Not while our fingers cross,
Not while we travel vast and open together.

We could get lost,

Dive into the ocean and freefall to the bottom,
Physics simmer away as we float towards the center of the earth.
I hold you close as the light guides us into the abyss.

And we could aways come back,

Clasped so close as we slide upon the tectonic embrace of mother earth.
The magma heart swallows us whole,
And all there is is light,
And all I hear is your voice.
I walk towards the light and look out at the world from the knothole of a tall, proud oak.

I saw you climbing the limbs,
I watched in awe. How you shocked me.

One step ahead, even in dreams.
How do you find me in these places?

The silence between us is an intricate detail. One apparent in all of our conversations. Its a detail woven in to our relationship, won by quarrels the heart rages. Nerves chattering over raging pulses. Things you hear better in the silence.
The silence we do so well.

In it we sit still with all the tiny variables, shifting and consuming the minutes.
Our atoms shift between compressed palms and we calm our nerves.

The silence gives in to the pressure of pleasure and in the still air,
We feel forefingers following follicle outlines,
Sense skin slipping,
Softly setting sculpted
Hands.
Softly and
Its silent.

Like we do so well.

Eyes lock and dread,
Knowing the silence speaks millions of moments all at once and
Dreading,
The moment the silence breaks.
When we split for now and feel the air alone and heavy.

Funny how we do it so well,

Because when I leave I feel that silence still, lingering over me.
I feel those eyes on me, those fingers and those arms holding me.
For a few minutes I'm still lost in that haze, never really wanting to leave,
And always wanting to go back.

Everything in the mind of the shallow is vanished in the eyes of hollow halls. That we could not live to see the sunlight, that we lost ourselves in an empty truth.

We were always broken, and we were never cured.

Because we hurt ourselves, and because we never listened.
I was always here.

But it was not my home.
And forever as the rainbows,
and relenting as the ice.

I stood by this place.
A giant with the smallest eyes.

I remember the blood in the river, the water diluted.

I was no man, in my hours here.
The sunset held me,
in my crimson waves.

The love that you had set me back for days.
And the lord spoke through me,
as I pushed him away.

I dont remember when my eyes went black.
I dont remember the seconds in the ambulance.
I dont remember holding hands with golden girls who wanted to dance.

And the lights here beamed white,
in the golden arch of the pale bright moon.

You started fires, and the embers scattered,
and the coals got wet, and space was born.

But I didnt belong,
so I tried to leave.
And the lord spoke through me,
As I pushed him away.
-P.S.

Touch the light,
How it shivers.

How it opens, frayed on the edges,
Afraid of itself.

The drawbridge is never open,
No map to find peace.

No treasure hunters paradise in my memories.

I find the walkway eluding me.
Find it at the other end of the sidewalk,
The end that's just begun.

And I've made my peace with no one.

God,
Dear Lord,
Save My Soul.

For it has been blackened by my tormentor.

I wonder what it takes to be consistent. If its a struggle against the outside world, to hold yourself inside and press against the preserved lines of your holy self.

I wonder how happiness is like us, made a fool of in time. And if the bible holds secrets beyond what we understand.

And if it stood for religion, I wonder again what kind. If it was a religion of nature, of empowerment. To give ourselves the notion of identity, or to give us a sanctity on earth, of earth.

If its so, if there is no higher power above circumstance, then I certainly am mistaken.

It isn't a longing for moments anymore.
It's a longing for skin.
The way the cells embrace,
the way lips long for lips.

Hands to be locked.
These palms for you to read.
This face a desert
In need of your rejuvenation

The way fingertips long for flesh
To manifest goosebumps
To traverse the back of your rib cage
With both hands.

The way the air longs for whispers
In the dark where moans live
Vocal chords for ecstasy
The way love longs to be heard

I hear you.

I'm realizing these things I do that aren't so ideal. I know I keep making mistakes but my lord do I love you.
The sun couldn't shine bright enough on anything you do, no moment could match the ones I've known with you.

I know I fidget and forget that my best friend comes first, I shouldn't let it slip my mind that you've been here for years helping me through all kinds of darknesses. I live in loving memories of dim light and music making warm close bodies blush and breath. Forcing warm close hearts to rush and beat.

My heart aches, Its not that I can't find the words, its simply that with you, I fail the english language. I don't know how to describe that I yearn, that for so long I'd wanted your heart to want mine and I find.

I find you've wanted all along. If there is one thing I've forgotten, its that I am supposed to protect your smile. I am supposed to be the warrior of light waning darkness from your heart.
You and I have ink resembling lifetimes in mortality, etched on skin, engraved on bones. If I continue to make these mistakes, I will make you regret your own skin.

I'm sorry isn't enough, I've heard less words say more.
Ill show you what you mean to me.
Ill prove my apology.