A phoenix rises from the ashes only to return again

She has fallen under the arrows of eyes never meant to see
Her final words she whispered in my ear

A thank you for all of the kind words
And an I'm sorry for the things left unsaid and unheard

And then she is gone,
In a blink
They have pulled away a part of my soul

A phoenix returns to the ashes only to rise again*

If you look close enough, you'll see wings sprouting from the dust
But this is the fall of Amethyst Fire

Look for me
Maybe I've washed away
But I'm still here

Lost in the past
Ghost made of ash
*There's always something more to see

The rooks
Waddling
Up the roof tiles
Like drunken men

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK  2017.

Either I'm swept up in colors and light, running after day-to-day life
Or I'm curled into myself and crying without tears
Either way I can't give the words space, to breathe and grow on their own

So when I disappear, I'll let you imagine me whichever way you'd wish
See me happy, see me sad
Nevermind the truth
If you so much as spare a thought to me when I'm not writing, that is already more than I can ask

It,s  a  lovely  crisp  early  spring  morning.
After  a  sharp  frost.
Clear  blue  sky  has  far
as  the  eye  can  see.
Very  quiet, no  wind  at  all.
The  snow  capped  mountains
stand  proudly  on  the  horizon.
A  few  holiday  makers  arriving.
For  a  brand  new  season.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK  2017.

There are spiderwebs stretched between my cells
my movement so hollow, you can hear the crackling of my thoughts.

don't forget me here
i'm alive in here
i just never figured out how to breathe

the melody lets go of my hand and skips far, far away
a fading whisper until
               silence
                         forever more and ever more

but I'm still here

Waiting to breathe

i love that it took 30 slits for you to realize I needed help. Thanks for leaving me at the emergency room by myself. Don't you ever ******* dare touch me again. I just want to die.

I'm sitting on my bed, wrapped up in a red, fluffy blanket and I'm thinking about how touch confuses me
Any touch, between the shoulders of friends, a soft punch at your sibling, an arm wound tightly around you by someone who doesn't want to let go-
It's all so intimate
Yet it lacks intention, direction
I mean, is it a touch of compassion? Is it playfulness, or something with much more gravity, emotions too powerful to wear a name?
Sometimes the situation lends itself to interpretation, but most of the times it is more like the way the clouds seem to caress the moon at night
And I don't comprehend
I freeze.
I find myself looking out of the corners of my eyes more often
Other people never seem to react this way, but even with the simplicity of physical connection, I can't help but look for an ulterior meaning
Fearing the untamed world of touch almost as much as I crave to be a part of it

And maybe that's why I don't understand it

Maybe I'm confusing touch with my desire to feel something, anything at all
Maybe I'm confusing touch with the feel of someone noticing I'm slipping away and anchoring me to the ground
Maybe I'm thinking that every touch I gather is another rung on the ladder to climbing out of this hellish land titled depression, where the silver glimmers of light cut almost as deep as the darkness itself, and where only once a year you remember to love yourself
I know that touch can't do that, but

Somewhere between my ears, a voice tells me it can.
It tells me to hold very, very still, holding my breath until stars explode before my sight,
Until I am kneeling before the boy with endless eyes
He smiles, wrapped in the cloak of the night and reaches between my ribs to stroke away the beating of my heart
It silences
And Death reaches down to wrap me in his arms, cradling my soul into eternity...

I abruptly climb off my bed, unwinding myself from the suffocating grip of my red blanket
The touch of its fabric against my skin too much right now
Too much right now
I think I've done enough thinking for tonight.