The shades of dawn
under the waning moon
reflect on your face.

The lace trembles―
when you watch the Venus
disrobing in dark.

Confession made.
You wash your feet in
Milky Way.

there were borders between you two,
arbitrarily defined, a line divides the marbled gods
of differentially existing praise. praises sung in Goidelic
and the Queens impeccably imposed prose.

beyond the rambling border,
our division from all else contracts.
secluded by the raging atlantic seas and
ancient cliffs of inhabited crumbling shale.

our tongues and words would lash each others backs,
compounding our need to gather for a day of rest.
when we decide to depart this divided space,
our wounded flesh transforms into a welcome mat.

away from woolen wear and greening rolling hills, we gather
together where borders and belongings melt on mornings toast.
divided tongues and limerick prose now rest from lashing licks  
because now we share bleeding blood and a boundless beating love.

309

For largest Woman’s Hearth I knew—
’Tis little I can do—
And yet the largest Woman’s Heart
Could hold an Arrow—too—
And so, instructed by my own,
I tenderer, turn Me to.

There are oceans between you and me,
We are thousands of miles away.
You're very hard to see,
Yet I long for you everyday.

I wait for the day I get to see you,
Face to face we will meet.
Everything: I'm willing to do,
Just to hear your heart beat.

i want to wrap my own hands
around my own waist
like your hands once
circled my hips
as if they were a planet
to orbit

except i want to
dig into my own skin
fingernails scraping ****** ribbons
removing your sweat from my pores
your skin from my skin
your blood from my blood

ill destroy my own body
in order to take it back

I don't think most people understand depression
                                                    ­                         suicide
                                                         ­                           PTSD
or the cycles that they come in as if they were tides.

People don't see past the smiles and laughter to the darkness within;
That you could be surrounded by love and feel okay
                                                            ­                            yet still be dead

That no matter how much comfort or peace you have it still gnaws away in the beck of your mind and chews a hole in your heart.

Cut wrists and suicide attempts aren't a cry for attention but for help;
does anybody out there hear me? see me? feel the way I feel? does anybody get that I am on the edge and losing it? why does nobody listen? why don't they take me serious? am I worth anything?

It disgusts me we execute the wounded and condemn their suffering;
Maybe they shouldn't feel the way they feel, but it's how they feel, so quit trying to tell them to stop feeling that way!
QUIT TRYING TO FIX THEM

Just be there... they need to know they aren't alone.

Of this verse
The core, the middle,
Is marked on its palm.
No riddle
To be guessed in a lyric
So brittle,
Whose task
Is  to hold in place
The fissured parts
Of a gypsy's fiddle.

LazharBouazzi, April 4, 2017