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Beau Scorgie Apr 2022
Hit after hit
head under water (inebriated)
unable to swim,
I choked,
unsure if by God's hands or my own.
But by God I swallowed it all
then begged for more.

I sank until my feet hit the bottom
stirring the sand around my legs
then upwards.
The ocean floor obscured,
my vision obstructed.
Desperately I swiped
in vain,
and swiped again,
but still the obstruction remained.
And God laughed
and I choked
either by God's hands or mine,
by miracle or design.
Am I Him
or Him me?

Seething with questions
sung and unheard,
then yelled and ignored,
I finally lay myself to rest.
A deep sigh escaping my breast,
I surrendered to rest.

Sleep overcame me
and I dreamt of pearls,
that one day this heaviness
would give birth to pearls.
But alas I awaken
and in my night terror
I had stirred the sand again.
I do not remember.
God let me remember.

I dream of pearls
and of pearls I dream.
Yet still am I to awaken
to this dream.
The sand begins to settle
but the hand stirs again,
never lain to rest,
the obstruction remains.

Sometimes I see glimmers,
gleams and glistens
of the pearls I've only
seen in my dreams.
And by God's hands they gleam
as they always did.
But my hands became rough
from the sand that stirs
and I fear to ever touch,
a pearl,
to ensure that I never
grind her back to sand.
For God shall laugh
and I shall choke.

"Stay sleeping, little one.
Dream of pearl,"
He said.
And deliver He did
oblivion and pearls.
Beau Scorgie Mar 2022
If the shadow of a loss remains,
is it really desolate?
Where the mind fills the emptiness of a desire,
does it exonerate?
"Things can be two things."
Riddled with crypticism,
in vain,
I entertained
an eagerness to negate.
Then in both his absence
and absent presence
I finally conceived how right
he was (is)
all along.
Beau Scorgie Mar 2022
See the man
Adorned in black?
My home,
    is there.

A white picket fence.
My place,
    my home of rest.

My home
    I sought.

Silver linings,
My home
    I found

Surrender, I did,
At a gaze.
My heart, I tried.
    Believe me I tried...

"Sieze! Raid!"
Ablaze the home!"
My heart, no,
    one needs a home.

Any will do!"
My heart, no,
    home is You.

"See that man?
Adore him you do."
My heart, it spoke
    of home and you.

An absurd world,
My heart
    a compass to you.

So like that,
A home became
My love,
    my love, a home.
Beau Scorgie Mar 2022
A gaze.
A silver line between
and terror.
A silver line of contentment,
of complacency,
of humdrum mediocrity.

A gaze,
too afraid to gaze
lest we acquaint ourselves
with gold
or bronze.
Too egocentric,
too self defeating.
A silver line of contentment,
of complacency,
of humdrum mediocrity.

A silver safety belt,
clip the lines,
halt the grinds,
lest we acquaint ourselves
with loving gold,
or terrifying bronze.
Lest we stray
from the silver line,
the safety belt,
of contentment,
of complacency,
of humdrum mediocrity.

Lest we stray,
forever shall we stay.
A silver gaze,
humdrum days.
Neither here, nor there,
and perpetually,
A gaze.
Beau Scorgie Jan 2022
Day 4:
Full glass
empty glass.
Another full glass
another empty glass.
Where is he tonight?
wash rinse repeat
wash rinse repeat
wash rinse

Month 5:
Plead sobriety
f--- sobriety.
A happy dance. (drink)
Thou shall not drink!
Thou shall not dance!
Thou should like to dance.
Glass, help me dance.

Month 11:
Waste away
waist away. Another
full glass no food.
Another empty glass no
wash rinse repeat wash
rinse repeat dance

Month _ :
One shot.
Four shot.
(You're alone tonight.
I'm with you tonight.)
Six shot.
Nine shot.
(I'm with you tonight.
You’re alone tonight.)
Bathroom floor tonight.

Day 1:
Sober tonight
f--- tonight.
tremor purge
repeat sweat
tremor repeat.
(You're alone
tonight. You're alone
I’m alone tonight.
wash rinse…

Day 365:
Beau Scorgie Apr 2018
My saint,
my good Samaritan
who never leaves.
How lucky I am -
so grateful for
my humanitarian man.

How lucky I am,
so grateful for
his faultless memory -
reiterated recall -
everyone else left you
Oh my humanitarian man.

My good Samaritan,
holy martyr.
A heart for a soul -
a love to barter.
So sweet (so deserving) a sacrifice
for my humanitarian man.

A heart for a soul,
so sweet a sacrifice.
For if our love shall perish
accept my death twice

How lucky I am,
my humanitarian man.

My saint,
my good Samaritan.
he'd die for my heart -
he'd never leave.
So how could I part
my humanitarian man?

How lucky I am.
How lucky I am.
Beau Scorgie Apr 2018
I danced
under savage flame
and the sound
of wood splitting.
I could not see
that I burned down the house
until the moon set
and I stood cold
amidst charcoal
that crumbled
in my palms.

The books we read,
vinyls we spun,
letters we wrote,
clung to my skin
like a crime scene.

He was blackened too -
watching from afar
as I danced
and sowed gasoline
over everything
he loved.

He was blackened too -
and crumbling
within my palms.
Waiting from afar
for the last ember
to die.

I burned down the house.

But he picked me up
and carried me
to our bed.
Scorched -
where we cried in agony
at a whisper
across our skin.

Every sunrise
we're washing the charcoal
from the sheets
and purging cinder
from our lungs.
Planting seeds
where foliage
was lost.

We wait now
for the day
the flames in our eyes
become another Polaroid.
For the day
we can laugh
at how I burned down the house,
and finally saw
the mxthxrfxckxr crumble.

Yet still,
he doesn't
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