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Do you hear that? Hear the heavens wishing they weren’t so far away from you? Angels fall all the time, you were no different.

I can see the stars even from trillions of light years in the past, or is it the future? Either way, wouldn’t you want to be one too if you knew how empty their orbits really are? I wonder what they do with all the silence.

I still let the universe decide things for me. If the floodlights outside my window turn off in the next two minutes I’ll go to bed. If they don’t, I’ll lie awake in tranquillized agony. The sleepy self-deprecation I catch myself whispering into the thick darkness doesn’t seem so rigid at two in the morning. It’s….soft.

If someday the concrete of the road decides I’m no angel, I still hope I can hear the heavens wishing they could ******* pain on silvery tongues.
I miss you

There, I said it.

I miss you like I miss being a child. So innocently and so tenderly.
I miss you like I miss crying in my bed every night. So harshly and so hatefully.
I miss you like I miss how watermelon tasted sitting on my back porch in the dead heat of the summer. So wistfully and so nostalgically.
I miss you like I miss hating myself. So forcefully and so violently.
I miss you like I miss playing with my dad in that small backyard with the garden and playhouse. So kindly and so gently.

I miss you.

There, I said it.

And I'll miss you for even longer than just now.
I'll miss the small speckles of kisses we left on the other's shoulders and chests and chins.
I'll miss the sharpness of the shadows cast on the wall by the T.V. at 10 o' clock at night when we're supposed to be anywhere but laying in each other's arms.
I'll miss how the vast city lights stretched out for miles and miles and miles, unphased by the chill of winter.
I'll miss the sound of your voice, the terribly velvet voice with the touch of agony.

I miss you.

There, I said it.

And it is such a lonely existence to miss someone who does not miss you back.
Today I'm thankful
For those who pushed me
Those who provoked me
Those who forced me
To write.
 Nov 2017 Hanarchy
r
Two people are sitting at a table
in the afternoon, it is winter
and cold outside, dark in the room

She is dizzy and sad
from sipping the flat beer
of her own voice

He is like a stranger
who just blew in
she knows, if a man is sand
those who walk through
the desert are men

He is thinking of a stone
that flies in the dew
of the moonlight, an easy
thing for a sad man to do

I wonder if it was night
and they left together for separate
beds in different rooms

Would he think of her dress
falling down her waist,
or would she be in the jungle
making plans from the enemy's sleep

In a place like this, together,
looking into a table
wet from its own darkness,

What do they need,
what can they say?
Old memories
Of touch and feel
Of pick and peel
And pray and kneel.

Old sensations
Of you and me
Of us and we
And watch and see.

Dusty
     Old
          Memories.
Like classics
In a library.

Tucked away
For a later date.
Prometheus bound
Covering ground with his boulder
Up, then down. Then up.

This Prometheus has had enough of this
His arms begin to crumble, sand.
The boulder he's bound
Reverses ground
And kills him.

Can't push this rock forever.
 Jan 2017 Hanarchy
Sky
Still Here
 Jan 2017 Hanarchy
Sky
So I must learn to be without you,
but I promised to never let go,
Didn't I?
And when you've returned
from your journey through the darkness,
You will find me, waiting, arms open
Smile wide
I hope that you'll be happy to see me
I will wait here forever
*I've been waiting for so long
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