Of all the ways you've laid waist
to the Fortressess of Love I ***** in the realm of my emotions...

Of all the brittle limbs you send back crumbling on which once grew life I sent to you like pawns before me in this dry territory where the dust disturbs the view of the silvry illuminations in the sky...

Of all these things I've said, and the things I've not said...

At least, they let me know that you know I'm alive.

-

When was the last time
you climbed up a ladder,
looked at the sunset
through periscope eyes

Drank from the cabinet
marked liquor don’t enter,
watched an old movie
with tear drops and sighs

Danced in the garden
with daffodils watching,
sat down to dinner
and found something sweet

Floated on marshmallow
clouds on a Monday,
painted the lines
on the wrong one way street

Sang in a meadow
with butterflies playing,
swam in the dessert
neck deep in the sand

Picked up a quarter
and called it a dollar
even though ladybugs
slept in your hand

Read a new poem
and found something like this,
rolled both your eyes
and then wore a smile

Look at the bright side,
all that it cost you
was just spending time
with me for a while

What Relapse feels like
Relapse- a proper noun that steals your attention and commands your obedience

Every person that was a part of your recovery had been lying
The recollection that it did not **** you but it did not make you stronger
Reliving the moment it stopped your living and when it prevented your dying
The feeling that you will not survive much longer
That is how relapse feels

The first taste of fruit after a long and barren winter
A moment of peace in a life measured in seconds
The perfectly straight lines of a newly aligned printer
A demand for piled servings and SECONDS!
That is how relapse feels

The need of a familiar place; of a familiar face
Desire for someone to hold you tight
The need to go far away; to go to outer space
Desire to leave this world for the light
That is how relapse feels

It's a ripping motion
Between wanting it to end and wanting its intensification
Between having to much and too little emotion
And the worlds between the brain speak languages with no translation
That is how relapse feels

It feels so good just to be so bad
The beauty in the human body's ability to mend and to break
It feels so bad just to be so sad
And the repulsive face of being awake
That is how relapse feels

It's a tearing
It's a tugging
It's a pulling
It's a shoving

Relapse is looking at the sky and thanking God for the ability to be alive
ten minutes before a battle in the head
asking if it's worth it to survive
ten minutes before tears stain so silently alone in bed

It's a promise broken
It's every moment spent clean wasted
It's the truth unspoken
It's the loss of happiness that had barely been tasted

That.
That is how relapse feels.

why a poet?
because a poet
hears the words
which sing the
purest harmonies
because a poet
paints their portraits
in pastels
of phrases
because a poet
dances their agonies
into leaps of faith
and pirouettes
of passion
because a poet
sees
the beauty
in the commonplace
and captures
the moment
in a snapshot
of ink and white
because a bloodless world
cuts itself
a thousand times

and the poet bleeds