I know exactly what's going to happen next, but I'm powerless to stop it.
The "no!" in my throat is caught by the smug voice in my head that says "Look. I was right all along.”

Beginning of the end.

If you wish for things enough they’ll come true
which is great fantasy for things like love and second chances and “unity”
but I’ve always been more concerned with the darkness
demons of everything that could go wrong
stagnating my desire, paralyzing me on the brink
incapable of jumping, or retreating

was I actually wishing
for things to go badly to satisfy the part inside of me
the part like the something that’s sour in the raspberry bursting
menacing in the smile
the tiniest hole in the bottom of a ship
which lets in the water of uncertainty and fear until it overcomes the spirit of the sailor

drowning in doubt.

was I actually wishing for this to happen
so that the part of me that is freezing rain in Spring
can be proved right, and my fear of trying will be justified
so the voice can say “I was right all along. Should never have tried.”

The static in the air is different
the speed of the looks between us
the old rapid fire of connections and feelers reaching across the table full of rocks
recoil and return to their islands of misplaced hope.

Black and white world
illuminates with you
yet like all I know this light will falter

too.

knowing doesn’t make it easy.

“always” is a lie
the reflection of life I saw before is
as distant now as the roaring snow in Spring
when your eyes were etched into my memory
and masked my broken ego.

definition surrounds
categorizing each aspect of me into little boxes
and in turn I do the same
expecting everything in life to fall into line,
salute Perfection and march along

but where has that gotten me?
A forever thickening, strangling nostalgia and desperate cry
“please don’t change, not yet”

losing my grip on this precipice between The Now, The Imagined, The Past and The Hoped.
Beginning of an end
fear stricken as I strain to see across the bend
maybe I can glimpse What Happens Next.

The white sails on the alabaster sea
every crease a mountain, wrinkle a valley
where x marks the pain and proclaims the return
of strength.
The ever changing surface, with the surge of life beneath
an underlying rhythm, rippling.
Tides of euphoria and melancholy wash over
ruled by the two clear moons of the daylight sky
ever present, all seeing
always the power to destroy but the choice of benevolence
Respects must be paid to the goddess of this paradise
with hair of bronze and a laurel of serpents
for as long as earth and woman are one
many secrets will remain
behind the rosy smile of the sun.

“You’re a rookie
You think you’ll be the first to put those words in that order?
please write more about how you’ll die if someone doesn’t come over
Your entire privileged life advertises itself in one ******* hand
smartphone buzzing, your keychain that comes with a whip and a home
clangs and clatters ‘I am I am I am’--a brat.

and a mimic. Did you catch that Bell Jar reference?
Of course you did, you yearn to be more tortured than you are
Better to be a reflection of true artistry than…
wait, what is it you think you are again?

‘You have to really love the process’
tell yourself that sweetie
the ups and downs of putting pen to paper and words to ideas
writer’s block is probably a shocking hardship for you, talk about a struggle!
what the hell do you have to say?

Telling me I should listen to your opinion?
You don’t know anything about me
I’m not some character you created and can control in your brain
--I don’t like you! And there’s not much you can do about it because
“real world” people like me aren’t always what you want.
And you’re probably not used to that

Well?
Why aren’t you saying anything?
You’re the one claiming your words have weight
so use them!
It’s the only way you’re going to get ******* like me to shut up.”