The melancholy is thick on my tongue
heavy on my shoulders
tight around my chest
pulling me down and down
under the bathwater as I stew,
marinate,
simmer.

The sad is not loud or exultant
it is not rage-fueled or violent
but a soft, lowly whisper
which crashes against me
waves of velvet and suffocating
emptiness tangled in my
ventricles, clenching and
draining and dimming.

Sit with it, they tell you
honour those feelings that steal your breath
or gut you with painful precision
sit and accept and move on
but how can I move forward when
time has lost meaning and
life has no direction and
purpose trickles down the drain
with the last of the bubbles.

She shines bright like a star desperate to be seen among the inky night sky
In a universe stretching galaxies, with milky ways of endless beauty and terror and brightness and wonder.

She carries on flickering in the hope that those who spot her are guided to better things by her light.
She burns hot, forever aflame and highlighting the vast darkness that can never be kept at bay.
There cannot exist one without its opposing force and no matter how hard she tries, the pitch black will prevail.

She rails against the odds, emitting radiant hues in white and red and green and blue
Painting the universe with a haze that is distinctly hers, tirelessly working to brighten, lighten, to thrive.
Survive.

But what happens when stars burn too bright having spent that light being seen
admired
cursed
wished upon
spent
and there's none left to fuel the spark?

What happens to little stars alone in the sprawling universe, unseen and unmourned when they burn out?

They fall.

I am an empty well with nothing left to give but the frayed, overused rope and a bucket full of holes.
No water left to quench your thirst but my tears my wet your cheek, cool your skin, soak you to the bone. I am a forced metaphor.
Recycled. Chipped away at the corners to fit my new mold. I am empty. I have nothing left to give.

The tale of Persephone dances on my skin
Birdsong felt hell-deep in my soul
White dress stained red, pomegranate
carcass left to be reclaimed by the soil.
Seeds and sticky juices long forgotten,
as seasons turn and reunion means retreating
but the hallowed halls held on weary shoulders
call and her heart will always answer.
Slipping a hand in that of the one she gives it all up for
to gain everything with.
Tempestuous eyes, weathered brow, slight smile
gleaming in the darkened corridors as she claims her throne

Home.

new life in a shell
brittle and cold
weight lifted, shoulders
drop and lungs sigh.

feline unfurling in the
sun warm exploring
muscle aches, joints
oiled and creating happy shapes.

room to move and enjoy
airy and open
skin pulled over, sinew
ready to settle and rest.

wiggling toes and brows
at peace and soft
teeth sink, lips
ready and patiently waiting.

memories dance atop
a body remembering
sunny days, past
delights will be born again.

I have mistreated my body for far too long
And the cracks begin to show.
Furious, red, screaming against the alabaster
Why have you done this to us?
What gave you the right to?

Forcing food down our gullet
Sedentary. Sluggish.
Purge, regret, binge, repeat.
Pushing down feelings, blocking out thoughts.
The mouth and throat replacing honest conversation with fast food for faster results. Short lasting but instant gratification won out.

And now the results are in.
Battered, abused, inside and out.
The brain's poison finally externalised but not exorcised, merely adding to the litany of reasons Why.

The body is finite but never quite finished. Unfurling.
Forced to withstand the gluttony and shame, embodied, entrenched.
Bone deep hatred for what lives inside, oozing outward.
Desperate for it all to end. Knowing it never will. Until it does.

Is that all this life is now? Carrying the shame of bad deeds past forevermore, back bent and spirit breaking whenever the lights are on and clothes are off.
Constant reparations for sins that cannot be washed away.
Skin tarred by a brush that will never cover up the unjust punishment inflicted on this corpse.

I want to bask in the glory of your light and drown myself with your dark. Cool contradictions burn bright inside me.

In your arms I am Brigit, crafting a searing flame. Or Hestia, perhaps, as our hearth and home become one and the same.

Bathing in the warm winter sunlight I think of us intertwined, scintillating. It is not just a little spark. It is a roaring fire.

A flicker, a glimmer in the endless dark. Keep a candle burning, my love, to guide me always home.