May 2015
He took the ribbon and let it fall down with the water, thundering along the current into a cove that his veins couldn't reach, burrowing into the salt-laden cracks. There's sugar in the edges of your fabric darling but that doesn't mean you'll ever mesh with the night sky, no matter how high you climb on your ladder made of UV Light or birthday candles (it falls to pieces beneath you either way). I remember the way he used to write letters because it's scratched into the desk beneath my forty-two empty notebooks, simmering in the silence.
I sit on the floor to write the ends of words because that feels more like making a home.
Did you know (you always know) that once upon a time I was made of pixie dust and dragon fire and lonely midnights with ghosts on the rooftops. Did you know (I don't think you do) that I'm afraid I no longer know how to get lost in that place, that I am an erosion, so prone to cuts on my wrists and bruises under my eyes that I'm no longer worthy enough to fit there.
It hurts not to tell them so but it hurts them to know so. Do you see, do you see? There's a mirror that says she does but my vision's unreliable (so they say so they say. I lost my glasses again).
My, but I missed the ache in my knees that speaks of too many nights spent lying awake doing everything. They hurt more now that I'm doing it (everything) to avoid nothing (nothing at all) think nothing of me thinking of you because if you knew, it would never be the same and I never want to miss you more than I already do so it's nothing. I promise, I promise, I always promise.
He stood at the edge of the falls for the longest time, and nothing happened but the rising sun and whispers from the druids bending their trees. They wanted to walk away away away but roots are hard to break once you no longer hate the soil. Then he took the ribbon and drew it back up again, frayed and wet and (not the same) said "Go back to who I wanted you to be. This isn't what I created."
(No, you held the end of it all. The current did the rest.)
I sit on the floor to write the ends of words because that feels more like making a home.
Did you know (you always know) that once upon a time I was made of pixie dust and dragon fire and lonely midnights with ghosts on the rooftops. Did you know (I don't think you do) that I'm afraid I no longer know how to get lost in that place, that I am an erosion, so prone to cuts on my wrists and bruises under my eyes that I'm no longer worthy enough to fit there.
It hurts not to tell them so but it hurts them to know so. Do you see, do you see? There's a mirror that says she does but my vision's unreliable (so they say so they say. I lost my glasses again).
My, but I missed the ache in my knees that speaks of too many nights spent lying awake doing everything. They hurt more now that I'm doing it (everything) to avoid nothing (nothing at all) think nothing of me thinking of you because if you knew, it would never be the same and I never want to miss you more than I already do so it's nothing. I promise, I promise, I always promise.
He stood at the edge of the falls for the longest time, and nothing happened but the rising sun and whispers from the druids bending their trees. They wanted to walk away away away but roots are hard to break once you no longer hate the soil. Then he took the ribbon and drew it back up again, frayed and wet and (not the same) said "Go back to who I wanted you to be. This isn't what I created."
(No, you held the end of it all. The current did the rest.)
for arielle, who wanted a poem. or something.
(this was written at 4 am and i'm sorry, i'll edit later)
-cas
(this was written at 4 am and i'm sorry, i'll edit later)
-cas
