Mar 2016
i. ablaze
no canvas can hold your portrait
all fine lines and smudges,
like this crumpled paper heart can.
no acid earth blooms sickly flowers
so vivid and surreal,
like your lips formed falsities
hollow insignificances, haloed in sickening silence
no song croons heartbreak
quite as heart-wrenching as
these words you leave unspoken.
and nothing lights up this darkness quite like
the dazzling glow of how
i burned up for you:
ii. fluorescent
at night these empty streets whisper
rumors of embers stirring, rekindling
the remnants of a great fire.
out of ashes i rise, singed and searing to touch.
lights and cigarettes line the paths forward
and backward; i wander them aimlessly.
nothing lights up this darkness
quite like the glow of how
hundreds of streetlights burn for me.
iii. ceasefire
nothing lights up the darkness
quite like the glow of how
i illuminate from the inside out again
no longer an all-consuming blaze—wild and destructive,
or a fluorescent light—the artificial brilliance a borrowed comfort
i cannot call my own;
i uncover my heart to find light again,
not an uncontrollable fire, or the reflection of a stolen light,
but the halcyon glow of a ceasefire.
iv. light up the darkness**
and nothing, nobody can light up my darkness
or line my street sides
quite like i can.
no canvas can hold your portrait
all fine lines and smudges,
like this crumpled paper heart can.
no acid earth blooms sickly flowers
so vivid and surreal,
like your lips formed falsities
hollow insignificances, haloed in sickening silence
no song croons heartbreak
quite as heart-wrenching as
these words you leave unspoken.
and nothing lights up this darkness quite like
the dazzling glow of how
i burned up for you:
ii. fluorescent
at night these empty streets whisper
rumors of embers stirring, rekindling
the remnants of a great fire.
out of ashes i rise, singed and searing to touch.
lights and cigarettes line the paths forward
and backward; i wander them aimlessly.
nothing lights up this darkness
quite like the glow of how
hundreds of streetlights burn for me.
iii. ceasefire
nothing lights up the darkness
quite like the glow of how
i illuminate from the inside out again
no longer an all-consuming blaze—wild and destructive,
or a fluorescent light—the artificial brilliance a borrowed comfort
i cannot call my own;
i uncover my heart to find light again,
not an uncontrollable fire, or the reflection of a stolen light,
but the halcyon glow of a ceasefire.
iv. light up the darkness**
and nothing, nobody can light up my darkness
or line my street sides
quite like i can.
(Bellevue)
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