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Jan 2019
You said that
You wish you had time to sit down
And write me.

I circle among the wooden nymphs
Infiltrate fire on ice
And mend golden beams with
A little solitude
And an everlasting
Humble sadness.

I don't know that I can adapt anymore.

Mirroring lampshades, the wallpaper too
I drift among the water here
Submerging myself into the lake
When the water tastes just right
Or not great.

I quantify and qualify
And echo in and out of chambers
As you listen and reach for everything
All while wanting everything
But not all of it.

I wasn't supposed to mean anything
A choir of banshees sing
And in my writing to you
I don't know that I have anything new to say.

Will you think of the way people circled around me on the dance floor
Or how an all consuming radiance and freedom
Releases from the room when I enter it?

I'm still here while you go
Chipping and chopping away
With my golden axe in hand
The belle of the ball.

I can still taste
The comforting way
I've come to find your hands down my lips, down my throat
Down the grip
Of my heart that you tighten and sometimes
Toy with.

You flutter through like a winged creature
Through your own plights, your own jealousy
Finally admitting to me
As we both swirl in moments of turmoil.

You described a feeling in your chest.

I've always been someone who can take on a lot of pain
I've always been someone who
Finds some kind of weird ****** up joy
In feeling so completely
A *******, a pained artist
And so here, in the terrace
Where it's you and it's me
But not so completely
I can paint strokes
As my arm bleeds down the canvas
Because a part of me
Can somehow stand it.

I don't know what will happen here
I wish I could write more joyously
All I know to do
Is to set you free

And trust you'll come back to me.
Written by
OnwardFlame  Chicago, IL
(Chicago, IL)   
     Manuel Hutchinson and ---
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