The curving branches echo in the caliginosity
Withered roses sit, unattended; forgotten.
My torrid lungs tie a knot with every ***** creating tortuosity
in my mind, making a path I can no longer follow.
Another year passed, and it seems it runs in our family;
started generations before me, yet I refuse to let it swallow.
But you’re making it so ******* hard
because another year passed and I’m sitting in the back of its throat
and if i’m being honest I don’t know if I can walk another yard,
or mile or foot or even another inch.
You’ve made it so hard to want to open my eyes
because my judgment is clouded and it seems everyone is wearing a mask.
It’s hard because every single person I’ve seen has left me here to die.
They locked me in this box and threw out all the keys.
I am so alone, and the parks are so empty
of all but the hollow, rotting trees.'
Each piece of crumbling stone like a billboard
flashing its blurred out cries. An idea of what is to come,
but we don't know how or when, and even if we did none of us could afford
another minute; another moment, no matter how hard we try.
We are sand on the beach, being washed away
with quick waves - sometimes even our own foundations too dry
to carry our weight, yet if we’re soaked we find it hard to shape ourselves
into something new; something we want to be.
I don’t want to drown in the deep end like you.
But I don’t want to lose oxygen in this shallow sea.
I am so afraid of change, because I can barely hold what little I have
How am I supposed to create something new?
Yet I’m terrified of being the same thing forever
because if you take a closer look, you can see right through.
And there are things I have done that I cannot begin to say
There are things I want because of something you gave.
I shiver on the dirt, not from the cold, but because you make my mind play
with every possibility of how I can escape.
I wish it were me, six feet under.
I wish it were me, singing with the stars. The shining lights draped
On the vile sky we call home.
The abandoned ground, empty
of all but the feel of the wind's hands as they roam.
My mother too afraid to come to the terms
that you left us with, with a glass bottle in hand.
She is the fire, and it is her oxygen - the only way she can burn.
She misses that passion like a flower misses her sun.
The liquid magma barely reaches the inside of her throat
and the anger and release fills her veins.
I've been there too, except it was lonely nights below another person.
I was too young to see you were in pain,
but you left me with a mother
who can barely pick herself up after ten pm - who could barely exist.
You left me with a longing for hurt.
You left me with a mind so scarred that I wanted the scars on my wrist;
a mind so damaged I was planning to get under the same dirt.
To me, it was okay to let someone **** me over one too many times.
You left me staring at the same gun that you once held.
Contemplating whether or not to do the very same crime.
Does it make me weak to not pull the trigger?
Ungrateful to not want to be awake?
Selfish to use your death as a way to keep pushing?
Because I am pushing so ******* hard and I am going to break.
I am a rope, and the hand, desperately trying to hold
onto something that cannot possibly hold this weight.
You left me huddled into my knees trying to get rid of the cold
feeling in my lungs that stopped me from breathing.
You left me with sirens blaring, four separate moments.
You left me doubting my own worth
because if your father can't stay with you, who can?
You left me alone in this awaiting grave we call Earth;
And no one stuck around to help or assist.
You left me in this place, empty
of all but my own pitiful tears and clenched fist.
Yet I place my ******* flowers down on your grave
And I cry harder than last time
Because I can't be saved.
Because it’s been another year without you
and I’m still tucking my mom into her bed,
trying to put both of us back together like glue;
trying to keep all of our corners aligned.
So I fall into a dreamless sleep in this silent house, empty
of all but night’s rest seeping into two broken minds.
May 11, 2020
May 11, 2020 at 1:21 PM UTC
The curving branches echo in the caliginosity
Withered roses sit, unattended; forgotten.
My torrid lungs tie a knot with every ***** creating tortuosity
in my mind, making a path I can no longer follow.
Another year passed, and it seems it runs in our family;
started generations before me, yet I refuse to let it swallow.
But you’re making it so ******* hard
because another year passed and I’m sitting in the back of its throat
and if i’m being honest I don’t know if I can walk another yard,
or mile or foot or even another inch.
You’ve made it so hard to want to open my eyes
because my judgment is clouded and it seems everyone is wearing a mask.
It’s hard because every single person I’ve seen has left me here to die.
They locked me in this box and threw out all the keys.
I am so alone, and the parks are so empty
of all but the hollow, rotting trees.'
Each piece of crumbling stone like a billboard
flashing its blurred out cries. An idea of what is to come,
but we don't know how or when, and even if we did none of us could afford
another minute; another moment, no matter how hard we try.
We are sand on the beach, being washed away
with quick waves - sometimes even our own foundations too dry
to carry our weight, yet if we’re soaked we find it hard to shape ourselves
into something new; something we want to be.
I don’t want to drown in the deep end like you.
But I don’t want to lose oxygen in this shallow sea.
I am so afraid of change, because I can barely hold what little I have
How am I supposed to create something new?
Yet I’m terrified of being the same thing forever
because if you take a closer look, you can see right through.
And there are things I have done that I cannot begin to say
There are things I want because of something you gave.
I shiver on the dirt, not from the cold, but because you make my mind play
with every possibility of how I can escape.
I wish it were me, six feet under.
I wish it were me, singing with the stars. The shining lights draped
On the vile sky we call home.
The abandoned ground, empty
of all but the feel of the wind's hands as they roam.
My mother too afraid to come to the terms
that you left us with, with a glass bottle in hand.
She is the fire, and it is her oxygen - the only way she can burn.
She misses that passion like a flower misses her sun.
The liquid magma barely reaches the inside of her throat
and the anger and release fills her veins.
I've been there too, except it was lonely nights below another person.
I was too young to see you were in pain,
but you left me with a mother
who can barely pick herself up after ten pm - who could barely exist.
You left me with a longing for hurt.
You left me with a mind so scarred that I wanted the scars on my wrist;
a mind so damaged I was planning to get under the same dirt.
To me, it was okay to let someone **** me over one too many times.
You left me staring at the same gun that you once held.
Contemplating whether or not to do the very same crime.
Does it make me weak to not pull the trigger?
Ungrateful to not want to be awake?
Selfish to use your death as a way to keep pushing?
Because I am pushing so ******* hard and I am going to break.
I am a rope, and the hand, desperately trying to hold
onto something that cannot possibly hold this weight.
You left me huddled into my knees trying to get rid of the cold
feeling in my lungs that stopped me from breathing.
You left me with sirens blaring, four separate moments.
You left me doubting my own worth
because if your father can't stay with you, who can?
You left me alone in this awaiting grave we call Earth;
And no one stuck around to help or assist.
You left me in this place, empty
of all but my own pitiful tears and clenched fist.
Yet I place my ******* flowers down on your grave
And I cry harder than last time
Because I can't be saved.
Because it’s been another year without you
and I’m still tucking my mom into her bed,
trying to put both of us back together like glue;
trying to keep all of our corners aligned.
So I fall into a dreamless sleep in this silent house, empty
of all but night’s rest seeping into two broken minds.
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