the silence was never there.

thick, thin, a continuous disturbance—
created by one of us in a fragile ice skate dance
you sigh and the air swallows it
while i am left to watch if i do the same
or break

thick, thin, a feverish disturbance—
almost as fast as lightning, a broken trance
has me hurling hurtful words, an argument that cannot win
you point out the flaw in my ways

thick, thin, descriptive of skin—
your steps i will not to follow, a path
i do not want to take
a calm exterior is what i fake
to keep the composure i've powdered on

thick, thin, a relationship between suns—
stars that never go out
flares that never end
heat that never really shushes
in the silence of space

thick, thin, a wire we walk on—
tired and aching, we balance
we balance, angrily, fists in *****
sadness washes over us in rain drops
on a tightrope that never ends

there is nothing but pain and pity.

in the alleyways of my mind, i walk with an umbrella in my right hand.
the rain falls from the sky in teardrops with the force of God's sorrow.
we are nearing supper, the local bakeries and parlors shutting down, lights flickering off at God's finger snap.
it amazes me that i can jump over puddles and yet still drown in my own despair.
i can barely see a glimpse of the moon, but i know it watches me, watches the kids in the playground dance to the thunder.
like me, it keeps quiet, as if there is so much to think about. that's not exactly wrong.

but in the dark alleyways of my mind, there is not much to think about.
there is only a girl fighting the winds and the skies with an umbrella. there is nothing but pain and pity.
God watches me like i'm his child, but i only know two guardians—
pain,
pity.

deep inside it festers,
climbing up my ribs, moving across muscle,
wrapping around my vessels.
i’m not an elderly man,
but i am a withering soul
known for flipping itself inside-out,
all flesh and blood tumbling onto the floor.
there, outside, it festers,
a ball of greed and hatred.
i am looking at it with tired eyes
as it glares back. it always glares back.

i’ve shrunk back into my shell
camouflaged against the image
of tears streaking down cheeks,
early childhood not only a fond memory
but also a burden to carry.

i’ve descended into this hell
unknowingly, naive and blind.
my feet are bound to the icy floor,
my hands attracted to the flames.
there is no gray area when it comes to pain.

but i know too well the taste of nothing,
numbness that triumphs over a rosy garden of thorns.
my wounds are closed and the scars have faded
but the ghosts hover there, waiting and waiting,
searching for an opening to slip into.

deep inside it festers,
outside it sulks.
i am its host, its pitiful prisoner.
it knows me from my head to my
toes.

i'm collecting the times i wake up
already feeling my knees buckle
from the shame, the nerves, the stares.

i'm hoarding the clocks that i've stared at
throughout my adolescence
when the nights were long and my blood looked redder.

i'm keeping the tickets i used to escape
the rumble and the jumble inside the house
back then when the walls were thin and my skin was thinner.

i'm checking the numbers, the drawers, the walls
again and again and again
just to see if anything is about to break again.

the crescents under her eyes—
they cry to me, screaming in high-pitched voices,
"my child, my child, don't look at me."

in my head the stars paint a vivid picture of a weeping woman, with long hair and a willowy figure, biting at her lip. blood oozes out. i am spun back into the now.

the finger she points at me—
it redirects itself, checks, rechecks, and points back to herself, deadpanning,
"my child, my child, it's all my fault."

in my mouth sheds snakes the color of a neon green. underneath this glossy, perfect facade i am crumbling into shards and commas and em dashes. how can she be so cold? and yet so sorrowful?

the voice that echoes inside her—
it climbs into my lap and tries to strangle me.
but i'm much stronger, a shriek that has learned how to deflect, and i rise and shout,
"woman, woman, i am not your child."

in my dreams i conquer.

i listen fondly to the rain softly hitting autumn leaves
i heave a sigh like i'm heaving the world
Atlas is at a loss for words

ivory spills down my throat
like raindrops on a windy night
i am being fed by the gods who stole my sight

deep in my stomach Hades stirs anxiety
around and around, a cumbersome weather
feeds the wolves inside the kettle

you are the color of the sun
a perfectly roasted marshmallow
my hands reach for your cheeks, round apples
but there is no softness here; there is nothing

you are the rhythm in my feet
the song that keeps me alive
my heart sings for you, my own lullaby
but there is no melody here; there is nothing

you are the open window by the sea
the breeze that softly hits my face
my love hurts for you, my afternoon reverie
but there is no love here; there is nothing