Why are we so quick
to refer to a story we've read
or heard,
in past tense?
As if just because we're done with it, it no longer exists

They're coming
The onyx hands out of the suffocating dark
They want to wrap their bony, jagged fingers around my mind
They want to pull forth
every floating word, every idle
malevolent
thought
about the impending future
I pull back
I pull away from them
I hide and forget

They're here
The onyx hands lurch out and pluck every stagnated
putrid
thought
about the cracked future
and compound them into the front of my mind
I'm struggling as the thoughts cut into me and
snake around me and
cover my body and
crush my throat and
fill my nose and

They're gone
The onyx hands have receded to the hole they live in
I am bruised blue and purple
I am bleeding
everywhere
My lungs are raw and rubbing together like sandpaper
My broken eyes spill over
My mind sees nothing
I am not breathing
I am not moving

I am

                             Fine

It's been three weeks since
we last spoke, since we really spoke.
Why don't we talk anymore?

Like we used to do?
What were all of those moments before?
Were they just small talks

to you?

Why do I keep poisoning
my mind with the thought of you?
It's unhealthy. It makes me

sound needy.
*(s.m)

As distant as clouds
As cold as the pouring rain
Caged her heart again

Unquenchable vitality
Coming off as cold
Certain detaining gestures I've made
Push you away
You recite the words I've heard before
Over and over
"You're a heartless soul"
But this myopia is dark
If I can't see you far, how do I bring light to you.
Like the Light that flashes on the delicate curve of stars I can not touch
The re - echoes of sounds deep down
And through my scowled flushed face
Maybe you'll understand how being heartless is only a protection for me

I could feel the tension
I could feel he no longer wanted me
I knew when he looked at me and his eyes were looking through glass
I shattered in this moment
And I knew by the stale way he would say I love you
It sounded flat and so my heart became brittle
And I knew by how his hand would tremble against my skin
Stand off-ish hands, my skin is scarred
I knew then he no longer wanted me
I could feel the slow slipping, away.

You hugged me as If I am your world
But then you pulled back from that hug to chase your universe.