ryn 5d
em>I gambled away the sun.

Because the moon
had offered more.

I staked my heart and life.

Because of stories told
and fantastical lore.
ryn 6d
I fall back
on uttered words.

In them
I find comfort.
Like a spear
of newly birthed rays,
slipping silently
between complacent
drapes.

The warmth I feel
like love upon my skin -
wholesome and sufficient.

And the day matures
as do the words.

What used to soothe
now burns as hot as
the midday sun.

Draw the curtains.
Your mind isn’t yet ready
and is no match
for smouldering embers.


I tripped.
I fell on uttered words.

Here I am,
engulfed and cocooned
in heavy drapes.
ryn Feb 15
Sing me a song.
Sing of days of folly.
Sing it sad...
Sing it as it is.
Sing its story.

Extend each syllable
into mournful vibratos.
Drown the
crests of choruses
with wrenching falsettos.

Let it be soft...
But sharp as a knife is keen.
Let it reach into my chest.
And grab at the lull in between.

So sing me a song.
Sing to me how I failed.
Serve me my sadness.
Sing to me...
My tale.
ryn Feb 15
It fell and shattered.

And I’m scrambling on all fours.

Picking up shatters.
ryn Feb 15
All that swims unruly
only crashes into rock.
Wearing down the stoic
demeanour the beholder.

He wails in silence -
his thoughts loud
but his voice shackled.

He buckles;
Then clutches at his
breast knowing he’ll
meet his end with
his tale only told in
illegible runes.
ryn Feb 5
When words form
but the voice is muted,
strings of sentences -
like loose lengths of yarn,
just swimming...
swirling in the currents
of the wash.

They meet,
they connect,
they get tangled up
with each other.

What had before made sense
now swells larger,
more intricate,
more tiresome.

It all converges
into a climax
as the spin cycle ends.

What’ll emerge
is a convoluted mess.



I’m a mess.

And then,
I get hung out to dry.
ryn Feb 4
em>Are twinkling freckles
pocked up above?

This ceiling of mine
all draped in black.

Looming clouds obscure
as they push and shove.

Just a glimpse...
As I find my way back.
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