Dust gathers
insipid dreams
we return to atoms
what is in it after all
death or life
wounded memories
splayed broken

we write because
unburdening happens
wonder what social media
does to the facade we build
cosmetic bridges
imaginary castles
impregnable fortresses

capillaries to the heart
blocked channels
voices of velvet sounds
cascading in the night
of doubt.The dust settles
after the storm

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

You don't riddle my thoughts in the way that you used to,
back when all I saw on the inside of my eyelids was your face.
Slowly I have moved forwards,
I have made progress and become the person you always wanted to see me be.
But sometimes I still think of you and it feels like a weight is pulling on my heart,
and I get ****** back into the void of missing you.
It's not a feeling dissimilar to the longing of another beside you,
however paired with the craving for that person is the undeniable knowledge that they will never be with you.
It took me a long time to realise that;
you're not coming back,
you're gone forever.
They say acceptance is the first step in moving on,
but what if I don't want to move on?
You are a piece of the person I am today,
you are the part of me that glows and gives me strength to say
"I can do this."
you are the voice in my head telling me
"You are better than this."
you are the smile on my face when I realise I am on the road to recovery,
the worst has passed and one day this will all be just a memory.
So even though you're not coming back,
and even though sometimes I think of you and my eyes blur from tears,
and even though you can never see me become the person you wanted me to be,
I carry your strength and positivity with me always,
you are in my past,
but you are also a piece of my recovery,
which means you are in my future too.

The only thing I’ve ever been able to see without squinting through bad eyes has been ugly
and stupid
and worthless
each adjective another bullet to the body of someone who is already dead.
I left the bullets where I thought they ought to be—right where they were—lodged between vital arteries and anything dangerous; they were equally acidic beings occupying the same profane space.
I allowed my skin to grow over them as much as it rioted.  
I wanted to remind myself that they were a part of me now
that the least I could do was let them be
the way I had never been.

I have always been a non-believer,
naturally a very-much-believer slipped into my line of fire the same way the sun peeps its shy face out of grey.
But it took more than prying me out of my pad-locked shell to make me a believer too.
It took swimming the length of the ocean to find me in my shell first
then slaying the eight-legged monsters that shielded me from all things good
and every time I unwound the bandages in front of you that encased my wounds
inflicted from the sour tentacles of the beast you had to fight away
I expected the sting of your fingers fresh with sea salt to sting like hell
but you would remind me of how often you wash your hands
only not after touching me--
never after touching me.
I wasn’t familiar with the smell of flesh without it being doused in sanitizer;
The mess of my pain was just more dirt on their skin.

You were my savior
the only hero ever willing to carry a dead body with the same caution as someone who could still thank you with their lips—not cold.
You were red wine and I was holy Sunday
gnawing at the body of Christ
but you learned how to consume me still
without just swallowing me whole
instead savoring even the most overbearing bites of me that reeked of its expiration date.
You taught me how to let myself be consumed by something other than ugly
and stupid
and worthless.
You taught me how to let myself melt in the warm safety of your tongue
that vowed to speak of only sweet things.
But trying to recall that lesson was quieter in my ears
each time I urged myself to complete the daily routine of supplying you with a special pair of scissors
expectant that you would dig deep into my body
like everyone else always had
knowing that the gashes you created would heal slower and leave scars uglier than scars inflicted by the hands of anyone else.
I pushed my already-open cuts in your face
shut eyes and gritted teeth
awaiting the familiar feeling of the people you love
making their marks
in the center of your back.
But I watched your mouth form something that I didn't know could sound soft, something like "n-o", the first no that ever sounded as sweet as a yes.
No new stab wounds,
no tearing of tight flesh.
All you did was re-stitch me.
You caught my blood in its vanishing act.

With every stitch I watched as past words lost their dictionary meanings
ugly: beautiful
stupid: smart
worthless: worth it.
You drug me out of my grave and took the time to dust me off the way no one else had
hushed the knives in my own hands dripping in my own blood to fall to the ground
spoke the magic words that opened the gates of my chest so that you could squeeze the life into my heart again.
You took the eyes from your own skull for the sake of making a better scenery out of myself.

I don't have to squint anymore.
I can see "worth it" taking form of "worthless" miles across the street
and as you place your petal hands on my head and tilt one last time
I am watching myself do the same.

Addicted to the room spinning
The blur of the lights
And the red in my eyes
My disguise in the dead of the night
And you've been fine all this time
Yet I've been drinking myself to sleep
Since the beginning of all the lies
Wondering how you're fine
Then I realize that in the light of day
Everyone sees a smile on my face
No one can see all my regrets
All my mistakes
And I think that you hide
Behind whiskey too
Cause it's my only addiction
Besides you
And I'd like to think that you're miserable too
How else could I make it through?
Whiskey took your place years ago
But I'm still addicted to you both
At least drinking shows me the truth
All I ever got was lies from you
I know I need to quit
You and whiskey
But I can't seem to forget your face
And that bottle is so pretty
I guess another shot couldn't hurt anything
**** you and whiskey
You're both way too addicting

I've been crying since the day
your tongue turned into
a stage of dancing lies

my hair pulled back
to hide the smell of
dead thoughts of us

of how leaves look prettier
when they're dead in autumn
of how I would be prettier
if  I were dead too

the way your fingers lit in passion
whenever we touched
the way your fingertips sparked the fire
of cigarettes smoked to the bone

I remember the smell of your hands
danger with a glimpse of loneliness

I liked it
I loved it

The day your tried to bottle up
all the love I had for you
and the glass didn't resist

the day I stole your gun
to make you say you loved me
the way you took it from me

the way I understood you'd never catch
the stockholm syndrome from me

I'm sorry
I'm so sorry.

i remember when you would beg me to read to you
in the early hours of the morning
when conversation had kept us awake
i could tell you were smiling by the sound of your exhales
although my eyes never moved from the words on the page before me.
we would make love
until you were too tired to finish a whispered 'goodnight'
i would follow you into dreams
my last and first thoughts always of happiness

this was a long time ago
before i left you, before you left me

that's the thing with love;
it changes
it begins like a fire
embers and smoke
until it's Winter
you're alone
and the smell of ash is making you remember
everything you wish you could forget

if a time should come when I know your face no longer
remember us comfortably shirtless, talking and laughing in the car
Leave the resentment to the wind and
let's not speak of heartbreak any longer
just remember our hearts wide open
ready to love, vulnerable
beating together- racing to let go first
running from our emotions
as if time was limited
the world was ours and we let it fall through our fingers
I hope to see you again, comfortably shirtless, talking
But if I don't, tell them of our laughter and poetry
That it felt as if our souls were one
Smile, when they ask about me