let us speak
of the way death
splinters through a life
before ripping it away.
let us mourn
and kneel on dirt before
the gravestone—
death sows the seeds
of the violets that bloom.
let us hollow
out our chests, reach
our hands through
holes in the lungs,
hoping to grasp air
and receiving nothing.
let us weep
as we clutch our
fingers over wounds,
let the blood soak them
like sunlight. it is all
we have left.

ten days i will spend
asking for forgiveness
praying for redemption
getting down upon my bones
and whimpering at your feet.

please
kick me while i'm down.
to feel the snap of your toe
against my ribcage
is better than nothing at all.

.
How I wish I could lay my head
down gently on your thighs,
to make you moan and sigh aloud
and slowly close your eyes.

How I wish I could use my tongue
and give you more than rhyme,
to bring a flush up to your cheek,
of feelings beyond space and time.

How I wish that I could speak
in words of feathered certainty
and so entice your curious mind
to lay down with me for eternity.
.
.
© Pagan Paul (2017)

maybe neither of us are good people
and maybe i should have seen it coming
but it’s okay, for now
to be grateful for things like
sleeping through the night again,
for waking up in my own bed
again
and aren’t you glad
i stopped driving by your
house in the middle of the night?
anyway,
there is nothing pure about the way i handled this

the truth is, i’ve spent too long romanticizing your loss
and too little time on how filthy your hands are,
touching anyone you please
with no regard for the fallout,
the consequences of a boy who can’t decide what he wants fast enough
to spare anyone pain.
you couldn’t even articulate the reasons
why you left me
and so i have no one to blame but myself:
this body you loved was not enough,
this mind, the girl (terrified) crouched at the controls
was not enough for you;
the consequences being
she threw herself at the first person who wanted her
because feeling wanted was the only way
to forget

and you might think you’ve got it all under control now,
a pristine life: job, car, family, girlfriend
but don’t think about the body of the girl you used to love
buried on the side of the highway
and the months and months of memories
you will not touch –
and i won’t think about
all the times i was
waking up in another man’s bed
because i wanted him to be you so badly
i left my dignity out of the deal

just love; just mess, trying
i can’t believe anyone was surprised

Gears come in all shapes and size,

Your hips move along with mine,

We'd make a perfect machine.

We'll show the world what love looks like,

Baby, you can grind my gears anytime.

You should know,
She has the most amazing brown eyes.
Look into them as often as she will let you.
They look like the surface of another planet.
Swim deep in them.
Climb their mountains.
Explore their caverns.
If you look too long she gets uncomfortable.
I did it anyway.
Frequently.
I’ve read that
You won’t understand brown eyes until you fall in love with someone
Who has them.
I’m living proof that this is true.

Don’t play with her head.
It’s cruel and it will damage her more than you know.
Don’t forget to learn her.
It takes time and patience, and you will never be finished.
Don’t lay a harsh hand on her,
Or I will find you.
Don’t break her heart.
Because if you do, I’m afraid I might be too far away to pick up the pieces.
But most of all:
Show her love.
Show her more than I could.
Show her all that she deserves.

Lastly,
Even though I hate when my brain reminds me
You now sleep on my side of the bed,
I feel the need to thank you
For taking my place.
If she can’t live her best life with me,
I sure as hell hope she gets to do it alongside someone else.

Hello god forsaken wasteland
of post-apocalyptic twigs for trees
as thirsty as buffalo chips
Dry as the wind
Dry as straw
crunching under my boots

Copper topped mountains
sighing without stamina
I **** blue from the nitrogen horizon
marching with the Spring to be reborn
Born of germ to graze
Born of energy that saves

on trails decidedly leading
toward a corridor of resignation
and inconspicuous succession

Written by Sara Fielder © Mar 2017

beyond the happiness, beyond the saddness
somewhere out there amidst the madness
within the shadows and depths of black
beyond the point of no turning back
where all hope and dreams are lost
into the bitter and lightless frost
feeling nothing & loving no one
finally hitting the very bottom
battered a tattered soul lies
and all alone it slowly dies
innocence wasted away
happiness gone astray...
what have i become?
nothing, just numb.

a hot, steaming coffee,
a deliciously soft and sweet cake,
relaxing music in an
urban café.
that's where I write
my poetry.