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Trout Sep 8
Suit of armor in the sky
The redeemed values conjure my eye
It’s a game, to be fair
Rotation to capture despair
A band of sea monkeys can capture my grenade
The funny feeling sits around and waits until it’s dead
I’m growing older, feeling ghostly bugs outside my leg

How time can pass so fast and leave you empty after facts
I’m going back a day ago when I could not relax
I’m solitary now but when there’s more
People, I feel alone

My birthday in a month
It’s great how my life is a joke
All I see are severed roads
How could you be so deeply soap?
You quit trying to manage me and blocking me all out
The truth is that it’s both our faults but you’re the one who broke
It’s just the way I am but you’re the one who hurt me most

I never realized how much I always think of you
Many things around my life were built upon us two
I never meant to look like such a dork
So you stopped all the work
I woke up this morning and
I had been made blank.
The colour and texture of me erased.
Even the hollow and empty were gone,
and what I have been left with
is this quiet stillness

this seems fine

my life plays out, a vintage home movie in
the distance of my mind, in faded
colours, with muted dialog.
There is an echo of a laugh-track
that does not hold my interest.
I’m not sure if that’s important.

but it seems fine

like my guilt and want and need,
my desperation,
were ropes that bound my ankles
that wrapped around my neck
and I have been cut loose.
to drift away in this quiet stillness

and this seems fine.
I think it is science, or art, or nature?
maybe there is no difference,
but when it works, it is beautiful.
Not like kittens in a basket,
but like a Mandelbrot set;
intricate, nuanced and perfectly balanced.

it is the balance that is my undoing.

In the beginning I was meant to hold her close.
gentle, warm and welcoming.
until that welcome and warmth reached
all the way inside her.
Like charging a battery for the first time.
but nothing comes from nothing,
and I ran dry.
too soon.

So now she wears my damage
like a wound, an accusation,
a plea.
and I want to make her whole,
but giving feels like punishment.
Like I have to choose; who will get
this oxygen? her or me?
and will everything I have ever be enough?
to fill either of us?
today I took the phone off the hook,
then I wrapped it in a heavy jacket
and hid it in my drawer.

the drawer where I hide my candy.
so, I swapped them.
I let the rich, sweet colours
take my focus and forced the world
to hide beneath my tastebuds

so now the world, the phone and I
do not exist.
for this little while

I think I’ll leave my glasses on my desk today.
I’m not sure I want the
world in focus and this
gives a simple reason for
the pain behind my eyes.

there is no point
in brushing my hair. my lips
are too heavy on
my face, and my eyelids only
seem to bother with every second blink.
or maybe third

I do not really understand
how this numbness feels just like burning.
or why nothingness weighs heavy
like wet wool.
and I don’t really care.
Kamblamian Jul 30
I know my days are better when your gone.
I know I can imagine life without you.

I gave you the benefit of the doubt-

But I'm looking for better days
No thank you
Kamblamian Jul 27
Who I thought you'd be
Is not who you are

It skewers me.
Left to cook like meat on a stick
Leftovers that are never eaten
A flavorless piece of swine
Wrapped around miscellaneous produce

Eat me!
Eat me!

But I never will.
Keep in my fridge to eye
Watching as it molds...

...the skewer stays right in my heart
That once beat for you
Datings rough
Kamblamian Jul 27
A thousand times a day I think of you
All the things we could do
I want you close I want you near

Someone to make the time pass

But now is not my time
I know when the tears come I'll ask myself the age old question
And I know in my current skin I have not grown

But I long for someone to take away the aloneness.

I sit here and I look and you and I dont want what you have...
I dont envy

So when the tears come rollin
Ask yourself have you grown

The ripening discomfort of being alone
Dating is rough
my world is a life boat,
a nursery rhyme construction
of wood and tired paint;
almost safe
almost stable
almost dry
almost real

I have crafted it from pure will
and grip tight with aching fingertips
even as I stare over the edge
at everything I want to know.

Everything I fear.

because the ocean makes no promises,
it is a story told in real time,
destination unknown

and I sip at the flavour of it,
let the rich and briny thickness
of it coat my tongue
and dry crisp against my skin.

And I pretend at understanding

With loving reverence, I curate tales
of its inky black mysteries
and full spectrum shining life,

I watch it flash and froth beneath the surface.
out of reach.

But I have never let it take me whole,
never let the rhythm of it press against my flesh,
never danced with waves from the inside,
never dared to open my eyes in salt water.

And I wonder
if I have resigned myself
to growing old here?
I want to label this wound
with a single word
but I cannot find one that fits

I wanted to call you Father,

but you would not have stood for that
you would have seen my intent,
tasted my defiance.
you understand the power of our names
you scent it in the air,
an instinctive predator.

Father, would have given me space,
the first step towards an open door

Dad, bound me close
with coarse, abrasive rope
that you called
love and loyalty and family

it would not hurt me, you said
as long as I kept still

so I hid my heartbeat from you
in the steady thrum of others'
because there is safety in a crowd
I offered you Father-in-law
I let you have Grandfather

but I cannot do
what is second nature to you,
I cannot look at family
and see prey

so I ran
I took what I could carry and I fled
I chose my own name for you

I called you no-one
I called you my past

but a letter came today
registered post
and you have signed it
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