Attached for life
A reminder of tough times

Not to remind me of tougher times, but to remind me that I’m still in tough times



Can I cover up how I feel with how I feel?

Just to look down and feel ashamed of how ashamed I am?


Will you look at my skin and wonder of a story? Ask for my motivation? Or look at my skin and make up a story and wonder on my lack of motivation?


I feel good about my designs. They define me.
I hate these designs. Because they don’t define me.



With pain comes pleasure. A sign of living.
With that pleasure comes numb and a longing for living.

I finally tracked him down: the person within me who could live without you
So I made him a cup of tea and he began to prattle
About the demonic conductor of my symphonic heartbeats,
And the chthonic tranquility you once deposited into my life stream.
He sniggered at how, even now, I still attempt to draw from that diluted reservoir
In an attempt to discover anything more glorious that a utopian delusion,
An unwarranted euphoria derived from what someone might call the “good times”-
If I gave you the benefit of the doubt and admitted there really was a time your love wasn’t fictitious.
But, I digress
Because I wish you the best
Even if the good times discarded are times I should regret
There was a time when you uncovered my covert capacity for unexpurgated bliss-
The likes of which I had dismissed
As myth or at the very least unrealistic to attain.
Even if all of the solace I find in our memories is disingenuous,
I still thank you for way you fooled me.
And that’s why I screamed at him.
After the nightcap, I chased him out of the house for even flirting with the idea of his own existence.
For I have not the fortitude to meet with him for more than just a few moments.
Right now, I choose to cherish our memories until I forget that I love you,
Until the day I’ll be ready to unite with my harbinger of recovery.

A yellow converse tied securely to my left foot
A purple converse tied securely to my right foot
Dangle on the sharp edge of the moon facing the flickering side of the sun
-
His hands are turning to stone
Scaling up his arms grows the shards of unsung remarks
Branded by the markings of a comprehend-er
And not that of a creator
Signified by
a Turnover of the wrist
To reveal
Calloused palms scarring over worn ambitions
-
And as the her face turns away
All at once  
She rounds the corner of a brick wall
The sun rotates to be unseen behind Venus
Her body is planets away - it seems
But there is a light that never goes out
-
For in the years to follow
Even in shadows her memory will glow
Lighting my face to varying degrees
Dependent upon the luna(r)cy of my mind