Some last spams
from those muscles
I haven't used in a while,
makes me feel alive.

My heart,
naive,
believes it can still love
like it used to.
It is just that ****
muscle memory.

Your words hit me.
Hurt me.
But no longer
pierce me.
Short range
now they are.

My denatured  enzymes,
possessed by salt,
just want to drown.

Anything that stops
the aftershocks in my body
that follow the earthquake
our love once was.

​when you wish an earthquake would pave way for rubble to make you a cradle until the gravestone can be placed,

when you wish an airplane would crash into your window and pin your heart and heaviness away,

when youre breathing to hang on to life, yet want to give it away

when you can hear your lungs fill and deflate, making you feel like youre going to cave in

when you feel the noise around you is slowly going to pluck every braincell out of your head and not let them regenerate

when the music next to your bed is the only thing keeping you sane when footsteps make your heart race when clawing at your legs keeps the screams at bay when making another mark of metal seems too far away

when youre just yelling for the sun to go away because the sun makes people stay awake with noise grenades flying here and there it’s chaotic and a vortex of despair

am i being selfish

because noise grenades are borne by people trying to live another day while im here in my bed under blankets  

cursing them away

A heave of the earth.
Hillsides of structures collapsing;
cascades of rock and vegetation;
liquid shifting of terrain;
the silent screams
of trapped and torn people.  
We turned towards the worst damage.
Rotors, engine, and radio were the
Only sounds.

Did anyone ever stop to think that maybe mother earth has anxiety?
We say that nature can be cruel and work in mysterious ways, but she is mute. A language is always mysterious to a foreign tongue.
Perhaps my dear mother earth has anxiety.
The earthquakes are outbursts like an autistic child’s, she is begging to be heard.
She screams with thunder and any words she can muster up are nothing but whispers in the wind.
Tsunamis are angry fists slamming down on the dining room table, but no one cares to listen.
She grasps towards the heavens in attempts for everything to stop spinning, so that maybe the chaos within her will depart in one single blow.
No one cared to listen to the mute child in the corner or the room, who has always been in the corner of the room, who has been ignored and forgotten, only acknowledged when something is needed from her.

We were the voices in her head.
Each individual person chipping away at her sanity, and leaving tire tracks in her down trodden forests.
Maybe mother earth had anxiety,
maybe mother earth is dead.

It's really strange,
how your heart could make you feel so deranged,
it's a fist-size muscle,
yet it can give you so much trouble.

I felt the world go silent,
somehow, inside me my heart's defiant,
I touched my chest with my palm,
I can feel it shouting, it is never calm.

I closed my eyes to feel its rhythm,
waiting to understand its symbolism,
And when my eyes were awake,
I know then, that my heart is an earthquake.

and it is the worst,
y'know,
that descent into silence,
slow and all at once, they say,
that sudden shaking sadness.

it springs outta nowhere,
see, that pounce, that shadow consuming,
and see,
suddenly you’re hollow.
suddenly you’re gone,
or you wanna be gone—
like my heart’s tryin’ to pound
only my chest’s on lockdown
and no words’ll come out my mouth;
see now,
it just seems
there ain’t nothing i can do.

nah, see, i’m sorry, just—
some days,
i am consumed.

I am told that I am meant to get
Rumbles in my stomach from all the butterflies that materialize when
I think of you.
Well honey, this is an earthquake.

With an Earthquake,
the deadliest moment is not during.
It's the aftershocks.
Rocking those weakened foundations
to rubble.

The same is said of Love.
No matter how shaky
or rough.
When the motion stops moving
that's when truly life is tough.