I scream into the void,
silent, but in my silence, louder than all noise.
Accepting of the role to play
in loving unconditionally.
It’s not our fault it happens.
we’re all just as innocent
as the day
that we were born.
But I have to ask,
are you still able to hear me?
I lost my compass and my passion.
Yet, I’m sure, you, of all people can hear me.
It’s so hard, to keep remembering things. The smoke of fires ember in September brings.
Four broken ribs and my heart to cleave, the spell you’ve cast remains unbroken.
But no pain is deeper, scraping and meeker than the loss of my Chicago stinker.
My pangs are not of love.
For sights, and sounds, and tastes, and smells are nothing. Never mind to touch your body.
I see now where I failed you, it was when I failed myself.
It was as the curse of my pressures rolled and churned about on the inside spaces of my peasant flesh.
In the backwater swamp of myself, a reptile slithered between us, sloshing amongst the putrid remains of its kills.
My own precious vermin.
Free me from this awful spell.
Or **** me.
I don’t care.
But whatever you do,
don’t leave me here.
Inspired by loss. I lost everything over quarantine, my job, my woman, my place. I was living in San Francisco at the time and there was smoke everywhere for week and weeks. I was not my best self and my partner didn’t like what she saw. Now she’s gone.