I know of pains, burnings and aching so hidden and unknown.

These scars within scars, that drive the skin on your bones to peel and bring even the strongest to their knees.

These invisible blades can not be traced to any source. The razors sit in heels of shoes and backs of throats waiting for the fleeting moments of fear to drive deep in hopes of drawing small volumes of blood.

The average eyes can’t see the scars, only those who have been punctured by these ever so slight slashes can understand the pain beyond pain, the infections held under those healed wounds.

the sourceless pains.

enlighten my lips without touching my soul
seize the moment and commit
take me by storm and submit yourself to the sensation
leave me wanting for what has been forgotten
what has been forgotten
forgotten
enlighten me.....

Brian Hill - 2020 # 248

“  Don’t ask me how I’ve been
unless you’re prepared.

Truth is, I haven’t been great, but that’s
predictable.   “

I’m not even looking at her anymore.
Just staring at the ceiling, this deadpan expression carved into my stone face.

She asks me if I need anything.

I just laugh.
Bitter, cruel.
This is past the breaking point.

“  No, no.
It’s too late.

You’re too late.  “

I emerge from underneath the ground
Dust off the dirt on my body and hair
When was the last time I came up for air?

I walk down the street and realize I’ve missed so much
My friends and family are different, grown, changed
The job I have has piled up more and more tasks, I guess I missed them

I make it home, it’s the one thing that hasn’t changed
The same rooms the same furniture the same clothes
When I look in the mirror I see a sorry face.
When was the last time I saw myself?

I keep walking in a dizzy haze
It’s all so different, I’ve missed so much of the world and the people I knew

I crave something familiar
Something comforting
So I turn my back on the world passing me by

I go back underground

Filling in the blanks.
Throw away worn out pages from the journal of my past.
Forgetting names, relationships that didn't last.
No class, sensible sass on the *** of my jeans.
Playing with words when I want to be mean.
Don't want to be needy.
Forgotten peace treaty with the demons eating my psyche.
I'm ugly, you're boring, we're all like vampires feeding on each other.
Undeniable hate, but I still always say "We should love one another."
Denial undercover, smother the problems I'm not yet equipped to recover from with a sly wit.
Another temporary fix to cover up the shiit that somehow replaced the mud and the blood in my veins.
I'm lonely and strange and beginning to prefer it this way.
Not well behaved, I don't feel like pretending to be today.
That's okay, I'll try again tomorrow.
Indian giver, time's always borrowed.
Mostly hollow but I'm trying harder every day to gain the patience it takes to fill in the blanks.

Would my grave be
deeper than my wounds?

Would the warmth of the morning sun
still reach my rotten body?

Would Icarus, my bird, fly to the sun looking for me
Is my selfish death going to cost him his wings, too?

Would the worms weep when
they ******* tormented flesh?