I'm in a room without recovery area:
a room of intermission, a room
of collapse. Where are
the convenient little windows
to release a wicked bird of thought?
The quiet there is monk-like,
rogue, and slightly unpleasant, guilty
of moments spent with shadow.

I want to build a clock
that ticks once a year
—more dark than shark,

my confessional capacity
—time-stretched,
like the heavy intoxicated *******
of the witching hour. And I'll
make soup from the leftover prayers
of the day before, all in hopes
the rooms of me, then so clear,
will one day be faraway suns
in the temple of heaven.

You say we have the same eyes,
and I could spend eternity trying to wax poetic,
emphasizing ambers, honeys, and suns,
that can only mimic their radiance from our forms.
But they fall short of where my agony lives,
and I say agony because
lyricists say this is roller coasters,
ferris wheels, sunny days, and stormy nights,
where joy is the absence of suffering.
But somewhere in history,
four small hands grasped dirt and dust
only to find life inside,
abandoning philosophy for something more precious.
To think our fingertips have touched the same earth
is what the pious must feel before death.
How can you say we have the same eyes
when mine are wildfire tragedy,
and yours are January’s starlight?
When we were once rooted there was something shared,
only for it to be ripped from my body
to feel like a winter without snow.
I am undeserving, and yet
it will only be moments until I remove your ribs,
stealing ichor from the gods,
because it is my own vindication,
or perhaps,
the only thing I know.

And still, you only graze me like porcelain.

buried half in half I watch
the crescent of your face,
sunken to the pillow, sleeping
miles from our nearing noses.
Hopeless 'crost this gap I linger
listening to your anxious rustlings,
playing back the hour's horrors,
staring at your one closed eye.
Waiting out the distance
mine own mind wanders
sinking back to ifs and maybes
stewing in the seas of self.
If I'd given you the blankets, if I'd
stayed to hold my own.
If I'd done my part, I could have kept
your heart from aching, racing.

To my young eyes
To my innocent heart
I remember the world was a blueprint on canvas
It was a dream undreamt
It was a song unsung
As if in a crib, I looked about me at the stars of the cities
Constellations of people hung about
Their wounds and aches, joys and laughter, were the myths
Like the Zodiacs, groups of these people
Could define a person
Yet believing myself undefined, I strode out from shelter
Fearless
Untamed, I ventured to find my purpose
A purpose that would shake the mountain
Rain down the ash of winter
Smother the pits below my dreams
Cull the nightmares that stoke my fears
I waited
I waited, I waited
I tell you the waiting became my purpose
Finally, there, in the clutch of time, I found my calling
I will tell you all of the waiting
I will tell you, don't wait...

Don't wait for the door to ring
or the latch to unlock

Do not wait for the song to play
or the band to sit

Open the door
Be the composer
Be the pilot of your dreams, be the chieftain, be the god

While waiting for what I could be
I saw everyone else become

With the zeal of their hearts
I saw them build, I saw them grow
This one built a nest
That one stitched a doll
Now the doll's a mannequin and my waiting missed the change

I waited for the waiting to end
I waited for the wanting to decide
I waited for foe or friend
I waited until
there was nothing left inside

Where is the zeal of my heart
The timbre of my soul
I lost the sight, the sound, the love
because waiting took its toll...

That bubble of a moon is 
playing peek-a-boo behind
the wispy night sky.
Confirming to me
everyone's lunacy.
Words stick to the
roof of my mouth
like peanut butter.
It could have been 
a better world,
I should have been a
better man.

January snowflakes
are like guilt falling from
the sky.
little frozen starfish...
cold and raw on 
the soul, and tongue.

  

.

All it took was one look from me
and you would have bent over backwards so easily.
I took advantage of the love you had
because I needed to fill a void so bad.
It’s true you knew how I felt for I wasn’t fooling anyone
but I still feel guilty for everything I have done.
I can see that you try and try and try
but this time you will have to tell me goodbye.
I will stop you from coming back and begging for more
because I need you to move on and realize you don’t deserve this unreciprocated love anymore.

sometimes, i look at dainty strong marble effigies
of the ****** mary holding her birth-bloodied son
and wonder if some loves aren't meant for everyone.

chastity-locked inside my heart, there's a woman
who wears long sundresses and lives in the little mac and cheese potluck moments;
she prays her rosary and feels the warm arms
of her traditional husband who loves her as a duty.

as for jesus, well, he's a cheap plastic figurine
she bought from ebay and stuck on the dashboard of her car;
the heat melted his feet in a crucifixion of 2020
but he still stands, wobbly and shaky and commercialised.
when she travels, she prays to him for safety.

(she doesn't travel a lot. she's happy to be stagnant and pray for still waters every morning.)

who cares about my heart, though?
who loves unconditionally and always,
and sees through the rips of cartilage and crushed aorta -
who will look and look and look
and see me? sorry, see me? sorry, see me out.

sometimes, i want to be a child again;
cradled in my mother's arms. sometimes,
i want to no longer put my dreams on hold.
sometimes, i want the world to look at me and say
"hey, pontius pilate, there's another one for martyrdom."