The words are twisting around me,
wringing me out like a wet towel.
The tune is stretched and thin
as if it's an ode to the last of my happiness.
It speaks to me almost as loud
as the ghosts screaming in my ears,
except the unprescribed medication
I drown myself in
doesn't keep it out of my head.
I have to remind myself daily --
they don't know you
they don't care about you
the words aren't sung about you.
But how could they not,
when they ring so true?
How can they not
when my stomach turns
to the time of the music,
when the tears leak out of my eyes
the same way the last notes
leave the guitar?
How can they not
when they're the only bridge to reality
I have left?

Earlier, I picked flowers along the coast
It was a pleasant morning
even after I woke up;
I've put the flowers in the vase at the table as usual
Then water it
We could have spent our time sitting in the grass you know
If you didn't left too soon

I miss you!

Everything was okay today ,
But I am not okay anymore .

You finally wished to leave ,
And I can't hold you .
I don't have the right to utter the word "STAY" , because I need you .

From the beginning of our story
I was ready for this tragic end .
If you want to let go , i won't hold you back .
I will never chain you to myself.

I fear this day , i will fear as long a i love you .
When someone you love go away !
You die a little bit inside !

I won't cry ,  I'll be fine
I'll take my breath everyday .
Push the lost feeling in my chest !
Till there's nothing left .

I just wanted to hold you until you weren't falling apart anymore .

My aching msytery hides in your stardust glimmer _eyes


Date - march 04/2020

i wonder
if those we call selfish now
are those people
unable to fill
themselves again

their souls
stretched and torn
****** out of their body

their hearts empty
by giving beyond
what it can beat

now, decaying
soulless, lifeless
empty and pleading
left with nothing

maybe trying
to restart, rebuild
refill what is now trenched
and hollowed heart

they tend
to leave more
for their own
yet receive a lash

for as it seems
trying to love
themselves
for the first time
is selfish.

goodnight, to the pounding rain
and tear stained skin
everlasting dreams left paper-thin

what you leave when you’ve left (mending the tormenting silence^)
 ———————————————————-—————————-


your words rock me, like an old time preacher,
mending, begetting, tormenting,
fire and brimstone you sinner,
if I don’t quit this life of loving words, saloon music,
guitar picking in low down dives,
liquoring and sinning,
choosing to choose poorly,
never and always thinking about the songs
you’ve left behind unplayed, pained

got the sun and the rain and all afternoon,
to contemplating leavings,
the crumbs you let drop,
the missteps took and missed,
drank too much, hurt too hard,
the silence of my history, it’s renting,
unrelenting, tormenting, lamenting and such,
those loves, labors that don’t amounted much,
a slow rush to fall, to count it all

you say, always time to mend what life
has rent, if you spend the time thinking,
‘bout what you gained, what you lost,
the net of both added and subtracted,
what you got, what you gave,
the sum of your begat,
a life’s story, to tell,
of life’s misgiving, unforced errors, and
crimes committed only you know

not sure what the total bill due gonna be,
combining the costs of the here,
the now, what was and wasn’t,
what was said, not believing but yet singing,
so when the check comes,
the summation of your life’s calculations,
get to add on a tip, a good-as-gold saying
it’s time that can mend, but knowing the true costs of time,
maybe, maybe not...

<§>
                         let  them reap what you have sown,
                    for the great designer will surely inquire
       what everybody knows is the forecast standard to be met,
     it is not what, how much you got, but what you begat, when,
                                              you’ve left