warm, bright words don't reside in your heart. an ice wall blocks the way as they depart. a shy, humble smile, "oh, it's no big deal," and those words are suddenly forced to kneel. the icicles ***** your weary shoulders, forming gashes, leaving you so much colder.
too much warmth? you burst into flames. too little? you're frozen and maimed. your hands, scarred and worn, rub in vain, ready to mourn as you look over the wall to stare at the glow that enthralls.
I’m in the dream again: not the one I had while awake in the catacombs of St. Callixtus in Rome. Where the darkness was so impenetrable that it began to echo. To look like the mixture of colors that burst when you rub your eyes too hard for too long. Like the neuron rupture before death. To shape and morph and become liquid. Where the darkness cobbled itself into a physical form.
Not the dream where I kept seeing flits of my mother out of the corner of my eye. Behind every street corner. Every turn. Every tunnel. Reflected in the casts of the bodies in Pompeii. Mirrored in the waves of the Trevi Fountain.
I’m in the dream where the soil churned from the bottom to the top. where the hand outstretched from the grave. where my grandfather clawed his way out and returned to my grandmother﹘sopping wet, covered in thick mud, socks torn, skin sallow and jaundiced, spitting out the wire the embalmers put in his mouth, melting makeup, and ravenously hungry. And it’s been so long since he was hungry.
“He came back to me, Taylor,” my grandmother tells me. “He came back to me.” I don’t have the heart to tell her that he’s undead. I’m physically unable to spit out those words. And it’s a dream and it’s a dream and it’s a dream, but it just fits so perfectly. That he would come back to her. That death would not be a barrier. I can’t explain it. It just is. My grandmother is a shell without him. The body that’s missing the limb. The body that keeps score.
You preached love to a heartless being and you clipped its wings right when it wanted to fly with you. Are you the angel that I deserve, dream and desolately mourn along till the end of my days?
You drew a thin line accross the dominion of my soul body and mind, wish i presumed more than I did, Somehow I missed all the subtle clues of what the future held for us and now its all aloof with your voice in my head and all the places we went.
Do you know what it’s like, to finally have your life the way you want it just to have it torn from your fingers as you scream and cry for help?
What does my life matter to you? Love, loss, it’s all part of life they say Why am I in black and blue, red tainting my clothes? Why can I not dwell in the yellow and light as she did? Why did he stay in the dark, just as I have? Can I leave the dark?
What am I supposed to say to his family? What am I supposed to say to them all? I can’t let go, and I can’t move on. And neither should you.
So why do you? Why do you bury him away and pretend that none of his faults existed? The boy I knew wasn’t a saint! Far from it! He was a messed up, depressed, annoying little *******! And he was my friend! I can’t just say goodbye after that.
This is a first draft excerpt from one of my old script projects.
Melting and smoky-- like a candle at night, shining like a sunlight. Every drop that fell hurts so bad like a farewell. But just like a candle at night, you give hope and dreams blocking all my internal screams. 'Cause you are my candle at night, that keeps me cozy and less affright. I cannot tell how long will you last, but don't leave me scared and aghast.
Few minutes later here you are, no longer sparkling; no longer a star. O what a pain in the eye as in your light i rely. Like a candle at night gone in a snap, maybe I'll end this evening with a nap.
a month ago i lost a friend and i didn't even got the chance to see him for the last time due to this pandemic. I was really devastated but i know that he's now in the better place. This poem is for him.