A road without road signs and faded paint, with ways that lead to every wrong direction. And we drove on that deep black ice throughout the night.
A dance that was no fun, and left a feeling of dissatisfaction, filled of bitter patterns. And god, it left us dying for water.
A recorder, with eyes that were too close together, and a mouth that would only open for a kiss.
The tape I played choked you up, and you died alongside me.
I had become what I never wanted to be.

Murmurings of words
so long unspoken,
now sent out across
the curved expanse
of our spherical home.
Murmurings of all our
voices and languages,
coalesced into one.
Winging out into open
space, like the nimble
murmurations of birds,
never quite touching,
yet deftly creating
virtual shapes,
markings recognizable
only from a distance.
Do birds' own souls
unfurl and unfold in
these undulations?
Starlings find aerial
corridors, travelling
together swiftly, so
to stay warm. Do we?
These murmurings,
our word-murmurations,  
fly out into the space between us,
swiftly curving back, and then back again,
before dipping low, then nesting deeply,
so very deeply, into sweetest sleep.

+


"Bluffin' can open many doors."


-

Depression bites at your ankles, feels like glass shards embedded in your feet with every step you take,painful at first and then numb.
Whispering sweet nothings in your ear
"you're garbage"
"you're ugly"
"*****,
****,
useless,
why are you even alive?"
With every step you take your bones go brittle and break.
There's a parasite in your brain, there's an elephant on your chest, and everything gets heavy.
Your eyelids start to close, falling into a deep slumber to get away from reality.
But instead you have nightmares,
of that day ,
of that night,
of that month ,
of that year,
and they repeat themselves over and over again making sure you never forget; and you won't.
Finally you wake up and it's been two days since you last got out of bed.
You heave a heavy sigh as the pattern starts all over again.

i'm wanting
like hard brittle things
want to break

stuttering, trying to explain
to the organized, box trained
how badly i need a little chaos

cause those patterns out there
in the stars
make way more sense to me
than your day planners

And i've tried.
half my life i've tried
the people pleasing parts of me, still ******* trying
to play the expected parts
so much so
that my own offspring - my own blood
looks at me now with foreign eyes
reflecting the familiar disapproval

as I burn up the parts of me i'm done with
the parts they told me I had to be
letting all the "ugly" colors bleed through

everyday I get a little closer
to what i'm supposed to be...

The best thing about life
is finding the simple patterns.

There's a truth in the last moments you share
With yourself before sleep invades
It's those minutes that capture rare plots you construct
From bits and bobs gathered along the way,
Where everything is reckless, hope is renewed,
Manifestations of moments once true,
And all of the doubts that persist in real time
Subside to reveal who is who.
Deliberate intentions of force.
It cannot be examined nor researched in full,
Who is it that is teaching this course?
This awareness is yet unexplained.
A yearning for life, a wanting for more.
A manufactured reality, can it be obtained?

Every soul is experiencing such radical perspectives.
No matter how much you think you understand, you don't.
My
body
aches.
Hating what I've done.
Hating who I've become.
Where did I go wrong?
Has it been that long?
Have I forgot what it means to live but merely i exist.
Whatever the circumstance is I know I will live.
I will fight for health.
We are warriors of light.
In this hollow place.

We must thrive, or we shall die.

you tell yourself
that you don't love him
you will not
in any way whatsoever
spend a moment more vying
for his attention
for his affection
or whatever
you call it
the jokes before during after class
how you are afraid to touch him
because
maybe he has some
magical
power
and can feel
that you are dying yearning straining
for a moment in his limelight
to be even a blip
in his timeline
a moment in a lifetime
you wonder if he can feel your love through your glances
when he walks next to you
time prances
a sugar spun web of
friendship
you never thought
a word
could sound so cruel
and bittersweet
like spiderwebs spun
through heart strings.
you know he won't
has said
has scraped his foot awkwardly as you
poured
implied
no spewed
your affections
in a barrage of desperation
of losing
of love
wouldn't it be easier
if you were like him?
able to see the world
the girls who hurt him
you
in a different light?
one that wouldn't
keep you up at night?
maybe
his hurt
is a questions you forgot to ask
you will do it tomorrow
joking before class.
the same patterns
picking away
on your heart strings

I see colors
And patterns
And words
And they don't make sense to anyone.
Apart from me.
No I'm not lonely.
I'm just different from anyone I met.