I don’t love you
I love a reflection of you
a version of you
that appears to be you
but is not you
I don’t know you
I knew you
when you knew me
when you cared to know me
but that is not you
"If you'll make me up, I'll make you." - Virginia Woolf
How much of who we are are just stories? How much of you is made up in my head and how much of my flesh is your fabric? It reverberates between the cells of our bodies (our prisons): an entity that eludes definition and strings a cosmos betwixt our ends. In your silvery light, you are the moon and in my eyes, you are transcendental.
I know that only light makes you real. My mind brims with sunshine and it makes you sing, it makes you shimmer. Such ephemeral glory we held in our hands, beheld in our sights.
We shift in space; faraway glints of reflections. You flicker on your lonesome, your ashes I cannot douse with my sadness. Feverish at fingertips, I draw sigils to trap you in my mind. Phosphorescent and bleeding, as if anything could ever escape the damage from our names.
Winter's early dusk sinks around us. It's so cold and you're so warm, I know I'd go anywhere with you.
But we ruin too easy. I see you in the reflections of my mind, separating your image from who you really are. Everything I touch becomes surreal but here you are, still the same. A prosaic body that learned to glimmer in my light, still lunar in your way. There's nowhere to dive when you're only a surface, I can't peel at layers that don't exist.
In this gloaming, you can now see the light. In this gloaming, I now see your void.
dead to you,
You misunderstand the truth.
This is for those who believe that those who do not drink or do drugs ‘have no life’.
what happens when your mothers tongue is tougher than a fist? I see more of myself in my father now than I ever did.
I don’t recall how distance came between us but in mirrors I tend to see it; in the reflection of a pint glass, the emptiness reminds me.
Stained glass vision from the intoxication. I always promised myself I would never turn into this. Pixelated morality, the lines are always blurry. I never see my smile clearly.
Funny how we always run into the things we are running away from. Where do I move forward from here?
She speaks to me in whispers
Beckoning me to the dawn of the day
Awakening me with her voice
Soft, caressing and dulcet.
She speaks to me in whispers
Her voice present without a body
She floats in the ether
I wonder can anyone else hear her?
She cleared the energy in my space
Banishing malevolent entities
Although I've never seen her face
Her voice is a reality.
She tells me about the minds of others
Thoughts I cannot hear
Between all the psychic clutter
She makes my energy clear.
She says she is a shaman woman
And works with energy
I see her as someone
Who understands me.
my mind is a war zone, my body’s shackled to depression
get to know me if you want to but use your discretion
i’ll push you far away and then i’ll beg for your attention-
i’ll convince us both it’s love though you’re merely a projection.