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Xiola Nov 18
Gently, my love
When you stay up late combing your mind for pieces of rot
Gently
When you stare into ***** mirrors and scrub yourself raw
Gently
In a brash sea with your periscope on danger
Gently
Riding the crowd in the nose bleeds of opinion
Gently, my love,
Lean into the frisson
Gently with grace
Gently,
My love.
Gently with grace
LannaEvolved Dec 2020
Undoing every punch
Lock my voice inside a dial tone of conflicting passions
Is it ok to cry?
or should I call?

It’s a curious thing when you let these buried phantoms master you

They reappear and sweep you up
into uncharted territories unknown

As you sit and stare at their ghost of a memory
Reflecting the dimensions of yourself
Smiling happily
knowing you have worked on yourself

Dissecting the luminosity of your youth
Naive innocence
Still there
No faded imagery or idea
too far away to be..
Believed
All is possible
in the mirror
of another world
or so it seems…
How could I even begin to convey to another how I truly felt? Perhaps the necessity to put into words is not needed. I sat and held hands with the molten honey, kissed the fire embers over and over, I did it. These people only exist in my mind as the raw emotion brought about by their raw emotion. Maybe my raw emotion is their raw emotion, or maybe not. Does it matter, I mean to say, is it necessary to know what the other felt? Maybe we all feel the same way all the time but we describe it differently. Maybe we feel completely different all the time and we try so hard to convince the other. I know this though. I feel a strange feeling that would look like a dark purple gem. I feel a slight sinking of the inner heart but the outer skin of my heart pulls up. It pulls up through my chest, up to the base of my throat. It manifests through my body to my eyes. This fury hides behind the ducts of my eyes. My heart is cold, my chest is warm, my eyes are tired. I can’t name it because a single name would be too broad. And when I think of Austin… The feeling intensifies to the point that I wish to weep. He passed away some time ago now. I can say that it hurts now because the front of my throat, the Adams apple, it feels like there is a weight connected and the weight is pulling down my throat into my stomach. With every breath I feel the same, with every blink I feel still. I miss my brother.

— The End —