there was a moment in time
when death sat beside me on a park bench
and he had rested his hand on the gap between us

i,

too,

rested my hand there
and brushed my fingers against his

and for a chaste moment
i savoured the warmth of his skin
and intertwined my hand with his

but he stood up

and left

and maybe he knew,

it was for the better.

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

company,
that’s what i miss.

the longer i lay here
the more i ponder the absence of
your sweet, plump cherry chapstick lips.

but it all remains unmatched
in the face of your presence.

i haven’t expressed myself to you
in a while, and in the name of
“moving on”
i continue to refrain.

and yet, it’s the lack of company that brings about the most pain.

up until a blackbird ***** it’s whimsical wings
and perches upon my windowsill.

curious as to what is the brown liquid inside of my glass flask,
it politely asks to come inside.

i welcome him into my home, all excited due to my new company.

his name is misery. and we share a glass of whiskey.

“neat.”

i tell myself whilst i’m amongst realizing my own delusional insanity
by convincing myself he’s

“new”

company.

at least now i’ve got it.

cheers, i guess.

-melancholicreator

it is a meaningless curiosity,
to wonder where you went.
the anonymity of the future
seems to disembody what came
and went.

and i sat, and wept,
and inhaled what your cigarette bled.
there, lonesome, where
two sparks had once met.

a fire so bright that  
dripped kerosene where it stepped,
was put out by time,
and i observed as it crept.

i did spend restless nights,
and i prepare. more will come.
but trust me my dear,
one day you’ll know where i'm truly from.

just as you told me we were,
that there’d be no more “us”
as the sun rose in morn’
and then set off towards dusk.

the light will dismiss,
like the flicker from a chalice,
my skin will thicken
like mountains on an atlas.

and i will rise, and i will tremble,
as my words craft me a temple,
colossal in height, and treacherous in-depth,
where my scripture will live, and in solitude kept.

but you’ll hear, and you’ll listen, and you’ll reflect on my image
as i watch myself glisten, from you and beyond.

on that day, understand my duty as an artist,
and why my memory of you will last.
as the suffering turned to art for my future
will be composed of our distant past.

-melancholicreator