as I step into this expanse
wild, roaring ocean and fields of sand
a breath enters and escapes me;
I find that my ghosts are falling behind

the shadow of that dagger
still hovers behind me
waiting, aiming to strike

hope coiled like a serpent around my neck
suffocating, like the smoke that fell from your fire,
burning away everything that stood here

but I kneel in the blackened soil
and rub charcoal and ash in the webbing
between my fingers—where yours once rested

appeased, she slackens, falling from my shoulders
as though dead, before slithering into the night,
beckoning—to follow her farther into the wasteland

I find my footsteps falling in her path
though she asks only one thing of me—to believe
to ration my reason, starve off my doubt

I protest with silence, but hope is a dangerous thing,
and knows that despite her, I will always return—
and never with a sword

my heartstrings were woven delicately,
soft and sweet, every pluck and tug
dedicated to some passion, conviction,
and the last, to soul-crushing devotion

if I can make only one request
would you dream of me?

the wind began to warble,
and so the blackbird whispered
"my heart is not a weapon
and my love is not a game"

Every time I have wallowed in my tears,
Every time I have drowned in my grief,
Every time I have loved and lost,
I remind myself—
It has been worse, and I have made it this far
I have made it this far
So that I can see through to better days

we fell like the last rain
bookending a bone-deep chill
something to cling to, the pain
washed out from the windowsill

one strike of that blackened match
and a million chromatic threads unwound
leaving only an ashen husk,
my timeless vessel

I found myself, but I suppose it's time to do it alone
I'll weave my melancholy into my tapestry of prose
And I'll raft through the storm ahead without you

How many times
have I stood on this precipice
and turned away?

---

I think I'll give myself to the open sea
Throw my arms out wide, breathe
I haven't lived in so long