Indenchured lines
From my sheets
Combine
The cutting thoughts
I had last night

Horizontally pressed
Undertoned with red
Remembering
What I mused
But never said

Like razors and knives
My sheets collide
Like cuts, red stained
I sleep to forget the pain

Should we just have never embarked on this Exodus?

Maybe then I wouldn't have to be present in a future enraptured by your absence.

I look for you in the unfamiliar, pleading for a chance to atone for the times I didn't love you the way your spirit asked me to; begged me to.

I think life is sort of funny like that.

It gives us grief and torment, undertoned by conditions of stability and commitment, still masked by peace and contentment.

Life won't tell you "This suffering shall be yours after you've given shadow and sin,
bones and dreams,
beginnings and unendings"

It will let you know however, that forever is a fickle concept.
An anomaly of truth. An unworthy penance.

Forever is today telling you tomorrow won't be guaranteed, yet you defer and let momentous pleasure consume you.

Forever is you right now, unravelled, unmade, wondering when it will finally be you.

Life won't tell you "This suffering shall be yours when you're left with answers to questions you were scared to ask".

You assume shame should be a stark reminder, that maybe grace and longevity weren't meant to have been breathed into your "always".

Or maybe loving him was the only way to afford a glimpse of misfortune; what could never be if the two of you had become.

But that's not you, is it?

For you shame is nothing compared to the cold indents in your waist where his hands once took residence.
Or the ache between your legs where  futures were built in the stillness of nights and raucous of mornings.

Shame is nothing compared to his words of adoration to another; unshakable dedication to another.

Shame is nothing compared to this emptiness

To these words.

To the forever that never was

Apologetic, I prematurely meant it
Magnetic to pain, ironic ain't it?
Turned the car, I crashed

Yet it still functions..

Backup, U-turn, find a new lane
Gun this engine, speed to a junction

No left no right, straight through to any light, how do I function?

Still apologetic, this angel, this demon, this friend and foe, from heaven to hell I wreak havoc so hectic on me and I with my image, these lies, I exist as a living demise

Give me a soul paramedic from an era nostalgic, its denial, selflessly neglectic, this heart prosthetic, shoulda known it, fake smiles curtain call themselves to fall they are a facade of lies sourced from embarrassment, simple self-harrasment in a time gray-hued, undertoned in black I feel my heart, beating strong, fast, under attack..

Drive, just drive, drive and never stop
Foward forever..

Just drive..

"Dont shoot the messenger"
Even if this messenger were to be unknowingly spouting lies
Or giving unwanted information
I beg of you not to shame them
The intentions are only of good
Undertoned with worries of accidental betrayal