Its red.
The rolling shards of glass
Crunched under my hands
Aged twenty porcelain, torn in twos and fours and tens
Priced ink shattered at the seams
Koi’s bleed, giving flowers life
Not so permanent after all
Numbness spreads, disconnecting
And all I see, all that matters is—
Its red.
Pieces of soul siphoned away
Old, green keepers
Lost behind rotting flesh
And time’s unending cabaret.
The air breaks. His vision blurs.
The world sharpens, then splits
from edge to edge until—
She speaks.
And the crash back into himself
is violent, but grounding.
Because he knows now.
This is a dream.
A deluded fantasy conjured from longing
for someone trapped behind wood and nails
six feet out of reach.
Fledgling smile on my face,
Clinking iron gone from my chest,
and before me, the open road,
glittering with fresh dewdrops
and smelling startlingly like the sun—
I’m finally awake.
Here, I sit, bereft,
Listening for lost voices,
In dingy car lots,
Remnants of a time,
When I could still call your name,
And pray mine followed,
Life was better then,
When we were young and too bold,
When you called me yours.
I’ll be by your side
Until you can look at me
With happiness in your eyes
That rivals the you
I didn’t get the chance to love.
I care for you more delicately than I do my pen.
I consider your voice over the hundreds vying in my mind.
I reach out to you with hope I believed long dead.
But no more.
Because this has become a game now—
And I’m so tired of twisted things.
I forfeit.
The first post of March is a random, dreary thing that came to mind sometime ago. Adore it. I believe I posted it on my Instagram, but I can’t be certain. Social media links are below for any of you that actually want to check if I did, haha. But otherwise, here it is.
Here’s to the new month.
How can you just forgive everything I’ve done?
When here I am—feeling like I profane the very ground I walk upon.
Is it really that easy to fall asleep?
Because I’ve been sitting here, angry and waiting to remember how to adore my own seams.
Do you think I’ll get tired eventually?
Of writing these awful things that make me question the light in me.
My own confidence,
Transpiring against me now,
Crippling all I love.