He sits with an upright posture
And he loosens his fingers
He tells us an origin story
So that his hands may compute
The story is corny and too familiar
And he realises its wearisomeness
He rushes through it and mocks it
Till our laughter is of our interest
He has our attention for a bit
But our sorrows are drenched in wine
We have no sympathy for him and rightly so
This is a place of phony joy
Then he faces forward as our noises end
And his concentration is apparent
His smile dies and our laughs too
As his eyes close for the opening chord
to Love
it is your fire that crackled a coal
and your every breath that burnt me
till I, even in my same ever despondency,
changed for this world
slipping under your twinkle-fingers,
I find a comfort like no other
hovering over the corpse that bears the lust,
mildness and wishful thinking all the same
we did not get tired of ourselves
but you, just as you first burnt us,
seemed to get nothing but death again -
you got tired of us
even in my same ever despondency
that returns like your eerie glow
I bid you hastily, old friend; for if not then,
There are brutal bitters in the breath of our inner-bearings
And I, for one, battle to silence them
But if I choose to struggle to turn my back then
I will pardon your sore disrememberings
Like footprints down by the sand of the seaside
Your features will part in the dark distance
And if I choose to struggle with my voicers' resistance
You will hurt only when in lonely times I hide
Remember me therefore: for if the ocean came not close
And I stumble now on the eerie evidence of your host
It will leave me in burning, burning regret
That we were once a thought that felt so sweet;
That our ways, for as long as time be, will never again meet
Will leave me to only struggle to wholly forget
You leave them behind,
markers on your journey
through life
The path back
to you is littered
with former friends
Longing for deliverance
from the merciless rain
they shiver in silence
huddle expressionless
waiting to disappear
I have these thoughts and little dreams.
All broken, maybe piece by piece.
I try to pick them up it seems.
Let's figure out a way to make sure they don't fall apart.
A way to not make the situation worse, than now.
Find a way, to survive.
My only thoughts nowadays is to stay alive.
A narrow road,
no people present,
A heaviness in my stomach.
It veers off,
to where I don't know,
but I am solitary, as I walk it slow.
The sky grows dark,
My feet grow sore,
Cold sets into my bones.
No people,
No cars,
Nothing.
I'm just alone.
The little piano plays
The jewelry box is open
The ballerina spins on delicate springs;
The jewelry is out
She wraps it over her small little body
mommy is not looking
the toddler becomes a queen
the stuffed animals are awake and clapping
glitter spills out of her smile
giggles paint the room
“Look mommy aren’t I pretty?”
The mirror in the sparkly box
reflects mommy tangled in white bed sheets
back bent on a twin size bed
limp arm staring at
an empty bottle on the floor
The person I miss the most
The person I wish was here
The person I barely see
The person who doesn't talk much to me
The person who laughed when we were happy
The person who held my hand
The person that liked me for who I was
The person who cared about what was said
Now I'm torn and hurt
Alone and left
To think about what happens next.
A flower is blooming.
Then it's welting.
Now it's dying.
Stop holding.
Just let it.
Slowly.
Die.
Bye.
Love.
A man.
A tight hug.
A long midnight kiss.
Someone who treats her better
Me?
Or him?
Maybe not me.
I wish it was.
But I know it's not.
Queen.
And king.
A beautiful castle.
A true unforgetable love.
Something I never could give.
A start.
A stop.
A quick jump.
A fast fallback.
A smile.
A mistake.
Our relationship.
Once good.
Is now no longer.